SHORT stories

On the streets of New York

He shuffled through the crowd making his way towards his curb. His clothes were disheveled and filthy. His hair was long, matted down and oily, and his beard was unruly. Specks of grey had started to show unknown to him since he hadn't gazed upon himself in years.

His blue grey eyes were tired and sunken, and showed a faded spirit. Many in the crowd jeered at him as he passed or quite obviously avoided him completely. These same people got excited when a dog walked by, anxious to show it affection.

He was used to being ignored or mocked. It was part of his life. When he reached "his" curb and sat down he picked up his cardboard sign with his worn dirty fingers and raised it to be seen.

Retired veteran and father. Any money you can spare is appreciated, it read. 

It was rare for someone to stop and read his sign, usually they looked right through him, as though he wasn't even there.

It hadn't always been that way. He used to be a respected officer in the marines. Many had looked up to him. Some even called him a hero for his bravery and selflessness.

After Afghanistan everything changed. He was changed. He came back home a different person. His family grew tired of his crying out at night from terrors. The smallest noises irritated him and his children grew distant. His wife could no longer understand him and lost interest. He had been gone for so long that his children were grown, and his wife indifferent. He was a stranger to his family, and they were strangers to him. The PTSD became more than they could bear. 

Eventually he was told to leave by his wife who couldn't take it anymore. He lost his family, his children, and everyone he once loved because he made a choice to serve his country.

He tried to get help but couldn't afford it. He found himself out on the streets, and his appearance made it hard to even get a job interview. He tried until he had no options left. He eventually just accepted that no one would hire a homeless man, even if he had once been seen as a hero.

He sat on his corner watching the people go by without them giving him a moments notice. He was so absorbed in how everyone was ignoring him that he didn't notice when a small child approached him.

"Excuse me mister," a tiny voice croaked next to him. When he didn't respond he felt a tugging at his arm. He looked beside him to find a little boy of about five biting his lip with tears in his eyes.

"I can't find my mom," the child whimpered, "No one will help me."

The man felt his heart melt a little. His heart that had grown cold to people because they were cold to him. Yet here was a small child who saw him. Who needed him.

The child reminded him of his own children and how they used to give him that same look of reliance before he had abandoned them to serve.

He grinned at the boy and began to stand up. His limbs hurt from the cold and he stumbled a little before steadying himself.

"I'll help you find her," The man said softly, surprised to hear kindness in his own voice. "What's your name?"

The boy mumbled some unidentifiable name then began to sob, "I want my mom."

"How about I lift you up on my shoulders and you can point her out?"

The boy nodded, wiping his tear with the back of his small hand. He hoisted him up carefully and placed him on his shoulders.

The man felt something he hadn't felt in years. Useful. For once he had a purpose. It only took a few seconds before the child pointed and started calling his mother. He waved his arms at a panic stricken looking woman who made her way through the crowd towards them.

Her face was ashen and she had tears in her eyes. The man lifted the boy down from his shoulders and handed him to his mother. She embraced and kissed him before glancing up at the homeless man with a horrified look on her face.

"Mommy this man helped me find you!"

"Thank you," she said, scanning his appearance judgingly. She noticed his sign.

"You're a veteran?"

He nodded, "Yes ma'am, I served in Afghanistan."

Her expression that was one of suspicion softened and she started fumbling through her purse and took out her wallet.

"No ma'am," He protested as she pulled out money, "you don't owe me anything."

He could really use the money but he didn't deserve it simply for helping this child find his mother.

"Please," she insisted, "there must be something I can do for you."

He thought about all the things he needed but shook his head. "I'll be alright ma'am."

She gazed at him sympathetically. "Here," she said handing him a business card. "If you ever need anything call me."

She smiled then took her child's hand and they made their way down the sidewalk. He looked down at the business card. Executive Director.  She was the executive director of a large company!

"Wait!" He called after the mother and her child. He chased after them and caught up to them out of breath. He hadn't run in ages.

"Ma'am, I hate to bother you again but I have to ask. Do you have any job openings?"

That day changed Jake's life. Once act of kindness blessed him with a job and he was able to get help for his PTSD.

He slowly reconnected with his wife and children and became a respected man once again.

One act of kindness was all it took for blessings to be showered over him. If he had refused to help the child he would still have been on the streets of New York, invisible and cold hearted. The child was like his angel, who softened his heart and brought him hope once again.