An Inspiring Story of a Young Boy's Discovery
Billy sat in the cardboard box that his mother had scrounged. It was shelter for him while mom and his latest sister were out working. It was thin shelter from the biting wind, and none from the cold. That, some ragged clothes and a torn jacket where about all he had. The only other things were his mom's glass pipe, an old lighter, and a small rock of crack cocaine.
The women worked every night and rarely made much money. But they always returned in the morning tired and well-fed. Eight-year-old Billy was always hungry and strung out.
There was not much noise outside. There was traffic, wind, and muted TV from somewhere inside where it was cozy and warm. Nobody was outside unless they had to be. Outside was cold and dirty and it smelled like garbage.
He loaded his pipe and thumbed the roller to spark the lighter. Nothing happened. He did it again and it still would not light. To make sure he was doing it correctly, he went very slow. It would not light.
Was it out of gas? Was it wet? He could see the liquid inside. Not much, but it didn't take much and the day was cold, but not humid or rainy. He could see the sparks come off the wheel.
His thumb started to bleed as he turned the wheel again and again and again. He cried because the night ahead was too cold and he would be too afraid to face it without a high.
His first sister had gotten him hooked, and now it was the only way they could be sure that he would stay in one place every night.
He cursed at the lighter. His body shook and his stomach growled. The thumb he was using had become bloody and the pain was worse than anything. He couldn't switch hands because he held the glass pipe in the other. The pipe would not be broken. The pipe was sacred.
Finally, in a last gasp attempt, he muttered, "Please God. Let it work." and the sparks flew out, but there was no fire. "Shit!", he screamed in tense rage, and suddenly the fire leapt up strong and hot. He quickly moved the flame above the rock and greedily pulled the fire down onto it through the pipe stem.
"Thank you, God." He whispered and he laid back, closed his eyes, and let the tears dry in the dirty corners of his almond eyes.
I ferried Paul.