The Path of the Forgiven

The sun began to rise and glisten off of the Duwamish River as Quinton sat on a bench with a bottle of booze wrapped in a brown paper sack in his hands. His eyes were rimmed with red and his clothes were disheveled. He felt all alone and tired and he was ready to be done with life. He was done because he thought for sure he didn’t have anything worth living for.

Quinton sat there and watched the cars go across the Spokane St. Bridge as he took another swig from the bottle in his paper bag. Soon the blockades were in place so that the bridge could pivot and let a river boat pass by. He watched the slow process as he assessed his life. For some reason he felt connected to the bridge and he guessed that it was no matter how he turned someone was there using him or the world was passing him by.

He tipped his bottle up for another swig but only a few drops hit his lips so he tipped it up some more. He cursed under his breath when not another drop came out. With a grumbled sigh he set the bottle on the bench next to him then he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

It wasn’t long before a cyclist passed by. The person was decked out with all the gear. They even had a Bluetooth speaker system built into their helmet. It made Quinton sick to think that a person would spend that kind of money just to listen to the radio. He hadn’t taken into consideration how many frivolous things he had bought over the years. He was also too wrapped up in himself to even notice his own hypocrisy.

Quinton was so engrossed in his own misery that he barely even noticed the woman who sat on the opposite end of the bench. The one thing that drew his attention was that she hadn’t sat on the seat like most people but she sat on the back. Glancing her way he first noticed her shoes. They were a worn out pair of sneakers and he thought that she should get a new pair for exercising in. He took in the rest of her and found that she was in a holy pair of jeans and a faded denim jacket. He groaned inwardly for he realized that she was one of them poor people who was probably going to try and hit him up for money.

Then she spoke, “You look like you could use a friend.”

He shook his head. He thought he knew what was coming next. “Oh yah? Why’s that?”

“Well, from your attire I can tell that you come from the more affluent side of town. From my experience people like that have a lot of so called friends but if given the chance that friend would send them up the river if it suited them.”

She now had his attention. It was as if she had read his mind. “You think you know me?” he sneered.

“No. I know absolutely know nothing about you. What I do know is the look of someone who’s been burned one too many times.”

He gave her a glaring look. “What do you want from me?”

“Nothing.”

He gave her a strange look. “Everyone wants something!”

“The things I want you can’t give me.”

“Oh yah, like what?” Quinton asked skeptically.

“You don’t have the ability to give me a clean conscience but I have a friend who’s helping me with that.” She looked over the water and watched some ducks pass by.

Her statement confused him. “No one can do that except you!”

“One would think so wouldn’t they? My friend is the only one who will be with you in your darkest moments and if you cling to Him and the hope that He gives you can overcome most anything,” she claimed with a wistful smile.

He looked at her strangely. “Are you for real?”

She finally looked at him. “My friend is willing to be your friend if you let Him.” With that said she stood and walked off with her hands in her pockets.

After a moment of watching her walk away he looked back at the bench where she had been sitting and shook his head. Then he noticed something in a sandwich baggie. He looked up and was about to call to her but she was already out of sight.

At first he was afraid of what might be in the baggie but curiosity got the better of him.