Not on My Watch

by Donna Poole

The bottle of Dom Perignon was half-empty, but Jer hadn’t touched the Champagne. He wasn’t interested tonight in the pricey, popular Treasure Chest of drinks. Its dry ice drifted in a lazy fog over their table of four. He yawned and looked at the yellow-gold Rolex Lisa had given him.

“Here,” she’d kissed him lightly and laughed. “If you’re going to be appearing on billboards all over Chicago with my Dad, advertised as his brilliant, young, new law partner, you need to look the part.”

He hadn’t wanted to accept the watch; he and Lisa really weren’t at that point in their relationship. He didn’t know if he ever wanted to be, but things were complicated. He’d never have moved up so quickly in the law firm without Lisa’s dad, so he felt obligated to take the watch, obligated to keep being with Lisa, and he didn’t like the feeling. Jer sighed. He was tired and suddenly homesick for a place he hadn’t been in years, the hills of Tennessee.

“Hey!” Bud laughed. “What’s up, Jer? It isn’t like you to look bored at Three Dots and a Dash! This is our third club of the night, and you’ve only had one drink. Something wrong?”

Jer pushed aside his memories of a small church in the Tennessee hills where it snowed every Christmas, all roads led home, and grown men still called their fathers “Daddy.” His Daddy was the pastor at that church. Right now they were having the Christmas Eve candlelight service, and he knew light from inside was shining through the stained glass windows and reflecting on the snow. When Jer had been a boy, Daddy had always left the church lights on all night Christmas Eve, and as Jer’s family had left the snowy parking lot and headed home to the farm, he’d loved looking back at that reflection. It had seemed magical.

“Jer? You still with us?”

Jer looked at Bud, shrugged, and glanced at his watch. In a half-hour it would be Christmas. “I’m tired. Let’s go.”

“And leave the rest of the Treasure Chest? Well, it’s your buck! It you want to spend $400.00 for drinks plus your usual big tip and then not finish drinking, okay. The rest of us have probably had enough anyway.”

Enough and too much, Jer thought as he helped his friends out the door and waved for a cab.

Bud laughed again. “What’s that drunk doing here? He’s a long way from the mission!”

Jer hesitated, then walked over to the man lying on the sidewalk. What was a drunk, homeless-looking man doing in front of this trendy, expensive bar? Even in the dim light Jer could see the deep yellow of the man’s skin. If he wasn’t dead already from liver damage, he soon would be.

The man started shivering violently. Obviously not dead yet, Jer thought. But he’s soon going to freeze to death. They don’t call this the Windy City for nothing.

“Give him you coat, son.” Jer’s father’s voice sounded so clear, he looked around, startled.

Why not? It’s not like I can’t afford another one. I can afford to buy anything I want or need.

“Are you sure you don’t need something money can’t buy?”

Again, Jer looked around started. Why did he keep thinking he heard his father’s voice? He wasn’t drunk, not on one drink. Was he losing his mind? He took off his coat and bent to cover the man on the sidewalk.

Jer’s friends laughed. “Hope you never want to wear that coat again; it’s covered with lice and fleas now. Come on, Jer, cab’s waiting. Leave that guy. He’s just going to die anyway.”

“Not on my watch, he isn’t,” Jer said abruptly. “You guys go on. I’ll catch you later.”

Jer ignored his friends’ laughter and sarcastic comments as he dialed 9-1-1. He did hear Bud jeeringly call him a Good-Samarian Jeremiah. Bud knew he hated the name Jeremiah and all its biblical connotations. Jer was definitely not a Jeremiah, and he hadn’t been one, not for a long, long time.

Jer felt a hand grab his ankle. “Afraid,” a hoarse voice moaned.

Jer squatted next to the man. “What’s your name? And what are you doing here?”

“Samuel. Walked from the mission. Wanted to see Three Dots and a Dash one more time. Used to come here with my buddies.”

Jer’s thoughts raced. Wait. Three Dots and a Dash had only opened in 2013. This man looked like he’d lived on the streets at least forty years. When had he been sober and wealthy enough to have come here? And how had he walked from the mission?

Jer had volunteered at the mission when he’d first come to the city, before he’d left his faith behind, so he knew its location. It was a brisk forty minute walk away for a healthy man. It must have taken this man at least two hours to stumble here in his condition.

“Rum? Got rum?” Samuel’s voice was so low Jer could barely hear it.

Jer shook his head, and tears stung his eyes. It had been a long time since anything had made him cry.

“Don’t leave me. Don’t want to die alone.”

“I won’t leave, and you aren’t going to die, not on my watch!” Jer peered through the crowd of bodies that had gathered to gawk. Where was that ambulance? Finally.  

The paramedics rolled Samuel onto a stretcher. He grabbed Jer’s hand.

“May I ride with him? I promised not to leave him.”

“You a relative? You can only ride in the back if you’re family.”

Jer shook his head, but Samuel muttered, “He’s my brother.”

“Get in.” A paramedic chuckled and motioned to Jer. 

Samuel kept a grip on Jer’s hand. Jer had never seen such grime on a human body.

Again Samuel said, “Don’t want to die alone.”

“Hey! I told you. You aren’t going to die! Not on my watch.”

The paramedic caught Jer’s eye and shook his head slightly.

“Afraid, afraid!” Samuel moaned.

Jer was surprised to hear himself say, “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him, should not perish, but have everlasting life.”

“John 3:16,” Samuel whispered. “I believe. So sorry. Almost forgot Jesus. Not alone. He’ll walk me Home.”

A few minutes later Samuel relaxed his grip. Jer didn’t need the paramedic to tell him Samuel was gone. Jesus had come and walked him the rest of the way Home.

“What happens to guys like him if they die without insurance or families?”

The paramedic shrugged. “DHS might help with cremation.”

“You look like an honest guy. “ Jer slipped off his watch. “Will you sell this, pay for a funeral for Samuel, and give the rest to the mission? I’d do it myself, but I need to catch the first flight to Tennessee.”

The ambulance pulled up to the hospital

The paramedic’s eyes widened as he looked at the yellow-gold Rolex in his hand. “Isn’t this thing worth like forty-grand? Sure, I’ll take care of it for you. It just so happens my grandpa is one of the chaplains at the mission. Who should I say the gift is from?”

Jer jumped down from the ambulance and turned to shake the paramedic’s hand. “Tell them Jeremiah gave it to you,” he said, “Jeremiah from Tennessee.” Then he sprinted off to find a cab.