Joe felt himself getting frustrated. He’d fought traffic to get to the store, squeezed through tight crowds of last minute shoppers, and graciously given a lady the last Mr. Mighty action figure his son wanted. But this was taking it too much. He was tired of this homeless guys incessant question. He had to be drunk, not that his walk betrayed it. He was dirty and unkempt in the typical manner of such men.
“Look buddy, I’m sorry for bumping into you…”
“I bumped into you”, the man corrected.
All the man had done was knock into him as he was leaving the store. No real harm done. So why was he intent on forcing Joe to answer his question?
Back home the turkey was probably about to come out of the oven. His parents had probably just arrived, shaking the snow from their boots, arms full of presents for the kids. Joe could imagine his wife lighting the candles on the mantle. And here he was trying to answer a stupid question!
He put the board game for his son in the backseat and slammed the door a little too hard.
“So?” the man prompted.
Joe shrugged. “I don’t know, I’m sure you’re a nice guy. “.
Joe squeezed by the bum and climbed into his car. He had to get home. In one last attempt to make a smooth transition he pushed a five-dollar bill into the bum’s hand. “Merry Christmas”, he said hoping to never see the man again.
And then he was back in traffic, fighting his way home. But the question lingered with him like an unwanted odor. He didn’t understand why the bum had asked it. And he didn’t want to think about it. But the words echoed in Joe’s head, “Who do you say I am?”
A driver in the next lane cut Joe off and the question was forgotten.
