Spare Change
“Thunder: Intimately Intricate & The Writing Cooperative Contest”
I felt guilty that my stomach rumbled just as the homeless man shook his cup of spare change. I could do something about my hunger, but his was at the mercy of strangers.
As my money clinked in his cup it echoed over the now almost deserted train station — my attempt at kindness amplified.
“Thank you”, he said, with a shy smile.
Later that week, whilst dusting around the house, I stumbled upon my glass of spare change. A glass where over time, I had deposited penny, pence and pounds. I grew so used to paying with a card — or more recently, a phone — that I completely forgot about the glass.
With shame, I thought about that homeless man at the train station. My cheeks turned warm and my palms sweaty. The glass escaped my grip and shattered with a loud thunder (and yet still not as loud as the intense guilt consuming me) in my living room wood floor, sending glass and coins in all directions.
After discarding of the pieces of broken glass, I went out shopping.
The homeless man’s face lit up when I gave him the bag filled with food. Tim — that’s his name — thanked me profusely. He told me all about how he was trying to get up on his feet. How kindness, rather than pity, is something he values profoundly.
All I did was spare some change. Which in turn spared Tim’s hunger. Which in turn spared my guilt and transformed it into something else, something I am yet trying to quantify and define. A storm is brewing and I sense thunderous decisions in the horizon.
