From Chaos to Compassion

 

            The Williams household was a maelstrom of feminine drama, a single mom with three teenage daughters, all of whom were focused on, obsessed with, and devoted to social media. Every day was a mirror image of the day before and the day after, arguments for who had access to the bathroom first, yelling, name calling, breakfast and then departure for school. Mother Melissa collapsed on the couch when the girls all crossed the front door threshold to climb onto the school bus.

              “Oh, wow, the silence, the calm, and the peace of an empty house,” she muttered to herself. “Forty-five minutes, I’ve got forty-five minutes, that should be enough time to get a shower in before I start work for the day.” She pulled herself to her feet, shuffled into the bathroom for a lukewarm shower, a fresh set of clothes and hours of work on her laptop until the girls would burst through the door around three o’clock.

              Relishing the silence until lunchtime, she stepped away from her work, made herself a sandwich and a hard lemonade to help take the edge off. The alcohol slowly calmed her down, introduced a small slur in her speech, and eventually wore off before she clocked back in for work and a meeting with the rest of the team. Knowing what was coming next, the clock chimed three strikes and were immediately followed by three noisy teenage girls, chattering, complaining, and looking for a snack.

              Melissa worked for two more hours, while the girls lost themselves on their phones, lounging around in different rooms of the house. The hard lemonade from lunch had fully worn off, giving her a sense of disappointment, which immediately brought to mind the bottle of tequila she had hidden on the top shelf in the pantry. She peeked through each nearby room to see that all three girls had ascended to the second floor, giving her the chance to retrieve her secret stash and sit down on the couch.

              “Wow, why am I so warm?” she wondered. “Oof, I guess it is ninety-five degrees out, so that explains it.” Feeling awkward and uncomfortable, she stood up, sat the bottle on the coffee table, removed her pants and her t-shirt, retrieved the bottle, sat back down and began sipping the contents every few seconds, trying to keep track of how many shots she was consuming.

              The bottle was soon empty, and Melissa slowly collapsed into a heap to be immediately joined by the orange cat that frequented their home. She heard the sound of approaching feet to see her oldest daughter standing over her. “Emma, go make some dinner,” she said. “I am so tired after today, I just don’t have the energy to do anything.”

              “Yeah, sure Mom,” Emma answered to slowly walk into the kitchen, followed by the next oldest daughter.

              “Hey, Anna,” she said. “Mom’s been on the bottle again, so we need to make dinner. It’ll go faster if we work together. Let’s look through the fridge and freezer and see what we can find. I’m thinking chicken and rice would be good tonight.”

              Both girls turned to look back into the living room as the youngest girl sat on the edge of the coffee table looking down at their mother who had fallen asleep, with a puddle of drool on the pillow beneath her head. “Anna, this is not good,” Emma said. “It seems like Mom does this every night, at least for the past several weeks. Have you noticed how sad she seems all the time. I really don’t know what to do to help her. She is going down a dangerous path that will probably lead to her losing her job.”

              “That would be really bad,” Anna answered. “We need to keep an eye on her, what she buys at the grocery store, and probably start hiding her hidden stashes. She obviously has no self-control when it comes to liquor. If she can’t find it, she can’t drink it. We need to be aggressive in protecting her.”

              “That’s a great idea,” Emma said. “If she loses her job, we lose our house, we won’t be able to buy groceries, and we won’t be able to buy gas for the car. I don’t know what’s been happening with her lately, it’s like she deliberately chooses to make bad decisions when the good and right decisions are so obvious. Let’s try to get her to talk about what she’s thinking.”

              “Alright, dinner is ready,” Anna said. “Go get Clara so we can all eat together. I’d be surprised if Mom was able to walk in here and actually eat anything.” The three girls sat alone at the kitchen table, while Melissa snored and drooled for the next hour.

              “Clara, Anna and I made dinner, so you can clean up the kitchen,” Emma said. “I’ll put together a dinner plate for whenever Mom wakes up.” The hours ticked by, the girls were all tired, turned off the lights, and escaped to their bedrooms, worried sick about their Mother and if she would eventually wake up and eat something.

              Anna popped awake at midnight to the sound of her mother rummaging through the kitchen and grumbling to herself. She slipped out of her bedroom, snuck into Emma’s room, woke her and shared an idea she had been ruminating on for several weeks. “Emma, wake up,” she said. “I was thinking that we really do waste a lot of time on our phones and social media. We should try to focus our attention on Mom and on other people around the community that need help. Doing good for others seems like the right thing to do. Let’s start tomorrow after school.”

              “Uh, yeah, okay, that sounds good,” Emma said. “I guess we can bring Clara home after school, get Mom into a good head space, and then find other people we can help. There are a lot of old people on this street who probably need help with keeping their homes clean, cooking meals, and having someone to talk to. You hear a lot of stories about old people being lonely. Who knows, maybe we’ll make some new friends, and learn something new."

              The next morning transpired like all other mornings. The girls made it through another day of school, brought their youngest sister home, rummaged through the pantry to find a bottle of Scotch which they hid in the upstairs bathroom. “Clara,” Emma said. “You stay here with Mom and talk to her a lot. Anna and I are going down the street to help Mrs. Johnston with cleaning her house. If Mom asks what we’re doing, tell her that we left to help out an old person without household chores.”

              In what became a routine three days a week, Emma and Anna began to develop a reputation around town for being those two nice Williams girls who are always willing to help anyone who needs it. They spent more hours cleaning kitchens, cleaning bathrooms, running laundry, and cooking meals for the elderly than they ever could have imagined. They made a point of being home by six o’clock to confirm that their Mother was not passed out on the couch.

              Most evenings they walked into a home that was quiet and peaceful to a home cooked meal and a Mother who was coherent and concerned about their activities. The next day after school, Emma and Anna took a day off to clean and organize their own home, while their mother finished her last two hours of work.

              “Oh, girls,” Melissa said. “I’ve been hearing stories around town about you two helping many of the old people around town. That is really good, I’m proud of you. It is certainly better than losing yourselves in social media on your phones. I’ve heard these stories from at least six or seven different people. You are creating a really good reputation for yourselves; people are saying good things. Good job, keep it up.”

              Four weeks, then five weeks, and then six weeks passed doing their volunteer activity, which eventually turned into the elderly occasionally offering them moderate payments for their work, which allowed them to buy themselves special treats at the local grocery store. After dinner on a Friday evening, the three girls walked to the local coffee shop, bought four iced mochas and returned home to surprise their mother.

              “Hey, Mom, we bought you a surprise,” Emma said. “Some of the older people have been paying us a little bit each time we do some work. We thought you might like a coffee tonight.”

