A Reflection of Kindness

Kindness was a philosophy that I had always eschewed, but I had never understood what kindness was until yesterday.

The Wednesday started out like any other. I headed downtown from wherever I had passed out the night before. The wind on my face always helped bring some clarity to the hungover fog that nested in my head. When I’d reach my spot, I’d plop my rump down, my hat beside it and start the ritual of panhandling.

I had a little cardboard sign I’d prop up beside me that read:

TRAVELLING AND BROKE! SPARE ANYTHING COOL!

I was broke and I wasn’t, in this instance, really travelling, but the sign would work. Not only would I get spare change, but people would leave really “cool” things in my hat.

In the past I’ve received everything from baskets of fresh strawberries to leftover pizza

The sign perfect for me because it allowed me to ask for change while not communicating it verbally, which gave me all the time I needed to write.

I always fancied myself a writer and, though plagued with a lack of confidence, addiction issues and crippling procrastination; I would sit there everyday, head down, furiously scribbling away in my notebook.

It was a little black book. It was leather bound with lined pages of a heavier paper stock that just felt great to write it on. Though I have done a little on a keyboard, something is just missing from my output if I don’t write it by hand. Maybe it’s a mental quirk or just some calling from my deep subconscious, but it is the way that feels best for me.

“Thank you so much.” I said to a girl who dropped a five-dollar bill into my hat. She smiled with a nod.

Some people won’t spare a single dollar for the homeless because they think we’re going to spend it all on drugs or alcohol. Though, I had every intention of doing just that, not everyone is like me; and the thing is: so, what if we are? You never know what someone is going through.

“Have a good day.” A girl in a sundress said with a smile, dropping a handful of coins into my hat.

“Thank you so much; and you, too.”

I know that when people look at me, they see a lazy, good for nothing who’s addicted to everything under the sun; a high-school dropout and an individual incapable of thinking about anyone but themself. What they would be surprised to find out is that I have a college diploma, a wife – ex-wife, I need to stop that – and that I’m a father of two beautiful daughters.

You see, I had always had a bit of an alcohol problem, but I was unaware.

I mean, it didn’t seem like a problem when I had to have a drink at the end of my shift. It didn’t seem like a problem that I would be continuously drinking until I went to sleep; in some cases, staying up late just to be able to drink more. It never seemed a problem, even as it escalated from there.

It still didn’t seem a problem when I was completely wasted at noon on a Wednesday and I punched one of my coworkers across the face for not making a deadline. The shareholders were quick to react and give me an ultimatum: get into rehab or face termination.

Denying I had a problem and that rehab was completely unnecessary, I was jobless for the first time in twenty years.

It was fine until the savings started drying up and my wife noticed my constant disassociation from our family and the complete lack of any initiative to find a replacement job.

She, too, gave me an ultimatum and I told her fine, thinking I’d call her bluff. Taking her stuff and the kids, she left in the middle of the night while I was passed out on our living room carpet.

That was 3 years ago and I haven’t seen any of them since.

I know she knows where I am. I have been passed by a couple of her close friends – who completely act like they don’t see me – and they, no doubt, passed that information onwards.

As I document my life daily in this little, black journal of mine, I’ve realized I do have a problem, but don’t know where to begin.

At that moment, a man walked by, headphones on, keeping a very brisk pace. As he was about three feet from me, I watched a worn, white envelope fall from his shoulder bag.

“Hey dude!” I shouted at him, but he didn’t hear me.

I shouted again, louder this time, but he still didn’t hear me.

I marked the spot I was writing in in my journal, walked over and picked up the envelope. It was unmarked and not sealed. It wasn’t ripped, but the corners were bent and it was so wrinkled I was I thought it may fall apart. Turning it over in my hand, I almost soiled myself when I saw what it contained.

Inside the envelope was the largest sum of money in one place that I had ever seen with my own eyes. The stack was huge – all one-hundred-dollar bills. I tried flicking through the stack, but I lost count.

I immediately became aware of what was truly in my possession and I quickly stuck it in my waist, underneath my shirt.

I started to walk over to where my stuff was to get out of there quickly. I picked up my notebook and, as I lifted it, a picture of my two daughters fell out of its place in the front cover. I picked it up, looked into their smiling faces and had a moment a moment of clarity.

I grabbed my bag and started down the street in the direction the man had been walking.

I started to jog.

After two blocks, I was beginning to lose my breath.

