I’m already a target because I’m overweight, but being overweight and receiving benefits? People believe they understand me completely. I share a little apartment with my daughter, Lyra. At seven years old, she asks a lot of questions that I don’t always know the answers to. For example, we never order pizza like her friends’ families do, and we never keep apples in the refrigerator. In all honesty, I don’t want to give her cheap frozen nuggets or fast noodles every day. However, fresh fruit? Meat that is lean? Even those tiny Greek yogurt tubs? Far too expensive. I’ve performed…
Author: World Wide
I saw the man standing right outside the door while I was cleaning trays behind the counter. Kind but exhausted eyes, a torn flannel blouse, and a plastic bag slung over one shoulder. The stench of old clothes and street dust followed him in as he paused before entering. People come in more for warmth than Whoppers because we’re just off the highway, so it wasn’t out of the ordinary. Nevan, who is twelve years old, beat me to greeting him. He was nibbling the rest of his fries while waiting for my shift to conclude at the booth by…
Despite only being eight years old, my daughter Naya has more heart than the majority of adults I know. She had the idea to donate her hair roughly two years ago after seeing a movie about children with cancer. Pure Naya, with no pushing or prodding. Some children lose their hair and are unable to purchase wigs, she informed me. I would like to assist. And that was all. Since then, she has been cultivating it. She never once altered her mind despite tangles, summer heat, terrible hair days, and other kids making fun of her “witch hair.” We achieved…
It was a Monday when I first saw him. In the midst of the station’s commotion, with coffee spilling, briefcases swinging, and everyone rushing to get somewhere else. With a yellow sash that said HELPING THE HOMELESS over his chest, he stood motionless and leaned on a battered wooden cane. One hand holds a tiny donation tin. In the other, a smile. And that sign at his feet. “I can change the clothes I’m collecting for someone who can’t if I get wet.” I paused. Not for very long. No more than enough to read twice. Its straightforward, honest, and…
The kind of rain that soaks your socks before you even get to the corner was falling steadily and slant. With earbuds in, umbrellas up, and hearts elsewhere, everyone was hurrying past puddles and foggy glass with their heads down. All but the child. He was no older than five years old. His jacket was zipped up to his chin, his bright blue cap had a pom-pom, and his little Velcro shoes were half-soaked from the sidewalk. He was crouching in front of a shop as if he had found a hidden gem. It wasn’t treasure, though. It was a…
On his farm, an old man discovered three abandoned infants. On his farm, an old man discovered three abandoned newborns. When he came closer, he was astounded to see something strange. Seventy-year-old John Peterson, who had spent his whole life on the farm, lived on a small homestead surrounded by mountains, and the light was just beginning to rise over them. The wisdom and sacrifices accrued over decades of work were reflected in his face, which was marked by deep wrinkles and a restrained grin. Like many others, he went early that morning with his devoted dog, Bella, a bright-eyed…
Every Thursday at around 3 p.m., we saw him. same cart with motors. The same JEGS hat in yellow. And in the basket, the identical red rose bouquet—always—always. He would drive right by the deli, enter the flower area, select the largest bunch, and sniff them as if they were still significant. At one point, my colleague Kira asked him, “Is today a special occasion?” “Not today,” he simply stated with a smile. Only Thursday. I was fascinated, so I decided to follow him out that week. With unsteady hands, he packed his goods into a beige vehicle. He opened…
He was a regular Thursday morning visitor to the shop. Always grinning, always with a little scent of motor oil and sawdust. However, something was different today. He had a small paw protruding from his jacket today, which was zipped halfway up. A kitty was curled up against his chest, sound asleep. Cream-colored fur, her ears twitching as if she were dreaming of a world free from danger and hunger. I questioned him about her origins. He looked sheepish as he rubbed his neck. He claimed to have found her in a ditch behind the lumber yard. “Crying and cold.”…
For years, my wife, Claire, and I attempted to conceive. She proposed adoption when that didn’t work. It felt natural. We finally met Sophie, a 4-year-old with a sparkling eye who had been in foster care since birth, after months of waiting. She held on to us from the beginning, referring to us as Mommy and Daddy before it was formally recognized. When I came in from work a month after bringing her home, Sophie threw herself at me and put her tiny arms around my legs. Her voice faltered. “I don’t want to go.” I knelt down in confusion.…