              The four of them sat down together on the couch to watch a movie, enjoying their dessert like drinks, eating popcorn, and laughing at the latest Pixar release. The movie ended, Anna and Clara cleaned up while Emma helped her mother upstairs into her bedroom, making sure that she had no access to alcohol or any other substances.

              She looked into her mother’s dark, empty, and sad eyes, wondering if there was anything she could do to pull her mother away from this horrible edge of depression she seemed to be drifting toward. She tucked her mother into bed, turned off her light, shut the door, and descended the stairs to help finish cleaning and organizing the house, wanting to present their mother with an orderly home when she rose the next morning.

              As they finished cleaning the house, Emma pulled Anna and Clara to the foot of the stairs. “I’ve begun to realize that we argue a lot, we yell a lot, and I’m certain that this is really making Mom’s life pretty miserable. Let’s work hard at not being like that and instead try to do more to make her happy and less overwhelmed by everything that needs to happen around here. We know how to clean, we know how to do laundry, and we know how to do yardwork. We’ve been doing all this for other people, so let’s start doing this for Mom as well. She works hard, she has a lot of responsibilities, and we need to do more to help her.”

              The next Monday ended with the girls returning home from school to find their mother working on her laptop. “Oh, girls,” she said, “we’ll be having many visitors tonight for a barbeque. A group of elderly ladies stopped by a couple of hours ago and wanted to do a community get together, as a way to say thank you for all that you’ve done for so many on our street.”

              “Oh, wow,” Emma said. “I did not expect anything like that to happen.”

              “So, stay off your phones,” Melissa said. “In fact, put your phones in your rooms so you’re not tempted to be distracted by them. Spend your time being social with our visitors and see if we can learn more about our neighbors, our community, and what other good things we could be doing for them.”

Dinner for All

 

            The little boy lay alone on a single blanket on the laminate floor, hidden behind another blanket that had been pinned to the ceiling, creating a type of private room all of his own. The light that bled through the bedroom window was enough to allow him to read the small pile of comic books his mother had found in a dumpster a few blocks from their apartment. The apartment was absolutely silent, a painful reminder of how common it was for him to spend his evenings cold, hungry, and longing for company.

              He knew he had been alone for many hours, prompting him to slip out from behind his blanket to see that the clock in the living room had finally reached the ten o’clock hour. The sound of a key in the front door lock triggered a fight or flight response in him, pushing him to hurry back to his tiny, cold, and empty space. He curled up on the thin, single blanket that served as his sleep space, to hear his mother and a random stranger stagger into the apartment and enter the other bedroom.

              The banging on the wall, the sound of his mother’s labored breathing, and the bestial growls of the random stranger assaulted his hearing, bringing up images of his mother from so many nights just like this one. Little Jesse drilled his fingers into his ears to drown out the horrible sounds, the slaps and the punches that always left his mother begging for mercy.

              Evenings like this one were common, one bleeding into the next, until Jesse could no longer keep track of how many men followed his mother into their apartment, abused her, paid her cash, and then left after about an hour. Every evening was the same, she would arrive around ten o’clock with one stranger, to then leave shortly after he departed, to then return an hour later with another stranger, and repeat the cycle over and over.

              The following morning Jesse woke to an empty apartment, cold, hungry, and confused about the absence of his mother. “This doesn’t make any sense,” he muttered to himself. “She is always here in the morning to make me breakfast, to hug me, and to make sure that I have everything that I need.” Following his usual routine, he took a quick shower, dressed appropriately for the cold weather, and searched through the kitchen in hopes of finding something to eat.

              The only fruit from his searching endeavors was a mostly empty box of breakfast cereal and a single bottle of ketchup in the refrigerator. He warmed up a cup of water in the microwave to pour over the meagre portion of cereal, which would barely begin to satiate his raging hunger. He finished his meal, searched through his mother’s bedroom to find a wad of cash, which would allow him to make a trip to the grocery store only three blocks away.

              He slipped on his shoes and jacket to brave the cold walk, stepping over homeless people, garbage, and countless syringes. He reached the opening of an alleyway and saw a pair of bare legs sticking out from underneath a pile of cardboard. He recognized a tattoo on the left leg which perfectly matched that of his mothers. “Oh, no, this is not good,” he said under his breath. He hurried into the alley, pulled the cardboard away and looked into the face of his mother, motionless and slightly blue.

              A wave of nausea passed over him as he wondered what would become of him now that he was truly alone. He hurried from the scene, found a police officer and led him back to his mother. “Oh, little man, I am so sorry,” the officer said. “Here, come with me back to my police car. You need somewhere safe to be, while I call child protective services.” Jesse sat in the back seat of the car and pressed his forehead onto his knees, terrified at what was going to happen next.

              Within a few minutes, a middle-aged woman arrived and took him to a beautiful, warm, and safe home. She introduced him to a woman a few years older than his mother, who was clean, kind, and gentle. The three of them sat down at the kitchen counter for a snack, of which Jesse was utterly thankful, as he was still hungry from his small portion of breakfast cereal.

              He watched the two women fill out some paperwork and then the middle-aged woman left, which was followed by the kind woman in her beautiful home showing Jesse his own room with an actual bed and a private bathroom. Before the woman had a chance to leave, he hugged her with intensity and flopped down on the soft and warm bed.

              “I was about to start making lunch,” she said. “Come downstairs in about twenty minutes and we can enjoy a meal together. You can call me Carole.”

              “Thank you, Carole,” Jesse said. “You have beautiful, warm, and comfortable home. This is nothing like the home my mother provided for me. Do you live here alone?”

              “No, my husband James is at work right now,” she said. “He’ll be back around five o’clock and the three of us can enjoy dinner together. I know that the three of us will get to know one another well. I am excited to hear about you, what things you like, and what we can do to make you feel safe and comfortable.”

              Weeks turned into months, and months turned into years, and during all of this time, Jesse grew in a loving, kind, gentle, and generous young man, well-educated with a heart toward helping people. He graduated from high school and began a series of classes at a local culinary school. His cold, lonely, and empty childhood before coming to live with Carole and James, moved him to find great joy in creating wonderful meals for other people.

              He graduated at the top of his class and began developing the idea of starting his own restaurant in the oldest, poorest, and most troubled part of the city. James and Carole offered to buy everything he would need to establish the restaurant and hire workers to assist him.

              “James and Carole, I was thinking that I would just serve breakfast and lunch,” he said. “But in the evenings, I would provide free meals to the homeless people and the prostitutes that fill our city. So many people look down upon these poor souls and treat them as if they were less than human. If I can do good, help them, and feed them, their lives will be that much better.”

