The Journal 2 - A Short Story Collection

Helping Hand

It was a cool but breezy afternoon where leaves fluttered to the ground, and trees became more beautiful over time before they were completely bare. Autumn was in full swing as I clutched my jacket for warmth, wishing I had brought my scarf because of the wind.

My usual lunch walks from the office consisted of taking various familiar paths that all ended up at my favorite local coffee shop. Though I experimented with their coffees before, I much preferred the peppermint mocha that came out around this time of year.

Before leaving the premises, I also gave my change to the homeless man sitting beside the building, back hunched over with a tin can sitting in front of him. He had an assortment of items near him with a shopping cart parked to his left.

He wore ripped, dirty blue jeans, with a ragged t-shirt and jacket, and shoes that were probably one size too large. The man never looked up at me when I approached, said "Hello", nor when I gave him my change. He only said "Thank you" as I walked away.

I never saw anyone else give him anything before. I felt terrible, picturing myself where he sat. Everyone saw the world from their own perspective, not in others. It made it easy to judge and be unhelpful. I tried to be selfless whenever I could, and this was one small act.

Sympathy was just hard to come by.

So, I continued my noble quest to be a better person the very next day. Like usual, the man sat outside the coffee shop, as he did every other day for every weekday I've walked over there. I dropped my change into the man's tin can upon leaving the shop.

"Thank you," the man said in his usual rough and slurred tone.

Walking away, a little boy stopped me by saying, "Mister! Mister!"

He was with his mother, holding her hand as her mother tried to pull him away from me. I wasn't sure if she naturally distrusted others or men in general, but I couldn't argue with her on that. While I'm not that type of person, I've seen plenty of them out there.

Yet, the little boy was stubborn, and he insisted his mother stop for a moment. Once she gave in, she told me sorry as she let her boy speak. I kneeled to his height to give my undivided attention.

"Why do you keep dropping money on the ground?" the little boy asked.

The mother, hearing what her son asked, tried to usher him away, saying, "Sorry sir...come on sweetheart, let's not bother the man."

Confused, I asked back, "Wait, hold on, what do you mean?"

While struggling with his mother, the little boy responded, "I've seen you throw money on the ground several times now."

As I was about to respond to the boy, still confused, about the homeless man, I looked over to the man himself. For the first time since I've met the homeless man, he looked straight at me with a crooked smile and the most soulless black eyes I've ever seen.

The air grew more frigid as if winter had approached in the middle of October. In the matter of just a blink, the man was gone, and all that remained was my small pile of change from the coffee shop.

"Are you crazy, Mister?" asked the boy from a distance as his mother picked him up to move away from me quicker.

I remained crouched there for a moment, unsure how to process what I just saw.

"Maybe I am," is all I could say to myself.

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Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed the story!