As I was finishing my shift at the downtown sporting goods store, I couldn’t wait to go home and relax after a long day of dealing with returns and faulty registers. On top of that, I had just received the news that my daughter, Amy, had failed another math test. As I stepped outside into the biting cold, I felt a wave of exhaustion wash over me. All I could think about was taking a hot bath and forgetting about the chaos of the day.
On my way to the bus stop, I passed by a shawarma stand that had been a familiar sight since I started working at the mall. The smell of roasting meat and spices filled the frosty air, but normally I would try to avoid the vendor because of his perpetual scowl. However, something made me stop that evening. I saw a homeless man and his dog approaching the stand, both looking frozen, tired, and painfully hungry.
The vendor barked at the man, asking if he was going to order anything or just stand there. The man hunched his shoulders and his dog pressed close for warmth. In a soft voice, he asked if he could get some hot water. The vendor snapped, refusing to help him and claiming he wasn’t running a charity.
I saw the man’s expression collapse and it reminded me of my late grandmother’s words. She used to say that a single act of kindness could change someone’s life. Without thinking, I stepped forward and ordered two coffees and two shawarmas for the man and his dog. The vendor grunted and demanded eighteen dollars, which I quickly paid. As I grabbed the food, I hurried after the man and his dog, who were both shaking from the cold.
The man whispered a thank you, his voice trembling with emotion. He said, “God bless you.” I managed a quick smile and was about to move on when he handed me a scrap of paper. He told me to read it at home and there was a strange intensity in his eyes.
I kept the note in my coat pocket until the next day when I found it while doing laundry. It read, “Thank you for saving my life. You don’t know this, but you saved it once before.” There was a date from three years ago and the name “Lucy’s Café.”
My chest tightened as I remembered Lucy’s Café, my favorite lunch spot that had closed down. I recalled a day during a thunderstorm when a soaking-wet man stumbled in, looking like he was ready to give up on everything. No one paid him any attention, but I bought him a coffee and a croissant without a second thought. At the time, I didn’t think much of it. But could it be that the man I helped at the café and the man with the dog were the same person?