              Jesse spent the next two weeks visiting multiple different locations for his restaurant until finally deciding on one that perfectly satisfied his ideas. He hired a group of college students to empty the building, clean it, and bring it up to code for the health department. Once everything was ready, he ordered the kitchen equipment, the tables and chairs, and created an account with a food delivery service. Within two weeks of everything arriving, he began advertising and saw a wonderful flood of people visiting his restaurant.

              After establishing a good name and reputation, he began to interact with the homeless people and the prostitutes, inviting them to his restaurant anytime they were hungry during the dinner hours. Breakfast and lunch hours were always remarkably busy, which led to an abundance of income, allowing him to provide free meals for those who were truly in need. Each time he watched a young woman enter the restaurant, he was reminded of his mother and the suffering she went through so many evenings.

              He greeted each person as they entered his restaurant, speaking softly and kindly, offering them any meal they desired. He could see every bruise, every tattoo, and the heart-rending hollowness in their eyes. The occasional person would stick out as unusual and he could see potential in some, hoping they would turn away from their poor life choices, occasionally offering them a chance to work in his restaurant, as a greeter, a dishwasher and sometimes as a waiter.

              He could see the emptiness and coldness melt within them when they spoke. “If only someone could have offered my mother something like this,” he thought. “But if they had, I wouldn’t be in this situation to help these people in this way.” Finally, one young woman accepted his offer to work in the kitchen and her work ethic was exceptional, her attitude and thankfulness were surprising. The joy that filled him as he watched her slowly transition into a healthy person with hopes and dreams now within her reach, moved him to offer her more opportunities to grow, to learn, and learn how to love and care for others.

              Many years passed and Jesse watched his restaurant continue to blossom, allowing him to open other restaurants around other difficult places in the city. In each of them, he continued to hire more homeless people and prostitutes, giving them the opportunity to improve themselves, grow, and learn. As he continued to grow older, he became friends with many of these people who had never truly known love or kindness. Jesse never married but he established his string of restaurants under a board of directors who would continue the work after he grew too old to eventually pass away.

The Unknown Need

 

            Stephen, the only child in the Adamos family, sat with his parents as they celebrated his tenth birthday. He looked around the relatively empty room, a small birthday cake in the center of the table and a frozen pizza slowly cooking in the oven in the kitchen behind him. He could feel the rage and disappointment emanating from his father, while his mother sat helpless across the table, her eye swollen shut, the fruit of his father’s uncontrollable hatred and rage.

              He put on a plastic smile to communicate the message that he was thankful for the meagre celebration before him, but his heart slowly shriveled as he replayed his mother’s cries and pleadings for mercy while his father beat her. Stephen was far too small to intervene or protect his mother, knowing that every morning when he emerged from his bedroom he would find his mother carrying new wounds on her tiny frame.

              The oven timer dinged, communicating the fact that dinner was ready, and Stephen watched his mother carefully rise from her seat, wincing with every movement to deliver their meagre dinner between the three of them. He thanked his mother as she placed the plate in front of him, while his father merely grunted and finished his beer.

              The three of them slowly ate the celebration meal and Stephen watched his father drink four more beers with his pizza. Now that the pizza was gone, the cake was divided into three portions, the largest for his father and the remaining portion was divided in half between him and his mother. The small boy hated his life, knowing that more beatings would be taking place that evening after he had gone to bed, the sounds of his mother crying and begging for mercy as he tried to fall asleep.

              He woke the next morning to a stream of profanity from his father and the sound of the front door slamming shut. Terrified at what he would find when he emerged from his bedroom, he waited a few moments with the hope that his father was truly gone from their home. He slipped out of his bed, changed from his pajamas into his clothes for school that day, to find his mother lying unconscious on the kitchen floor. Following what he had seen in the movies, he checked for a pulse to happily find that she was still alive and breathing.

              Knowing that his father would likely return, he locked the front door and the back door, sliding a chair under each handle, and quickly looked through each room in search of his mother’s cellphone, to eventually find it in her purse. He dialed 911 and gave a detailed description of what he found when he emerged from his bedroom. Within thirty minutes he welcomed the police into their home, who were shortly thereafter followed by the EMT’s who carefully lifted his broken mother from the floor onto the gurney.

              He sat in silence with two police officers until child protective services arrived to bring him somewhere safe. As they drove away, he told them everything he knew about his father, where he worked, his extended family whom he rarely saw, and his need to go to school that day. Sick with worry about his mother and the certain violent reaction from his father when he returned home to an empty house.

              Stephen was taken for a quick medical check-up and was delivered to school with instructions to the principal that CPS would be bringing Stephen to a safe home at the end of the school day. Distracted and terrified with concern over his mother, he felt like a zombie as he moved through the hallways, going from class to class, deliberately avoiding interaction with other students and teachers.

              The final bell rang for the day and Stephen hurried to the principal’s office to wait for the kind people from CPS to arrive and take him to see his mother before being transferred into a safe home with people he did not know. They arrived at the hospital, walked inside, and he took hold of his mother’s hand to then slide into bed next to her, knowing that she needed to be loved and protected.

              “You don’t need to worry, Stephen,” she said. “The police have taken your father away. He won’t hurt either one of us again. I need a few days to heal so you’ll need to stay with the nice family who have agreed to take care of you and give you all you need to recover. When I am strong enough, you and I can return home and be safe without the abuse we’ve endured for so long. Please be a good boy. I love you.”

              Stephen slid down from his mother’s side, kissed her hand, and joined the two CPS agents in the hallway. They returned to the car, drove for twenty minutes and entered the most beautiful and peaceful home he had ever experienced. He was introduced to a younger couple with an infant, who hugged him, offered him a snack and showed him to his own bedroom which was soft, beautiful and filled with toys and clothing, specifically chosen for him.

              He thanked them both, hugged them, and joined them for a dinner of fried chicken, steamed vegetables, and milk. He was in awe as he enjoyed the peaceful, gentle conversation that followed for the next thirty minutes. There was no violence, angry words, or threats of abuse. The three of them worked together, cleaning the kitchen, and leaving the house in an organized, beautiful state as they left the house to visit the elderly at a retirement home.

              Stephen was introduced to several other children his age, as they all began to engage in friendly conversation with many old people who had no one else, no family, no friends, and a deep need for kindness and love. The little boy marveled that such a world existed, where people were kind to one another, spoke gently to one another and truly enjoyed one another’s company, playing games, asking questions, and were genuinely interested in him.

