In the days between the World Wars, a little girl came into this world. She always wanted to do what was right, what her parents had taught her. Her childhood was troubled, but she always tried to do the right thing. She married--because it was the right thing to do. She had four children--because it was the right thing to do.

Later her husband died and her children grew up and moved far away, as the young often do these days.

Sometimes she would sit for long hours, remembering her life--its joys, its pains, its sorrows. And she would sing. Whenever she was alone--and that was often--she would sing to herself. She never had the time to have voice training and just sang for her own pleasure. It somehow helped her get through the pain.

One day, she sang while hanging her laundry outside.

#

Charlie woke from his slumber on the other side of the backyard fence.

Her voice stirred him. He remembered a better time when his children had sung. Those were the best days of his life. Now, all that was gone. It had been the bottle, pulling harder and harder on him till he sank into its depths. First the job went, then his marriage. Then he lost his car. With nowhere to go, he joined the uncountable homeless who slept wherever they could.

Her singing stopped. Oh how he wished she would continue! He peeked through a keyhole in the fence and saw her carry a basket of laundry into the house. The clothesline was empty. She would not be coming back.

He sat down and leaned against the boards, the sound of her voice echoing inside him. He found it hard to breathe as he choked up. Why couldn't he have a happy life like her? Why did he have to live in such depression all the time?

He heard her singing again, but quieter. He turned and peeked through the keyhole again, but could not see her. She was singing a sad song this time, but the lilt of her voice touched something strong inside him. She was singing to him, he was sure.

Her voice and beautiful song reached deep inside him, reminding him of what was decent and good.

He decided to try once more to kick the bottle. After all, what had it done for him but bring a living hell? He got up and stumbled down the back alley to the local 'Y'. The kind folks there let him take a shower and wash his clothes. Another vagrant like himself even loaned him his razor. A little soap foam later and he found his chin again.

But the shave and shower and fresh clothes could not take the sadness out of his eyes. Who would hire a man who looked like that? Then he remembered her voice and smiled. Yes! That was it! When he wanted to put on his best face, he'd remember her singing and smile.

The man at the grocer store looked him over from head to toe and shook his head.

The man at the car wash simply shook his head.

He had better luck at the recycle center. Maybe all that trash around made it easier to choose a man whose clothes had holes.

He put on the gloves and learned how to sort the wood, plastic, and paper from the other junk. He worked hard the rest of that day and was surprised to see the foreman hand him twenty dollars.

He stared at it, his first honest buck in how long now? God, he couldn't even remember when he had first started begging.

He bought some food at an outdoor market. When he came to the counter with the wine, his heart beat faster. His hand shook and he knew he needed the sauce. Needed it bad.

But he remembered her singing and the promise he'd made to himself and walked on. It was the hardest decision he had made in years. He carried the bag of food to that back yard behind where the lady had sung.

That evening, he slept his first night in a long time free of the nightmares.

A song woke him. At first he did not know where he was, but her singing pulled at him. He found the peephole and stared inside. She carried a bag of garbage to the cans not too far from him--and she sang another song. A song of joy. And hope. And love.

Then she went in and shut the door and the beautiful notes disappeared. He bowed his head and wept as the echoes of her beautiful song rang in his head.

He looked over the fence at the garbage cans--and then remembered his job.

He missed breakfast that day, but managed to grab a bite at lunch break and worked till late afternoon. This time the foremen gave him forty dollars. He got a cheap room at a run-down and almost abandoned motel. And saved his money.

As the weeks went by, he bought some new clothes. Well, not exactly new, but the best the Salvation Army had on their racks. Six months later, he got a better paying job at the supersaver store, stocking shelves. Then he moved up to cashier--and finally made floor manager of the night shift.

#

A year later, when he was reading the newspaper, he gulped. There was a face where he never expected to see it. The obituary said that Mrs. Simone had passed away. She had cancer for six years before she died. Six years. That meant she was ill the whole time he knew her. And still she managed to sing such beautiful songs.

He dropped the newspaper and cried, not caring if anyone else in the park saw him. Then he composed himself and read the obit again through watery eyes and was surprised to see she was being buried today.

He bought a single rose from the girl at the intersection and walked to the cemetery, arriving just as the people were milling away from the tent.

He waited until he was alone before stepping out. He bowed his head over her fresh grave and remembered the effect her singing had on him. She had saved his life as hers was ebbing away. He felt guilty when he realized that not once had he gone back to thank her--until it was too late.

His shoulders shook as he sobbed. He kneeled and placed his rose over her fresh dirt. A drop of tear landed on the flower. He stood and wiped his eyes with his handkerchief.

As he walked away, something moved from behind a tree.

It was a man, a balding, middle-aged man, dressed in a ragged gray suit, head bowed.

And carrying a single rose.