The Sketchbook

A Christmas Story by Nana Dadzie Ghansah

Prologue

The disheveled-looking man stood in the shadow cast by the trees across the street and watched the house. He could see the young lady in the wheelchair moving around. Occasionally, the older lady would come into view. She was still as beautiful as ever.
The house looked warm and welcoming, and he often wondered how welcoming it would be if he rang the bell. He looked at himself, shook his head sadly, and walked off.

I

Sara saw him the first time she volunteered at the Food Pantry back that September. Besides his height, there was a bearing about him that was not common among the homeless. Homelessness ultimately strips one of any dignity, but he had not lost his.

She saw him again a few weeks later at “The Center.” Originally named “The Neal Center for the Homeless and Destitute,” it had become known simply as “the Center” over the years. Her class was volunteering there that week. They read to the children, helped the women do their nails and hair, and played games with the men and teenagers. Mostly, they hung out in the recreation hall.

Sara had brought some paint, rollers, paper, and leaves and was doing monotypes with a few kids. The man sat alone in a corner, and Sara noticed he was either doodling or writing…