              After two hours of pleasantries, they all left the retirement home and stopped for ice cream before returning home. Stephen could feel his heart growing warm and thrilled to learn that life was not at all about merely surviving but thriving. He and these new, kind people sat together in the restaurant enjoying their sweet dessert to then return to a quiet, beautiful, peaceful home, one without anger or violence.

              The three of them sat together listening to classical music, when the phone rang. “Oh, it’s CPS,” the woman said. She answered the call, stepped into the other room and returned within a few minutes. “Stephen,” she said. “They are saying that you’ll be staying with us tonight, tomorrow, and tomorrow night. Your mother is recovering quickly and will pick you up the next day. We will make sure that you go to school each day and come back here to wait for her to pick you up.”

              “Thank you, ma’am,” he answered. “Thank you so much for taking care of me and for being so kind. Your home is so quiet, peaceful and beautiful. I did not know that a home could be like this. I am quite tired. Can I go to bed now?”

              “Yes, of course,” she said. “I can help you get ready for a shower before bed if you’d like. I know that you’ll sleep well, and you’ll be safe with no need to worry about anything going wrong.”

              Stephen and his foster mother ascended the stairs, she took out a pair of pajamas from the dresser, started the shower for him, showed him where everything was in the bathroom and left him to take care of his needs. The little boy marveled at the beautiful bedroom, the beautiful private bathroom, the warm shower and the cozy pajamas that fit him perfectly.

              Two days passed, and he returned home from school to find his mother waiting for him in the kitchen of the foster home, looking rested and at peace. He carefully hugged her, knowing that she would still be somewhat sore from all that had happened.

              “Oh, Stephen, it is so good to see you,” she said. “We can be together now and there is no need to be concerned about your father. He will not be returning to our home. The police have established a safe new reality for us where he cannot be anywhere near us.” She rose from her chair, knelt down, and embraced him with a genuine motherly love, knowing that her little boy missed her as much as she missed him.

              “Thank you so much for taking care of Stephen,” she said to the foster parents.  They then left the beautiful, peaceful house, drove back to their own home and sat together in a home free of violence, anger, and profanity.

“Oh, Stephen,” she said. “The foster family has offered to help support us while your father is no longer part of our lives. They spoke very highly of you and thought that you were a very kind, thankful, and wonderful little boy. Of course, I already knew that. Our time together will be so good now. This is how life should be, a quiet, peaceful home that has nothing violent or ugly within it. We can spend good time together and love one another. I am so excited to hear about your time with the foster family. Tell me all of the details.”

“Now that father is no longer here,” he said. “I know that our home can be quiet and peaceful like their home. They spoke kindly and gently to one another with beautiful music playing in the background and no anger. I hope I have the chance to see them again and thank them for all of the good they have done for us.”

“Yes, we can make that happen,” she said. “I have their phone number, and I know we can spend some time together with them. They are good people, and I know they truly enjoyed their time with you. It is good to pay back kindness when someone else has been kind to us.”

Acknowledging Weakness

 

            The twelve year old boy slipped into his father’s library to show off the few hairs that had just begun to reveal themselves on his upper lip. His father heard his attempts to silently enter the room to turn around and congratulate him on his first steps into puberty. “I’ve been waiting for this day, son,” he said. “You have begun to take on the size and shape of a man and now it is time for you to begin learning how to defend yourself, both physically and verbally.”

              “Okay, father,” the boy replied.

              “You and I will begin working together at least three days a week,” he said. “We will begin with a rigorous exercise routine which will enable you to take advantage of your size and give you the muscle and balance needed to protect yourself and protect others when those who are less than good try to cause trouble. Most importantly, you will learn how to think logically, rationally articulate yourself, so that you won’t have to resort to physical violence to put an end to the trouble caused by others.”

              “Okay, father,” the boy replied, “when do we start?”

              “We will start today, about two hours before dinner,” he answered. “We’ll start out with this practice three days a week to work you toward a bigger and stronger body, and after several weeks like this, we will add a day, and again after a few months, we’ll add another day.”

              “This will be great,” Anthony answered. “Based on what time it is right now, I’m guessing we’ll be starting within the hour.”

              Four weeks passed, then six more weeks passed, and finally three months passed, and Anthony marveled at how much stronger and more agile he had become in this short period of time. Every day during breakfast, he and his father would have in depth and thoughtful conversations about how to speak clearly, think clearly, and diffuse a potentially bad situation using his words rather than his muscles.

              Their conversations ranged across a wide field of religion and philosophy, including Christianity, Buddhism, philanthropy, and pacifism. Anthony wrote down notes as they spoke, allowing him to create an articulate approach to life, to thought patterns, and to a careful way of interacting with others, who in most cases had given little to no consideration to topics such as these.

               Every Sunday morning, he would weigh himself, take measurements of his chest, biceps, thighs, and calves, marveling at how muscular he had become as the months passed. He began watching bodybuilding videos, long distance and short distance running videos, all of which fed his ego about how much better he was than everyone else. As time continued to pass, he made the mistake of commenting about his thoughts about himself and the sorry state of most other people.

              “Don’t go down that path, Anthony,” his father said. “Yes, you may be bigger, stronger, and more thoughtful than most other people you will meet, but humility is the path you must maintain. There will always be someone bigger, stronger, or smarter than you, remember that and you will be a better person.”

              “Yes, father, I will keep that in mind,” he said. “Honestly, I find it incredibly frustrating that I cannot seem to find anyone with whom to discuss these topics or challenge in hand-to-hand combat. You have taught me well and I long for someone comparable to learn from and with whom to grow.”

              “This is a path that you will find challenging,” he said, “but remember that very few people have the opportunities that you have been given or have the mind that is interested in or willing to engage with this depth of thought. Make humility and willingness to learn your foundation for moving through life. Everyone you meet will have some sort of knowledge or skill that can make you a better person. This is not about you against the world, instead think of your path forward as an opportunity to become a stronger, wiser person.”

              The months turned into years and Anthony transitioned into training five days a week, and articulating his philosophy on most evenings, a glorious combination of hard physical work and mental gymnastics that seemed to be moving him in the wrong direction as he found himself becoming more and more arrogant about his superiority.

              He finished his last year of high school, applied for university and moved to a large town on the other side of the state to study biochemistry and continue his rigorous exercise regimen and philosophical ruminations. After two months on campus, he began making connections with other students and joined a martial arts class that further enhanced his wrestling and grappling skills, making him an even greater opponent.

              After his Wednesday night martial arts class, several other students approached him to invite him to join them on Friday evening at a fraternity on campus. “There will be a lot of girls there,” they promised. “A guy your size, with your skills and good looks, you won’t have any trouble meeting that perfect girl.”

