Threadbare, part 2

A small bronze bear cub stood within the curve of a low wall. Shining bits of ice and snow capped its back and head. He looked poised to run playfully away in the snow; tossing his head as he went. It was a statue Chuck had seen many times before but tonight the small bear looked a little different. Tonight, he was dressed for the weather.

What brought the laughter were the spats. Each bronze paw had a small, carefully laced, knit cuff at the ankle. But there was more to the picture. On its head was tied a hat; red, orange and yellow stripes, earflaps and a pompom all topping the little bear’s head. And finally, the bright red that had caught Chuck’s eye was a scarf. It was long enough that it had been wrapped around the neck and body of the bear, leaving plenty to hang to the ground. The color was rich like fresh red roses, the texture bulky and soft.

“I think I need this more than you my friend.”

Chuck bent down close to the playful cub and carefully unwound the scarf. It was longer than he expected, close to 10 feet he estimated. He shook off what snow clung to it and wrapped it around his own head and neck. The remaining ends hung long down his chest. Instantly, he felt much warmer.

He patted the hat-topped head of the bear cub and continued on his way through the nighttime quiet.

At the far edge of the park he looked across the street. The deep entryway to the small branch of the library looked protected enough from the wind. It was a city government building, and a library at that, cameras and security were bound to be very slim. And there, just a few steps down the sidewalk, was an empty discarded milk crate.

Long ago, Chuck had learned from another homeless man that sitting on the icy ground was too cold. If you did you were bound to get sick. Even worse was sleeping over a steam grate. Of course the warmth of the hot steam was comfortable, but that was only at first. The steam would leave you wet and being wet in the deep winter was even more dangerous than sleeping on cold ground. It was better to sit on a crate, or a bench; off the ground and away from the damp.

The timing of finding the doorway was perfect; Chuck was beginning to feel very weary. He settled on the crate, with his back within the sheltered inside corner of the entryway. His legs were propped up on his backpack and once again the thin blanket wrapped around them. Smiling behind the soft and thick scarf, his breath became relaxed, deep and even. His chest seemed clearer than earlier. Perhaps he had shaken some phlegm loose in his chest from the laughter. In his sleepy comfort he breathed in, imagining the smell of fresh summer roses the color of his scarf.

Things were looking up.