I Took in a Young Man Freezing on the Street on Christmas Eve — Later That Night, I Was Struck with Shock as He Crept Toward My Bed
On Christmas Eve, I felt that by taking in a young man who was shivering in the cold, I was performing a nice act. I was shocked to see what he was holding when I woke up later that night to find him in my doorway.
Last Christmas Eve was as oppressive as the early darkness, the silence in the wind, and the heavy, unrelenting snow. I had just returned from a visit to my late husband Michael’s grave at the cemetery, like I have done every time since his death.
With an anguish that never went away, I had stood there, wrapped up in my heavy coat, gazing at his name carved into the cold stone.
But for some reason, that year’s loneliness seemed more acute. My seven-year-old granddaughter Lily was ill, so my son David had called earlier to let me know they wouldn’t be able to come.
“Mom, we’ll come as soon as she’s better, I promise,” he said after apologizing.
“Of course,” I had replied, trying not to express my displeasure. The silence in the house was nearly unbearable, but I could see his point of view.
When I drove home from the cemetery, the streets were silent. I saw him at that point. He was hunched up and motionless, and at first I thought he was simply a shadow in the streetlight.
But as I approached, I saw that it was a young man wearing a battered jacket. He sat on the curb with his knees pulled to his chest, looking frozen.
And something prompted me to stop, even though I should have ignored him and had done so with other people before. I rolled down the window and slowed the vehicle.
“Are you alright?” I yelled. “Why are you out here in this weather?”
He carefully turned his head and looked directly into my eyes. They were enhanced by his tanned skin and were the deep, piercing shade of light brown that stops you cold, even in low light.
He merely looked at me for a while, blinking slowly. Almost too gently, he then added, “I… I have nowhere else to go.”
I was only hesitant for a moment. When I said, “You’ll freeze out here,” “Get in.”
After giving me the impression that he was having trouble believing what he was hearing, he carefully got to his feet, brushed the snow off his jeans, and got into the car.
“What’s your name?” As I increased the heat, I inquired.
“Carlos,” he said warily.
I said, “Well, Carlos,” “you’re joining me at home tonight.” Nobody should be left out in the cold on Christmas Eve.
I glimpsed the tiniest nod from the corner of my eye, but he remained silent.
I took some of David’s old clothing out of the closet and gave them to Carlos when we arrived at the house.
“The bathroom is down the hall,” I said. “Take as much time as you need to warm up.”
I made hot chocolate and took out the marshmallows I usually saved for Lily while he got dressed and washed up. Carlos appeared less like a shadow and more like a person by the time he returned to the living room.
He looked younger than I had initially assumed because to the large sweater and his gorgeously curled, now-clean hair. With the cup of hot chocolate in his hand, he slumped into the couch.
“You remind me of my son,” I remarked as I took a seat across from him in the recliner. “That’s probably why I stopped my car.”
It was accurate, but his vibe more than his appearance was what made him resemble David. It was difficult to explain. David had pure white skin and green eyes, precisely like my late husband. It was clear that Carlos was Latin American. However, something about him remained.
He gave a courteous grin, but his eyes were still wary. “Thank you. I mean, thank you,” he corrected himself in a low voice. “You did even though you didn’t have to. I will never forget it.
I returned his smile. I said, “De nada (You’re welcome),” despite my terrible Spanish. “Christmas is almost here. Everyone is entitled to warmth.
His expression clouded over as I tried to ask him more personal questions about himself, what had led him to the streets, and why he was by himself on Christmas Eve.
He said, “It’s complicated,” as he glanced down at his cocoa.
Choosing not to press, I nodded, “Fair enough,” Rather, I bid him a good night and showed him to the guest room after turning up a warm Christmas film on the TV.
“If you need anything, just knock,” I replied.
He repeated, “Thank you,” and this time the corner of his mouth lifted a little.
I lay in bed later that night and gazed up at the ceiling. I was about to fall asleep when I heard the floors outside my room creak softly.
With all my muscles screaming in protest, I clambered into bed and turned to face the door.