              “Okay, give me the address,” he said, feeling somewhat guilty for attending such an event, knowing that alcohol would certainly be present and overused, a practice in which he had never indulged. Friday evening came around and he began the short walk from his dorm to the fraternity address, to see dozens of young people flooding into the building. Within seconds of stepping inside, he was surrounded by a scores of beautiful young women demanding his attention, his name, and his phone number. Being the kind and polite young man that he was, he gave out his contact info to more girls than he could count.

              He shifted around from room to room, making friends, making contacts, and meeting more people than he could remember. He left the kitchen area and walked into the dining room to find a weaselly young man harassing one of the girls that he had met earlier. He could see that she was cringing at the boy’s approaches upon her, so Anthony stepped into the conversation, placing a massive hand upon his shoulder, warning him that the girl obviously was not interested in him.

              The boy turned to look into Anthony’s chest, attempting to look intimidating and when he realized that Anthony was literally twice his size, he apologized to the girl and left the room.

              “Thank you, Anthony,” she said. “That creep has been following me around for at least an hour. I really needed some help with that one. I’m positive that he won’t bother me any longer, considering how massive and protective you are. Call me soon and hopefully I’ll see you in class next week.”

              Anthony and the girl left the dining room, walked into the living room to enjoy a dance, surrounded by dozens of other couples. They finished their dance and stepped to the side of the room to be confronted by the weaselly young man from earlier with two similar friends, all of whom were trying to be intimidating, which made Anthony chuckle inside, knowing that these three little boys offered him no challenge whatsoever.

              He stepped in between the girl, who stood behind him, and the three scrawny and laughable young men approaching him, trying to be a threat. One of them threw a punch which landed on his chest, which was nothing more than an annoying poke, triggering his body to immediately become tense. When the meager punch brought about no response, the three boys walked away, disappointed with their failure to steal the girl away from him.

              “Wow, that was really cool,” the girl said. “Thanks again for intervening.”

              “Yes, of course,” Anthony said. “Guys like that are nothing more than an annoyance. It’s getting kind of late; can I walk you back to your dorm? I hate the thought of you being alone when you walk back. I can make sure that you get back safe without being hassled again.”

              “That would be wonderful,” she said. “I need to get up early tomorrow and meet my parents for breakfast. Is there any chance that you would like to join us? We’re meeting at the café on the corner of Maple and 4^th street at eight.”

              “I would love to,” Anthony said. “Come on, let’s go and I’ll get you home safe. I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

              “Right, of course,” she said, “my name is Avery. I know my parents will love you. Can you meet me at my dorm at 7:45. We can walk to the restaurant together.”

              Anthony and Avery left the fraternity, walked down the sidewalk holding hands and he watched her walk into her dorm. He turned to face the three pathetic young men from earlier, who, once again, tried to be intimidating, which left him somewhat baffled at their incredible lack of common sense or foresight.

              “Ugh, seriously guys?” he said. “I’m only going to say this once. Leave the girl alone, she and I are together. If I learn that you are continuing to bother her, I’ll have to take action to make sure that it doesn’t happen again. I would hope that some verbal direction would steer you away from the possibility of injury from my hands. Take the hint, go find something better to do than bothering a girl who is clearly not interested in you.”

              The three boys turned to walk away.

              “I’d rather use my words than my fists to make my point clear,” he said. “If the girl is there, I’ll be there as well and you three better not be there. Don’t make me turn this into something painful and ugly. Learn to recognize your weakness, see the strengths of others, and do what is right so you don’t end up being the annoying jerks that no one wants to be around.”

              “Phew,” he thought, as he watched the three of them jog away without looking back. “I am so glad that my words handled that situation. The last thing I need is to have three guys pressing charges against me for assault. Alright, Avery is safe and now I can go home. Wow, what a night.”

Cyclic Rescue

 

            Roger swiped his timecard through the time clock just before entering the locker room to change into his work clothes. He quickly changed, retrieved his protective gear from his locker and joined his partner of the last five years in the garbage truck, to begin their route through the nearly empty and most desperate section of the inner city. They had traveled six blocks, picking up over a dozen trash cans at each corner before backing into an alley.

              Roger heaved the filthy blue dumpster away from the brick wall, attached it to the hooks on the back of the truck, and like he always did, flipped open the two lids to scan inside, always terrified of finding a homeless person or a corpse inside, which was thankfully a rare occurrence. He banged on the side of the truck and motioned for his partner to take a second look through the dumpster, as a small movement caught his attention.

              “Please let that be an animal,” he grumbled. Not one to take any sort of risk, he pulled himself up and into the dumpster, to find a newborn wrapped in soiled garments and covered in bodily fluids. “Damn, this is not good,” he said. “John, place a call into the office and I’ll call the police. There is a baby in here. This is really messed up.”

              The two men leaned against the side of their truck and waited for the police and aid car to arrive, both feeling sick and disappointed in the state of mankind. Thirty minutes passed and the aid car arrived first, shortly followed by the police, who requested a detailed explanation of the events that morning. Roger explained everything that happened, knowing that he needed to be articulate and careful, and he knew better than to touch anything on or around the child. The two police officers thanked them for the details, left the alley, and Roger and John watched as the child was retrieved from the dumpster and taken, presumably to the hospital.

              After three days passed, Roger called the police department with hopes of learning something about the child, if it was healthy, if it survived and if it had been placed into a loving home. He was transferred to the human services department and was given very little information about the child or his location. He hung up the phone, found his wife in the kitchen and shared the few details he received from his phone call.

              “Hey, honey, I just spoke to someone in the human services department, and they said that the child was a little boy and had a brief note tucked inside of its clothing written in Russian,” he said.

              “That is the saddest story you have ever told me,” she said. “Hopefully someone adopts the little guy and gives him a loving home. I just cannot imagine abandoning my own child in a dumpster. Someone must have been in a very bad situation.”

              Six months passed and Roger received a phone call, informing him that the child had been adopted by a wealthy and powerful family. His immediate response was that of joy and thankfulness, knowing that every person deserves to be loved and protected. He called his wife and told her all that he had learned, wishing he could know more and do more to help the little guy.

              Little Alec became part of the Worthington family and after five years was joined by a younger brother, another child who had been abandoned in a way similar to Alec. Two years after this, a third brother was adopted, and two years after this a fourth brother was adopted, giving Alec a robust, loving family to call his own. On his eleventh birthday, Alec stood in the entry way of their home, looking at a photo of his entire family, wondering why his eyes were somewhat slanted, wondering why his skin was somewhat yellow and his hair was perfectly black and straight.

