I sit outside a coffee shop on callous concrete, hoping someone will give me something, anything, money, food, a coffee, kindness, but it’s bitter out and they are all understandably numb.
Men in unyielding suits talk on their phones and hold doors for capable people. I watch women with big hair chatter and chide, wrinkle their noses and throw half full cups into the trash as they skip away.
Not one looks at me and I too, feel less.
I cup my hands ‘round my mouth and savor the small touch of hospitality my warm breath provides. The air gets colder, my muscles stiffer, as time ticks on. I sit motionless, unable to think of much else other than where I’ll be in a few hours.
“Hey, can you hang on to my dog?” My body tenses at the unexpected voice so close to me.
I look at the little curly haired dog, and up at the little curly haired boy.
“I need to grab something real quick and he can’t run super fast, so if you’d just hold him for me…”
“No problem,” I agree, not sure what choice I have as the half-pint runs off without waiting for an answer.
The dog climbs up onto my lap. His belly is like a hot water bottle, his sandy fur a cozy coat. He stretches upwards and licks my face, his tongue soft and velvety. I feel myself loosen a little, a strained elastic slipping back to its natural state.
The very next person to come out hands me a five-dollar bill.
“Say no to drugs.” he laughs half serious, the next, a cup of steaming coffee and a few crumpled bills. “Cute pup,’” she smiles. “Buy him a treat!”
By the time the boy returns, I’ve had a sandwich, a conversation and the shake of a hand. A shop employee even leaves a bowl full of fresh water for the dog and a handful of broken cookie bits.
“Thanks for watching Jack,” the boy’s tone is raspy, breathless. “It would’ve taken me way longer if I’d had to drag him along.”
He hands me a somewhat grizzly sleeping bag and a greyish pillow. “Here, they’re yours.” he tells me.
“What? No,” I say, shocked. “Where did you get these?”
“I gotta go,” he says, grabbing the dog. “I can come back tomorrow though. People are way more generous when Jack’s around.”
He takes off so quickly I barely have time to notice his dirty fingernails, his hoodie full of holes or Jack effortlessly keeping up alongside him.
What I do notice as they trot off, is that I now feel more.
Hey. I like your blog and would like to add it to a directory of blogs and websites of authors and writers. If you would like me to add your blog, just send me an email at jamespchesley@gmail.com. Let me know your name, genre and web address. Thanks. The directory is at http://establishingwriter.wordpress.com.
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Thank you very much. I shot you an email! :0)
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Beautiful story. It brought to my mind a quote by Jack London I once heard in a sermon –
“A bone to the dog is not charity. Charity is the bone shared with the dog, when you are just as hungry as the dog.”
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I love that quote and it’s the essence of what I was trying to capture in this story. Thanks for sharing, Tony!
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Wow, that was so real…..I guess it is real for those less fortunate!! Another winner Hazy.
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Sadly, yes, it’s real for some. Thanks for reading!
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I thought this was a great little story about the picture. You really made me feel for the man holding Jack. Wonderful job!
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I found the pic after I wrote the story! Thanks, QE, for your visit and your comment! :0)
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It’s amazing how a dog adds to the feelings we have when we look at a homeless person. It’s kind of sad in a way that people feel more for the dog than the person. This is a brilliant story…
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It is sad. I guess the feeling is that the animal is helpless…the human, not so much. But everybody can use a helping hand. Glad you enjoyed it, Dianne!
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I loved this vignette!!!
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Thanks, Jenn!
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