Twilight on a cloudy day. It has to be the worst. Cloudy days are hard enough if one is at all affected by the light, but twilight on a cloudy day is worse than two such days together. The directionless light slowly fades and without a sun to watch sink behind the Earth the mind just barely comprehends the light’s fading. Until suddenly it is dark. As the invisible sun sinks one just notices how difficult it is to see and how stark the sky looks. And twilight on a cloudy day in the middle of February is a time to hide from.

Me, I can’t hide. It’s my job to be out walking the streets, trying to look dangerous enough that truly dangerous people stay home. So I just end up on some street corner noticing the shadows, the cold and feeling the weight of the sky on my head. Sometimes I wish I could just flap my arms and fly up over the clouds. I’d sit on a cloud and watch the sun go down in that glittering whiteness. And I wouldn’t come down until the clouds had faded away. Sometimes I wish…. But the ground pulls at my feet and so often I feel too heavy to fly up even a foot.

Like today, for instance. The street lights have come on and the sky is getting dark. I can feel every single cloud over my head like a hand pushing me down. Funny, I didn’t know someone could be claustrophobic outside.

I’m walking along the street, looking for trouble, hoping I won’t find any, wishing someone would come along and take the weight of the sky off my shoulders. I see this kid about to cross the street. He looks as out of place in this neighborhood as I’d look in a cathedral. Something in my head says trouble might find him soon.

I walk up next to him and watch the traffic. This part is always so hard- trying to stop trouble without causing any. People react badly when a stranger like me walks up and tells them they’re in danger.

There’s something about this kid that speaks troubling in the back of my mind. Besides the fact that I see a beating in his near future. I don’t want him to know I’m looking, but even apart from that I can’t seem to look at him straight on. I should be moving off finding a place to watch him from, but I can’t seem to move from this corner. So I’m stuck here not looking at him, not looking away.

A split second eternity later he looks at me. In the dim light it’s hard to see face in shadow, but I can see his eyes. Old and young, endless sad and impossibly happy, gentle and more dangerous than anything I’ll ever meet on these streets. These eyes catch me and promise to never let me go. And right before I fall on my knees and beg for mercy his hand comes up. He is holding a small, red jewel.

“It is for the sadness,” he says. “For the weight, the sorrow, the cold. A gift.”

Then he turns and walks away. I stare after him the ruby in my hand still warm from his. “For the weight. the sorrow, the cold” he’d said. As the last light of day fades from the world I cup my hands around the ruby and stare. For a moment I feel the warmth of the sun, see the brilliant light of a sunny day and those impossible eyes smiling at me. And the weight of the sky eases off my shoulders and I feel warm under my coat. Somehow I know there will be no trouble tonight. This is his gift to me and for a moment I feel like maybe I could fly.