In the darkness, Carlos’s face was obscured and unidentifiable as he stood in the doorway.
For a split second, I knew I shouldn’t have been so kind, and my heart began to race. It was a terrible idea to bring a stranger home.
I saw something in his hand, and my heart started to race in my ears. I was unable to identify it until he began to approach me with slow, methodical steps.
I was filled with panic. “Cease! Exactly what are you doing? My voice cracked with terror as I yelled.
Carlos’s eyes widened in panic as he froze. He hurriedly said, “Wait!” while displaying the item in his hand. When I recognized what it was—a tiny orange vial containing my heart medication—a wave of relief passed over me.
“You didn’t take this,” he stated in a composed yet strong tone. “I thought you would need it after seeing it on the counter. Before going to bed, my grandmother, or abuela, used to take it every night.
I was filled with humiliation instead than terror. However, my hands continued to shake. “Oh,” I uttered feebly. “I—I forgot. Thank you.
After putting the bottle on the nightstand and nodding, he retreated from the room. “Good night,” he whispered quietly before leaving.
I felt silly but thankful as I stared at the bottle for hours after my body sagged back onto the bed. He had only wanted to make sure I was alright, and I had assumed the worst of him.
I used the last of the blueberries I had hidden in the freezer to make pancakes the following morning. Unsure of himself, Carlos entered the kitchen and took a seat at the table.
I said, “Merry Christmas,” and passed a little box over.
He exclaimed with real amazement, “What’s this?”
“Open it.”
Slowly, he opened the gift and took out the scarf I had knitted years before. It was simple and red and white, but it was warm.
He repeated, “Thank you,” as he ran his fingers through the silky yarn. Without hesitation, he put it over his neck and grinned.
We basically ate in silence as I tried to think of a way to bring up last night. I wanted to express my gratitude to him and my regret for being afraid.
Carlos, however, got to his feet after finishing his pancakes. He slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and proceeded to the door where he had left it.
Then I frowned and said, “Where are you going?”
Carlos licked his lips and remarked, “You really helped me last night, ma’am,” “I’m grateful. However, I should leave immediately.
“Where will you go?”
With one hand on the doorknob, he paused. “I don’t know,” he said unconsciously. “I’ll figure something out.”
“Wait,” I stood up and said. “How about staying? Make sure I take my medications and assist me about the house. The company could be useful to me.
“Really?” he inquired, his eyes glimmering with anticipation.
“Of course,” I responded. “On Christmas Day, you should also avoid being outside. You can pay for bed and board by working around the house as well. What are your thoughts?
Carlos just grinned and put his duffel bag down once more.
We found a rhythm throughout the course of the following few weeks. Carlos was quiet, considerate, and careful to maintain his personal space without going too far.
Together, we even enjoyed a fantastic New Year’s Eve. And I was pleased when he began to open up, even though I didn’t press.
He finally opened up to me about his history one January evening when we were sitting by the fire. His parents’ expulsion was the first sign of his problems.
With hesitation, he responded, “They didn’t understand me,” “They believed that creating art was a waste of my life. They wanted me to pursue a career in engineering or medicine, or something like. They informed me that I was no longer welcome in their home after I declined.
He had thus been fired for following his passion—becoming an artist. Then he had been cruelly struck again by life.
Before going missing, a roommate had taken everything he owned, including the landlord’s belongings and his limited savings. Because he couldn’t replace the stolen goods, he was later forced to leave. Finally, he was fired for no other reason than that he was homeless.
“I probably would’ve frozen out there if it weren’t for you,” he sighed softly.
How could this horrible world exist?
I put my hand on his and reached across. “That is no longer a concern for you. Here, you’re safe.
Here we are now. Here is what has transpired after a year.
Carlos secured a new job and a tiny apartment close by with my assistance. He returned to the residence on a regular basis and restored the laughter. He even won over my granddaughter, son, and daughter-in-law.
I became aware of how drastically my life had changed when we decorated the Christmas tree together. Carlos was now family, not just a stranger I had taken in.
He often claims that I saved his life, but in reality, he had saved mine.
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