I was thinking about calling it quits when I caught sight of him.

I picked up my pace again. My lack of physical prowess was causing me detriment, but I managed.

The man turned left.

“Damn.” I whispered to myself between gasps.

I made the same turn he did.

My eyes scanned for him, but he was gone. I couldn’t see him anywhere.

I slowed to a walk, eyes darting left and right.

Did he cross the street?

I continued to walk in the direction he had been, but I had lost my vigor. I stopped walking to catch my breath. I went to the nearest wall, removed my backpack and, leaning against the wall, slowly slid down into a seated position.

“Well, Jesse, at least you tried.”

A voice spoke.

“That you did.”

Startled, I looked to my left and there was the man I had just been chasing. It was the first time I got a good look at him.

His white suit was exquisite. I knew suits well enough to know that this one cost a small fortune. It was perfectly tailored and made of fine fabric.

However, what struck me odd was the face that looked down at me from above the Windsor knot around his collar.

It was the kindest face I had ever seen.

He emanated an otherworldly kindness that was almost intoxicating.

I stood and he offered his hand.

“Jesse, you said it was?” he asked me.

I nodded and began to reach under my shirt for his envelope.

“Jesse,” He raised his hand in a dismissive gesture. “My name is Anthony Rivaldi. I’m a business man. Or, rather, the son of a business man. My father was a rather wealthy investor who set up a rather large fund for my mother and I. He was so good and so smart in his investments that, to this day, I am still earning money off of the investments he made.”

I opened my mouth to say something – anything – when he raised his hand to interject.

“Despite being born with silver spoon in hand, I am proud to say that I have lived a very humble life.

“I also consider myself intuitive when it comes to a man’s character and I was not wrong when it came to yours.

“I often travel. On these travels, I see many lost souls as I walk the streets and when I saw yours, there was no doubt that you are a victim of circumstance, be it your own design or others; not laziness.

“When I see these souls, I like to test my hypotheses. The wad of cash that is in the envelope in your waist band isn’t real. The top 5 bills are, but the remainder are one-sided fakes.”

I was shocked. I thought I had taken a good enough look at them that something like that would have been apparent.

“What you have tried to return to me is $20,000 of fake bills.” Anthony said. He looked at my face, as if trying to read it.

“However,” he started, reaching into his jacket. He pulled out another envelope, this one crisper than the one he dropped. “This envelope does contain $20,000.”

He handed it out to me.

I scoffed, suspecting a trick.

“I bet you’re thinking that this is a trick of some kind. I assure you; this is real.” He stuck the envelope out farther, an insistence that I take it.

I grabbed the envelope, without a word. I just kind of stared at it.

“Go ahead. I know you want to flick through it. I assure that this is all above board.”

I flicked through it and, to my eye at least, it all seemed authentic.

“Anthony….” I was at a loss for words. “I don’t understand.”

He smiled again. That otherworldly kindness beaming from his face.

“There isn’t really anything to understand, Jesse. I was given a gift and it is my want to share that gift with the souls I think need it the most. You’re a kind man, Jesse. You’re just suffering from circumstance.”

Still in disbelief, I asked him once more.

“You’re sure? I don’t deserve it.”

He offered his hand, nodding. “Yes. You do.”

I took his hand and tears began streaming down my face. I didn’t know that I had it in me to cry anymore, or that so much emotion was just behind the surface.

“Thank you. So much. Is there anything I can do I can do?”

“Go get them back.” He said with a wink and a smile.

I nodded.

“I will. I promise. Thank you again.”

I turned, a new determination instilled in me, and headed for my wife

Then, something dawned on me.

“Wait, how did you know…” I began to ask, spinning on my heel.

Anthony was nowhere to be seen.

I looked across the street, behind me. I even jogged up to the alley not far for a peek. He was nowhere to be found. I began to question my sanity. I double checked the envelope, but the money was still there.

I didn’t know what was going on, but I headed to my wife and my daughters.

***

I write this now, the following day in my little black notebook. I’m sitting in the small loft apartment above my mother-in-law’s garage.

This is the first day in twenty years that I haven’t had a drink.

After I arrived at my wife’s door, I recounted the events of that day. Over tears and sodas, we talked until three in the morning about our goals and what we expected from each other if we were to reconcile and move forward for our daughters.

I have a lot of work to do.

I’m not sure where Anthony Rivaldi came from and I know even less where he wound up.

All I know is that he has given me a gift and I am not going to waste it.