Theodin, King of Sadness

Theodin grew up in a warm house in a cozy little town, the kind where parents don’t mention homelessness and the people generally ignore the folks digging through the garbage.
So it came as a surprise when a homeless woman, Peggy, told him that the shelter in Pittsburgh charged $7.50 a night. “There’s a long waiting list,” she said. Another place – a church – didn’t shelter homeless until the temperature dropped below lethal.
He gave her three dollar bills and a heavy handful of mostly silver coinage. “I’m diabetic, so I need to eat. Plus, I’m narcoleptic,” she said. “Otherwise I could have been a nurse, but they won’t let me work.”
Theodin didn’t eat like his namesake – the king of Rohan – so he didn’t offer Peggy the warm dinner that swung in the breeze as they talked. Every month he had to scrounge, borrow, skip meals and, occasionally, haggle with the landlord for an extension on the rent. A minute into their conversation, he forgot that he held anything besides the attention of this woman.
“Aren’t there shelters where you can get out of this cold?” he asked.
“Yeah, but I didn’t get there before three in the afternoon and I’m drug free,” she said.
“Yeah, so why couldn’t you get a…”
“A lotta place only take the addicts or battered women. Other places only take men. There’s another lady with a private woman who’ll take ten people in if they have $15.”
Theodin thought for a moment about the $40 in his pocket, slicing it into gas funds, beer bucks and food money. Her voice brought him back to the street corner, feeling guilty.
“You should see the families sleeping under the bridge…That’s where I’m going tonight.”
Theodin shook his head. “What about a church?” he asked in hopes of finding some balm for his guilt.
“Yeah, I know a church that takes people, but not until it gets down to 18 degrees,” said Peggy matter-of-factly, as is she had mulled her options so many times the lack thereof no longer angered her.
“18!”
Peggy shook her head affirmatively. Theodin shook his in shame for ever complaining of the cold in his house, for spending five dollars on his dinner, for his wealthy country in which the number of billionaires increased alongside the swelling homeless and prison populations.
Theodin thought Peggy should have tied her boots tighter, found a hat or a hooded sweatshirt instead of the Pittsburgh Steelers fleece. Her thin figure was obviously padded with another layer, but not enough to pad Theodin from the reality of the streets that evening.
The soda he purchased with his sandwich exploded violently on the steering wheel, seat his shirt and last clean pair of work pants. He attributed it to running across the street with the bottle in his pocket and to karma.
“I should have given it to her,” he thought at first. Then he saw the trees bend in the cold breeze.
In two days, Theodin had almost forgotten about Peggy. A cold front from the west plunged the temperature and dumped six inches of snow on the city. He knew people could easily die in this weather from exposure.
After work – about 8:45 – Theodin parked his car in Oakland and walked to the same corner, only to find another panhandler, this one more ragged.
“Do you know Peggy?” asked Theodin.
The man bowed his head, stroked his beard, sighed and said, “May the light of God keep her warm in Heaven.”
Theodin wondered how a loving god could let a peaceful, spiritual woman freeze to death as he gave the man five dollars.
“God bless you, sir,” said the man.
“No, sir, but thank you anyway,” said Theodin who felt, at that moment, king of a vast realm of sadness.

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