              Everyone else in the family had the same basic look, and he understood that he was different than everyone else in the photo. Alec graduated from university with a degree in human services to be followed after the next several years by his four brothers earning their degrees as well, to step into leadership roles with their father at the family company. After five years of learning as much as he could about the company, Alec stepped into the role of CEO as his father had begun to grow old.

              Another decade passed and Alec began to wonder about his own future, if he should be doing more to help people, and hopefully rescue more children in the same way that he and his brothers had been rescued. Struggling to learn more about his identity, he took a DNA test to find out about his origins, which revealed his family line came from a region along the Russian and Chinese border. He shared his findings with his brothers and confessed that he was determined to step down from his role as CEO, move to the region of his original family line and do something great.

              His next oldest brothers stepped into the CEO role, which gave Alec the freedom to sell nearly all of his possessions and contact a real estate agent in that part of Russia. It was then that he learned that the cost of living was considerably lower than his currently city in the United States. He packed as many clothes as he thought he may need, bought a home surrounded by a great deal of property, and bought a plane ticket to make the trip to his land of origin.

              After arriving at the airport, he hired a driver to bring him to his property, to find that his newly purchased home was completely encircled by a wrought iron fence, providing safety and beauty for what appeared to be a carefully tended garden filling all three acres of his new home. He punched in the code at the main gate to walk into a fully furnished home to find a handwritten letter from the local priest, inviting him to Church four days hence.

              He placed a phone call to Father Dmitri, inviting him over to learn about the community, the city, the people there and the needs that were more prominent for the people of Kultuk. As Sunday morning arrived, Alec found himself embraced and loved as part of the community. He made multiple connections with many people in the Church and around the neighborhood. The purchase price of the home barely put a dent in the amount of money he earned from the sale of his home back in the United States, allowing him to build an additional wing that would provide safety, warmth, and healthy food for the dozens of homeless children in the community.

              His grasp of the Russian language grew quickly, as he immersed himself in and around the city and shops. His passion for doing good, for helping others, and for paying back the good that had been given to him from the day he was found in the dumpster in the alley. Within six months the addition to his home was complete, allowing him to hire on nurses, maids, and cooks, all of which provided love and stability to the first six children he adopted.

              After two years of living as a bachelor among employees and an ever-growing cache of children, he met a young woman at Church. He and she began to grow closer together, until he became like one of the family, eventually asking her to marry him and create more opportunities to help more children. He and Elena watched their household grow as children arrived, grew up, became adults and were replaced by more and more children over the years.

              As the years slowly crept by, Alex could feel himself growing older, knowing that he only had so many years to continue this work of helping children in the same way that he had been helped. On the day after his sixtieth birthday, while out on a walk, he was approached by a small, twisted barefoot old man, who appeared to be a monk. The two of them engaged in conversation, each sharing the details of their lives, learning that they were essentially doing the same work. The older man was somewhat difficult to understand, as his speech was a jumbled mix of Russian, Chinese, and bits of English.

              Before they parted way, Alec invited Father John over for dinner to meet his wife and the many children who were always excited to meet someone new. Alec could see the joy and excitement in John’s face as the children came and went, gave him hugs, and asked him questions. Before darkness fell, Alec joined John on a walk back to his home, which was a much smaller and poorer version of his own, which encouraged him to pay for the many needs of John and the orphans under his care.

              It was through his relationship with John that Alec met many new people, one of whom he drew especially close to, trusting that this young man would take over the responsibilities of the orphanage that he had begun in the small town of Kultuk. Alec and Elena hired a lawyer to take care of the paperwork for transferring responsibility to the young man so they could return to their family back in the United States. Alec was excited and thrilled at introducing his wife to the many members of his extended family. His brothers, his sister-in-law’s and many, many nieces and nephews.

              They arrived at the airport in New York City, rented a car and drove to his youngest brother’s home to stay for a few nights until they could find a home to purchase and furnish as they grew old together, looking forward to an exciting new life among family members. On the first day of each month, Alec placed a phone call to the orphanage he had entrusted to the young man in Kultuk, confirming that the work was continuing and helping as many children as possible. On a quarterly basis, he would send extra financial support to ensure that all of the needs were addressed.

A Disposable Tool

 

            Wilfred had just descended the seven floors of his office building to enjoy a warm, peaceful, and slightly windy afternoon, to eat his lunch in the park alone. He paused at the main entrance to his building, looking out across the sea of people, all of whom seemed to be walking in pairs and distracted in conversation, while he argued with himself inside of his own mind about whether to eat fish and chips or bangers and mash.

              He descended the fourteen steps to the main sidewalk and ended the argument in his head by deciding on fish and chips, a meal he would enjoy in the park, alone, while people watching. Walking three blocks south to the traditional public house he only occasionally visited, he placed his order to go, waited fifteen minutes for the waitress to appear with a hot and greasy paper sack, accompanied by a twenty-four-ounce oatmeal stout.

              He retraced his steps to the small park that fronted his office building, found an empty table, placed his still cold and foamy drink immediately to his right, popped open the Styrofoam container that held his fish and chips and savored every bite, stirring up memories of the many identical meals that he enjoyed with his parents as a child.

              The combination of hot fish, vinegar laden chips and the strong oatmeal stout brought great joy to his heart, something he had not felt in far too long. He sat in silence, enjoyed his meal, and people watched for the next thirty minutes, wondering what had happened that he was now almost always alone. He ate with his fingers, occasionally looking at the plastic fork that sat alone in the bottom of the greasy paper bag. “Heh, that’s me,” he thought. “There’s a tool that really serves no purpose. It’s plastic, it’s flimsy, and would only break if I tried to cut into this meal.”

              He finished his lunch, wiped the excess grease and salt from his fingers, and swallowed his last very large mouthful of stout. As he stood to dispose of his garbage, an abrupt jackhammering jarred him from his introspection, followed by a string of expletives from the man operating the offensive tool. He glanced at his watch and realized that he still had fifteen minutes of lunch break to burn through before returning to his windowless office.

              A large, sweaty man in an orange safety jacket dropped the jackhammer on the ground and began to dissemble the tool. Wilfred presumed the tool was broken and needed to be repaired or replaced. “Heh, it’s me again,” he thought. “Use the tool until it no longer has value and then replace it.” He returned to the sidewalk and began walking in the opposite direction to enjoy the fresh air, the sunshine, and continued to watch people, hoping to distract himself away from his feelings of rejection and emptiness.

              He had left his jacket on the back of his chair at his desk, which allowed him to roll up his sleeves, which brought attention to his now ringless left hand finger, a slight pale space with no hair, having been previously occupied by a wedding ring. When he reached the end of the street, he sat down at the bus stop, watched a bus arrive to be boarded by several people and spew forth several people, most of whom were accompanied by a significant other.

