The police came up to me as I was ready to unlock my car. He brought out a picture, and at first I thought I had parked incorrectly or something. The elder man had a heavy jacket, a scruffy beard, and an almost eerie expression in his eyes. The officer said in a quiet voice, “Have you seen him around here?”
And truthfully? My heart skipped a beat. Because of the achingly familiar appearance of that face. For example, not just “someone you pass on the street.” Someone from my past, more like. Someone I believed would never be seen again.
That didn’t make logic, though. Decades had passed since the man I was thinking of vanished. I was too young at the time to comprehend why adults muttered behind closed doors. I told the officer no with an automatic shake of my head. However, something was rupturing within me—old memories, suppressed emotions, and a persistent thought that would not go away: What if it was him?
After thanking me and nodding, the officer turned to leave. However, I was unable to stop my hands from shaking. And I just sat there looking at the dashboard of my car after I finally got inside, wondering.
Shall I tell someone? Shall I go out and find him? Or was it better to simply leave the past in its grave?
Because if he was the one… Everything could be ruined by secrets.
Sleeping the night wasn’t easy. I was plagued by visions of the man’s face every time I closed my eyes. Recollections came flooding back, including how my mother would abruptly become preoccupied with household tasks and avoid making eye contact whenever his name was mentioned. Everyone called him Cal, but his real name was Reid Callahan. Uncle Cal wasn’t just any uncle; he taught me how to skip stones across the lake and would let me ride on his shoulders during family picnics. Then one day, he disappeared silently. No phone call, no note—just gone.
The following morning, I knew exactly what I needed to do. I went directly to my mother’s place via car. Even though she was now living alone and had silver streaks in her hair, her keen sense of humor had not diminished with age. She was drinking tea by the window when I entered, sunshine falling on her grizzled hands.
I said, “Mom,” and took out my phone. “Do you know who this guy is?” I showed her the photo that I had seen from the police.
She put her cup down suddenly, causing it to clang against the saucer. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the table’s edge. She remained silent for a while. Then she let out a long sigh, her shoulders slumping under an unseen burden.
“It’s Cal,” she muttered. “Why are they trying to find him?”
I answered cautiously, “They believe he may be involved in something.” “A downtown robbery.”
She shook her head and laughed angrily. They do, of course. They did it every time.
“What do you mean?” I sat next to her and pressed. Since he left, we had never come this close to discussing him.
She firmly stated, “He didn’t steal anything.” “Anyway, not cash. However, because he made them uncomfortable, they wanted to think the worst.
“How?” Confused, I asked.
She said, “He helped people others ignored.” “Addicts, fugitives, people society ignored.” He provided them with food, shelter, and occasionally even jobs. To be able to afford all of that, people assumed he must have been engaging in illicit activity. However, that was untrue. He saved every dime while working odd jobs.
“So, what made him go?” I asked quietly.
She paused before responding. “There was an issue. He was accused of stealing from his store by a local company owner. Everyone, even your father, thought it was true. We advised him to leave town until the situation was resolved. However, after he left… Her voice broke. “He never returned.”
I made the decision to look up more details about the man in the picture because I was determined to discover answers. Asking neighbors if they had seen anyone who fit his description was how I got started. The elderly woman who lived two streets over, Mrs. Dunlap, jumped up when I told her about him, but most people shrugged.
“Oh,” she replied. “I’ve spotted him close to the former train station. Always carrying blankets and bundles of clothing. He seems to be assisting those unfortunate people who are sleeping on the streets.
Graffiti covered the deteriorating walls of the long-abandoned rail station. Nevertheless, my heart was racing when I drove there late that night. A guy was bent over a fire barrel, warming his hands, when I pulled into the parking lot. I knew him immediately, even from a distance. Cal was the one.
As I got closer to him, my legs felt like jelly. Startled, he looked up, but his face softened when he spotted me. “Ellie?” he whispered, referring to me by the term he never used.
“Uncle Cal,” I exhaled, tears in my eyes. “It’s actually you.”
We were silent for a long time. At last, he motioned for me to take a seat next to him. I saw up close the toll life had taken on him: graying stubble covering his jaw, deep lines carved into his face. But I could still see the same warm brown in his eyes.
“I’ve heard they’re trying to find me,” he muttered. “Did you mention that you saw me to them?”
“No,” I said. However, why are they trying to find you? Have you taken anything?
He gave a dry laugh. “No, Ellie. However, I have been assisting others in avoiding homelessness. Some store owners are upset because they think I’m promoting loitering. After a neighboring break-in, one of them reported me. Simply by my presence, they presume that I am guilty.
I felt a bubble of anger. “That is unfair.”
“It’s not,” he concurred. “But the world does not owe us fairness.”
We spent hours catching up on years that had passed. He shared with me his journey, the lives he had impacted, and the struggles he had faced. In exchange, I told him about my own life, including the friendships I’d established, the profession I’d developed, and the silent pain of missing him after all these years.
It was getting close to light as I departed. Cal gave me a small gift wrapped in cotton before I left in my car. There was a smooth stone within that had been worn smooth by many voyages across the lake. His smile was wry as he asked, “Remember our lessons?”
I gripped the stone tightly and nodded. “I’m grateful.”
I kept thinking about Cal when I got home. I felt compelled to take action after hearing his story. So I went back to the police station to clear his name, not to turn him in. I was able to prove that Cal was not engaged in the heist by using Mrs. Dunlap’s testimony as well as evidence from other witnesses. Rather, surveillance footage exposed the true offender—a dissatisfied worker looking to exact revenge on his supervisor.
Later that week, Cal’s face lit up with relief as I broke the news to him. He said, “You didn’t have to do that.”
I said, “Yes, I did.” “You are worthy of better than being pursued pointlessly.”
For a short while, Cal came back to town to catch up with old acquaintances and make amends when necessary. He pledged to stay in contact even though he eventually returned to his wandering way of life. And he did—receiving letters on a daily basis, each one full of stories of generosity and fortitude.
Cal taught me that kindness frequently has a price, but it’s worth it. that defending the truth, even in the face of difficulty, has the power to transform lives, including your own.
Life Lesson: Sometimes standing up for what’s right, even when it seems impossible, and following your gut are the bravest things you can do. Justice finds those who seek it, but karma may take its time.
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