This afternoon in town, I was rushing around trying to get some last minute shopping done. I was stressed out and not thinking very fondly of the fucking Christmas season right then. It was cold and wet in the parking lot as I was loading my car up with gifts that I felt obligated to buy.
I noticed that I was missing a receipt that I might need later. So mumbling under my breath, I retraced my steps to the shopping center entrance.
As I was searching the wet pavement for the lost receipt, I heard a quiet sobbing. The crying was coming from a poorly dressed boy of about 12 years old. He was short and thin. He had no coat. He was just wearing a ragged jersey to protect him from the cold.
Oddly enough, he was tightly clutching a hundred dollar bill in his hand. Thinking that he had gotten lost from his parents, I asked him what was wrong.
He told me his sad story. He said that he came from a large refugee family. He had three brothers and two sisters. His father was killed when he was eight years old. His mother was poorly educated and worked two full time jobs. She made very little to support her large family. Nevertheless, she had managed to skimp and save two hundred dollars to buy her children Christmas presents. The young boy had been dropped off by his mother, on the way to her second job.
He was to use the money to buy presents for all his brothers and sisters and save just enough to take the bus home. He had not even entered the mall, when an older boy grabbed one of the 100 dollar bills and disappeared into the night.
'Why didn't you scream for help?' I asked.
The boy said, 'I did.'
'And nobody came to help you?' I wondered. The boy stared at the sidewalk and sadly shook his head.
'How loud did you scream?' I inquired.
The soft-spoken boy looked up and meekly whispered, 'Help me!'
I realized that absolutely no one could have heard that poor boy cry for help. So I grabbed his other hundred and ran to my car.
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'this isn't a beer belly...
it's the fuel tank for my love machine!'
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