              He continued to people watch for another five minutes, to then rise to his feet and return to his office. A slight breeze blew an empty paper cup past his feet as he slowly returned to work. “Heh, there’s me again,” he thought. “A cup that temporarily served its purpose until it no longer was useful, disposed of and forgotten. That makes me think of that comedian I heard the other night at the club, remind the audience that the employer they currently serve will replace them when they no longer fulfill their purpose.”

              He ascended the fourteen steps, re-entered the building, paused at the elevator door but then chose to take the steps up all seven floors, feeling the need to burn off some of the calories he had just consumed. He dropped his now slightly sweaty frame into his office chair to look up at the back of the heads of his co-workers, wondering if anyone else had the same kind of thoughts that he did.

              “No, they don’t,” he reminded himself. “Listening to these knuckleheads talk all day makes it obvious that they have nothing of depth taking place in between their ears. No one is original, no one is creative, no one is thoughtful, and no one seems to offer anything of value to us, to me, or to the company. What a ridiculous waste of life and energy.”

              The next several hours passed and he watched the clock tick to five, prompting him to cleanse his hands with several drops of hand cleanser, put on his jacket and take the elevator to the main floor. He blended into the crowd of people as they vomited forth onto the sidewalk. He and they continued for several blocks to descend further into the London Underground, which resulted in a fifteen-minute ride on the tube, being constantly reminded to mind the gap.

              His stop came up and he squeezed through the crowd to ascend once again to the street above and enter his small, somewhat cold and empty flat. This glorious space had once been filled with antiques, books, fine art, a wife and two happy children. Most of which was now gone, as she had filed for divorce, taking most everything of value, leaving him feeling unloved, unwanted, and disposable.

              He sat down at this veneered aluminum table, not quite hungry for dinner but settled to pull a Guinness from the fridge to hold him over until the hunger pains for dinner arrived. He swallowed the last of the Guinness, looked at the mostly empty shelves in the fridge and in the cupboards, wondering if a grocery store run would be the wisest response, or another trip to a local pub for a nice shepherd’s pie.

              With a barely audible groan, he lay down on the floor, and slowly relaxed each muscle, starting with his toes, his legs, his hands, his arms, his torso, and finally released the tension in his neck. He watched the random patterns on the ceiling shift about as his mind looked for patterns, hating the idea of randomness.

              “Ugh, I need to take a shower,” he thought. “Way too much sweating today and way too much introspection. Like the fork, like jackhammer, and like the paper cup, I’m just another disposable tool for which no one has a use.” He slowly sat up, undressed, took a cold shower, and found a fresh set of clothing, committed to enjoying a savory shepherd’s pie from the local pub.

              “Maybe I can connect with someone tonight during dinner,” he thought. “There is that one waitress that is always so friendly. If I go late enough, I can wait for her shift to finish and maybe we can enjoy a night at the edge of the lake. A little pointless conversation would be enjoyable. There is nothing better than listening to someone else talk, to ask questions, to answer questions, and to trade some empty banter.”

              After a cool shower, a quick shave, and a new set of clothes, he moved some product through his hair, grabbed his wallet and keys and walked the few blocks to the local pub. Offering a small wave and smile to the waitress, he took a booth, ordered his dinner and suggested taking her for a quiet chat after her shift to the edge of the lake. She touched his arm, returned the smile, and accepted his offer. He finished his dinner, ordered a second Guinness and waited for Margery to finish her shift, meeting her on the sidewalk as the restaurant closed.

              The evening transpired exactly as he had hoped, slowly walking with Margery to the lake, to engage in small, pointless conversation, which was a lovely reprieve from his days, weeks, and months of introspective conversation. “This is really nice, Margery,” he said. “I spend so much of my time alone. It’s really good to have a conversation with someone else besides the monolog in my head. I so often feel like a disposable tool with no real purpose.”

              “Oh, Wilfred,” she said. “Don’t talk like that. We really should spend more time together. I find your company quite lovely and enjoyable. You are not disposable, you have so much to offer to me and so many others. There are so many who would miss you if you were suddenly gone. That would be terrible. It’s getting kind of late; will you walk me home?”

              “Yes, of course,” Wilfred answered. “I’ll make sure you get home safe.”

              “Thank you so much, my love,” she said. “We should go out for breakfast some morning on some weekend. That way we don’t have to sneak around in the dark and we can enjoy a sunny morning and afternoon together. That would be so lovely.”

              “I love that idea,” Wilfred said. “Let’s do that Sunday morning. I’ll be at your door at nine o’clock Sunday morning, if that works for you.”

              “Yes, that sounds perfect,” Margery answered. “This will be a perfect Sunday morning. See you then.”

              He walked her to her door, watched her walk in, he scanned the neighborhood and returned home, feeling happy, satisfied and useful, thrilled at the prospect of this new developing friendship.

Consistent Deceit

    

            Agatha stood at her kitchen window watching her fourteen-year-old son walking down the driveway to catch the bus for a ride on his first day of high school. She carried a great deal of concern for his well-being, as he had been homeschooled up to this time. She and her husband Alexander both knew that Jonathan was well educated, thoughtful, and sensitive, probably one who could easily be taken advantage of, as he was willing to sacrifice anything for anyone who was in need.

              Three weeks after the start of the school year, Jonathan began talking about another student with whom he had become friends, a young man named Simon, who also had been homeschooled and seemed to be a mirror image of Jonathan. Simon began to visit them on a weekly basis and Agatha asked for his phone number in order to meet his parents and hopefully develop a relationship with them, as they sounded like kindred spirits.

              As springtime approached, both Jonathan and Simon decided to join the cross-country team, neither one of them being particularly athletic but wanting to make more connections with fellow students. The longer the season continued, the more disappointed and surlier Jonthan seemed to become, which prompted his parents to urge him to tell them what was happening at school and if there was anything they could do to help.

              After a few days of prodding and encouraging him to talk, he eventually cracked and began to complain about how so many people pretended to be nice, but he would often hear them talking to other students about how weird and abnormal both he and Simon were. “It seems to me that people like to pretend to be nice, so they make themselves look good and feel like they are doing the right thing,” he said. “It really bothers me that people are fake and only act friendly when I am around. I just don’t understand it.”

              “Jonathan, you need to understand that people will wear masks and act differently around different people,” his father said. “There is nothing we can do about it. If someone acts like this, all we can do is make the best of the situation and not return unkindness for their ingenuine behavior.”

