Coffee 15 Years Later.

A young boy stood in front of me in the town announcement board, eyeing an ad for a janitorial position at the school. Puzzled I approached him. “Hi, are you looking at that ad?” He nodded. “I need money.” He mouthed. Looking barely 7, he seemed too young to be considered. “Where are your parents?” I asked. He said “I live with my aunt.” “I see.” I said. “What do you need the money for?” “My little sister, her doll. The yarn around her neck got torn. That’s her only doll.”

I felt my eyes tickle as I felt a strange combination of compassion and guilt. When I was seven, I was preoccupied by the next beanie baby to add to my collection or what was in my lunchbox. “How much do you need?” I asked. “20 dollars.” He replied. I started shuffling in my bag as I tried to find my wallet. ‘Ah.’ My hands closed upon my small beige and white wallet. He watched, wide-eyed. I pulled out a crisp twenty dollar bill and handed it to him. He hesitated. I said “it’s ok, buy something nice for your sister.” A large grin spread accross his wide jaw but disappeared soon after. “What would you like, in return?”

“Nothing” I replied. He shook his head. “I can’t. Aunt Tessa told me that nothing in life is free.” “Ok.” I replied. “Do you want to do a chore for me?” He nodded. I took a parcel from my bag and gave it to him. This is a paper and some paints. I want you to paint me a painting, of anything you would like, and give it to me, next week, in the same spot, same time. If it is to my liking, I will give you the twenty dollars as payment. He nodded, and smiled. “Ok!” We shook hands and I went about my day, smiling about the cute young friend I had made.

The next week, I waited by the announcement board. Ten minutes later, I saw the little boy, running towards me with a parcel in his hands. “Here, nice lady!” He said, a smile around his face. I took the parcel and opened it. The painting was beautiful. It was of us, the week before. The lines were, although a bit shaky, well drawn and the colors vibrant. I smiled. “Did you do this yourself?” He nodded with a grin. “My sister helped me get the colors right though.” I smiled. “It’s perfect. Thank you.” I took the painting and gave him the twenty dollar bill. He took it smiling softly. I told him that I was an art teacher at the local school, that if he ever needed anything to stop by.

That was the last I’ve seen or heard of him for the next fifteen years. Soon, the memory faded into a distant past. One day around 15 years after my encounter with the little boy, a young man walked into my art studio. I asked him, “hello, what can I do for you?” He grinned. “Do you remember me? I was a little boy when you gave me the paints for my first painting..” I searched my memory drawing a blank. “The boy you paid 20 dollars for a painting.” “Oh! I said. The memory flooding into me. “Well hello there! You grew up well!” He smiled. “You have no idea how much that impacted my life. I’m an artist now, went to art school. That event was the first time I ever felt such a sense of accomplishment, or strength. After that I became obsessed with painting. Eventually pursued a degree in fine arts. Now I paint for a living.” I looked at him, a welling of emotion surged within me. “I see.” I smiled. “Thank you for that. It makes me happy that I was a part of a significant event in a human beings life.” He said, “no thank you.” I came here because I just graduated from university, and I gave you to thank for pointing me to my choice of career.” We sat togetger for a while, with a cup of coffee, talking about the paths life has led each of us. He became a good friend of mine, and we have laughed over this small memory, through the years.