Читать книгу Love Without a Home - Shari Mong - Страница 5

Kyle Rimmer looked down into his can. Well, he thought, not bad for a day’s work. He would go and get something to eat, and feed the birds in Central Park before heading back to spend the night in his usual spot under the bridge.

He had been in the military and knew how to survive. He had survived two tours in Afghanistan before heading back to the states for good. What he saw over there could mess anyone up. He was medically released from the military.

Surviving a shot to the head, he lost some of his vision and was unable to work. He would wake up many mornings with headaches and sometimes even migraines. However, he did not have the insurance to see a doctor. He had come back to New York to find his wife gone. She had cleaned out his savings and left him with nothing. She had left a note and divorce papers for when he arrived home from the war. She had run off with his best friend.

After his time in the hospital, and after his release, he had made his home on the streets of New York. Many people just walked by and did not give him a second glance; many would put money in his tin can to get him through another day.

He would sleep under the bridge and then find a street to make his money. He survived sleeping in the cold desert nights by his jeep with the clothes on his back and his gun to his side. He would wake up in the hot Afghanistan weather to be ready for his mission.

He would trudge up mountains in pursuit of the Taliban. He never complained, for he knew what he had signed up for. While many Americans back home were either sleeping in their warm beds, sitting at the dinner table ready to eat a hot meal, going on vacation, or having a family night, Kyle would be deep in the heart of Afghanistan fighting, and protecting the very freedoms that so many of us take for granted.

He had served his country and hell is what he had come back to. It was not fair, but Kyle made the best of what he had left. He headed to pick him up a few cheeseburgers and a shake. He had been craving that all day. He asked the waitress for some extra buns that they would just throw out. He said he would pay for them.

She was a kindly woman in her mid-sixties and just gave him the bread. She had seen him many times and felt sorry for him. He had told her his story and she had thanked him for his service and there would be tears coming from her eyes.

“Thank you ma’am, for the bread, now the birds will eat again.” Kyle said kindly.

“You’re welcome my dear.” Mildred Hirth smiled through her grandma glasses. Mildred took the tips she had made today and gave some to Kyle.

“I do not want your tips Mildred. You worked hard for those.” Kyle said his eyes watering.

“Not near what you have worked Kyle to protect our freedoms. What you have done for us is priceless.” She put the money in his hand. Mildred had never married and had no family. She lived in a tiny one bedroom apartment upstairs from the hamburger shop.

“Have a nice evening, Mildred,” Kyle hugged her.

“You too dear Kyle, I love you as my son.” Kyle was thirty-nine and Mildred had loved him like a son. There were times when Mildred and Kyle would talk after Mildred’s shift.

Mildred watched him walk out the door and back to where he would be spending another night. Her heart ached for him and wished that he could have a better life than the one he was handed.

Kyle sat down on the bench and started feeding the birds. He tried not to ponder on how his life ended up like this. He just spent every day doing the best he could to survive.