Shifting Sympathies

Prompt: Write up to 600 words opening a narrative in which sympathies will shift. For example, begin with an appealing character but sow the seeds of suspicion. Or, begin with a distasteful character and hint that our sympathies may be drawn in.

Result:

He’s there every day, right outside the church on Baker Street. He always arranges his belongings the same way: bags of blankets, old clothes, and two tattered books tucked in close next to his bum. He has a little dog that he keeps with him, just as filthy as he is. Its tail never wags.

It’s not that I don’t feel sorry for the man, but how can I give him all of my pocket change every day? Sometimes I try to find some reason not to look at him--pretending I have a text, glancing at my watch and hurrying on as if I’m late, or gazing at the traffic going by.

He says the same thing every day, too. ‘Any change, Miss?’ Oh, that annoys me, too. Can’t he see I’m married? I have a ring on my finger and my left hand is usually pointed in his direction. Well, all right, who checks that anyway?

And what does he do with the money? I’ve seen people drop coins in his hat, even dollar bills! He tucks most of it away in his pocket, as if he doesn’t want other people to see how much money he’s making by panhandling. I’ve seen stories on men like him: they sit on the street all day, making hundreds of dollars to buy booze or cigarettes. Well, I for one am not going to feed that habit.

But there’s something about this man, something about how clear his eyes are. Don’t drunks usually have red, glassy eyes?

Today, as I walked up to the church on my way to work, he was there. His dog was there, too, tucked beneath his legs, shivering in the cold.  My gaze travelled to his bags, yes, they were there, too. This time, though, there was something different. A little doll, worn, but cleaned up, was tucked among the rags. And a teddy bear, its eyes mismatched but its fur coat had been cleaned up.

I tried to remember what day it was. Oh yes, it’s Wednesday. All right, I’ll see what I have in my pocket. I stuck my hand into my coat and pulled out a wad of change. Quarters, dimes, a few nickels, and half a dozen pennies. I bent down and dropped them into his hat as I walked by, doing my best to avoid his gaze.

‘Thank you, miss!’ He said, his words punctuated by the white steam that surrounded them.

I nodded and tucked my hands into my pockets and hurried on.

The next morning we were in a rush again. The kids had just got out the door on their way to the bus and my husband was leaving for work. At the door, we kissed and he headed towards his car as I started down the street.

‘Oh!’ I said, my hands darting into my pockets. ‘I forgot to grab some change. Do you have any coins I can have?’

Tom leaned his head into the car, and pulled out a handful from the cup he keeps full of the change he gets from getting sodas. I held out my hands and he dropped two or three dollars’ worth of coins into my gloves.

‘Thanks, darling.’ I kissed him again.

‘You know, you could just give him dollar bills instead of a handful of coins every Tuesday and Wednesday. Oh wait, now we’re on to Thursdays, too.’ He smiled.

‘I know,’ my cheeks were hot, ‘but this way, it doesn’t feel like I’m giving him all our money.’

‘Have a good day.’

‘You, too.’