              “Your father and I have been talking about having Simon and his family over for dinner one evening,” his mother said. “If Simon is experiencing the same thing as you, it would be good for all of us to talk about it and see if we can come up with a solution for you both to practice. There is always a right answer and most of the time is it easy to do the wrong thing simply because it feeds our desire for revenge.”

              Jonthan grumbled around the house on that weekend, looking forward to having Simon and his family over for some genuine, friendly interaction. Still feeling grumpy and sad, he left the house and lay in the silence of their backyard, staring into the empty blue sky far overhead. The soft sound of padding feet approached him, prompting him to sit up and greet his mother who had brought him freshly squeezed lemonade, to sit on the grass with him.

              “I just spoke to Simon’s mother,” she said. “We invited them to come over for dinner on Tuesday night, so hopefully we can make some new friends and find a resolution for you boys at school.” Jonathan finished his lemonade and lay back down in the grass.

              “That sounds great, Mom,” he said, “Honestly, I really don’t know what kind of solution we can come up with. Simon and I pretty much keep to ourselves and avoid the empty, selfish popular cliques that are so common at school. Both of us feel really out of place there and do our best to avoid becoming the ones picked on by the popular kids.”

              Jonathan returned home from school on Tuesday afternoon, wandered around the house, and waited for their company to arrive. Thirty minutes into dinner, the six of them sat around the table, talking about the value of homeschooling, the tragic lack of quality education found in the public school system, and the vanity and foolishness of most of society. Simon’s father spoke up with a specific idea.

              “You boys should try to find if there are any other students similar to yourselves,” he said. “Think how much better each day of school would be if you had others to interact with, to encourage, and to hopefully impact others in a positive way.”

              “You are right, sir,” Jonathan said. “Simon and I have spent a great deal of time interacting with many different students, both younger and older, but we have failed to find anyone who is remotely like us. I believe we are the only two students in our grade that were homeschooled, including the grade above us and the grade below us.”

              “Jonathan is right, Dad,” Simon said. “We always sit alone in the far corner of the cafeteria and lament how empty and ignorant all of the other students are. No one seems to have any common sense, original ideas, or thoughts about how to make their own life better, or to help others. It really is sad. We have put in a great deal of effort to find anyone who would be valuable to interact with.”

              They finished their meal and Agatha and Simon’s mother cleaned the kitchen and dining room, while the two men and the two boys sat together in the living room, continuing their talk and disappointment with their fellow students. The clock reached nine and Jonathan watched his friend, and parents leave for the evening.

              “Simon’s father is right,” Alexander said. “You’ll probably need to lower your expectations quite a bit if you hope to find someone with whom to interact. I know you would be shocked if you could see what kind of homes most of these kids come from. Most people spend their time being distracted by social media and television. So, we shouldn’t be surprised that no one has any deep thoughts or concerns for others.”

              “Okay, Dad,” he said. “Simon and I will talk about it tomorrow morning and see if we can find someone to connect with, to stir up thoughts or ideas, and hopefully help move them in a good direction. This is going to be difficult, because most people only pretend to like us but then go about their business with no concern or thoughts about anything valuable."

              "Okay, put in extra effort tomorrow,” he said. “I look forward to hearing about your day tomorrow night during dinner. I think you’ll be surprised at the positive impact you can make on others if you present them with something of value and depth.”

              Jonathan shuffled down his driveway the next morning to join Simon on the bus ride to school. The first three periods passed, and they entered the cafeteria last, scanning over the mass of students who seemed to have no concerns at all about anything of value. Jonathan made eye contact with a rather grumpy looking young man in a leather jacket and a Slayer t-shirt. He used his minimal knowledge of metal music to start a conversation with him. As the three of them sat down at their usual corner table, three other young men in leather jackets joined them.

              Simon and Jonathan were thrilled with this new connection and were surprised to find how articulate and thoughtful these young men were. They learned that the four of them were in a band and invited them to come over that evening after dinner to listen to them rehearse. The boys agreed, wrote down the address and time, finished their lunches and returned to their next class.

              “This is going to be really interesting,” Jonathan said. “Call me tonight after dinner after you talk to your parents. Of course, we’ll need to get a ride to this address, because it is a long way away from both of our homes.”

              Jonathan joined his parents for dinner that evening and shared the unusual experience he and Simon had with the four leather clad young men and their plans for the evening. Jonathan’s father offered to drive them to the address and would return in two hours to bring them home. Both boys were widely smiling when Alexander arrived and drove them home.

              Each night during dinner, Jonathan shared the conversations he and Simon had with their four new friends. Agatha could see her son’s eyes gleaming with joy and excitement as he spoke of their conversations and the direction the boys were leading their new friends. The next day at school Jonathan and Simon entered the lunchroom and were immediately joined by their four new friends at their corner table.

              “Hey,” Jonathan said, “Simon and I were talking, and we came up with an idea that I think you’ll really like. Your band is really good, and we were thinking that we could schedule a concert for you and promote it. We’ll divide the profits evenly between the six of us and we were thinking that we would donate our portion of the proceeds to a small organization in town that buys food for families in need. We’ll do all the promotion work and I am certain that your music will draw in a lot of people. What do you think?”

              James, the vocalist spoke up first, and said he was thrilled at the idea, and they could easily perform for at least an hour or an hour and a half. “Let us know the details about when and where, so yes, we would love to do a concert. We’re getting close to the end of the school year so it will need to be soon.”

              “That’s awesome,” Simon said. “We already found a small venue that we can afford, and we were thinking that Friday night on this coming weekend would be good. If you’re okay with that, we’ll start posting around the school and around town.”

              “Yeah, we can do that, “he said. “That gives us five days to create a set list. We’ve been practicing for a long time, and we all think we’re ready to dive in. Let’s schedule it for eight o’clock. Send me the address and we’ll be ready.”

              Friday night arrived quickly, and the six boys watched the small venue fill to capacity with about three hundred people. Jonathan and Simon stood at the back and watched the packed venue throb as a single entity with happy and excited fans. Nine thirty rolled up and the venue emptied out. Simon started dividing up the money into six parts and was surprised to learn from the band that he and Jonathan should donate all of the money to the business that helped people.

              “Wow, thank you, guys,” Jonathan said. “This is exactly the kind of thing that makes us different than everyone else. I would bet that we could do a concert like this once a month and begin generating a regular income for you.”

“That would be awesome,” the drummer said. “We’ll leave that up to you to plan but keep us in the loop so we can always be ready. It’s weird to think that the two new guys who just happened to connect with us have brought about a great new path forward for the band. I certainly didn’t see that coming.  Thanks a lot, Jonathan and Simon. You have our numbers so stay in touch.”