Lip Balm instead of Beer

Mike stood outside his home, a worn-down place in Texarkana known for abandoned houses. I’d met Mike when he first begged me for a quarter, a journey of gathering coins for his beer. He even followed me inside the store, where I offered to buy him lip balm instead, which he accepted that I’d deterred him from his quarter-pan handling.

So, on my second encounter with Mike (I have a friend who knew where he lived), he said, “Ms. Pam, God has done something I can’t do alone.”

Mike stepped a little too close, too fast, and his nervous, jittery friend at his side ended up kneeling by a tree. I held up the bag of Christmas goodies and said, “Look what I brought. I wanted to bring you a present.”