I stepped out of the library with a cheap umbrella, adjusting the sling so the girls stayed dry. That’s when I saw him.
An older man sat under a rusted awning across the street. His clothes were soaked through. He wasn’t asking anyone for anything. He wasn’t even looking up.
He was just sitting there, shaking so badly it hurt to watch.
That’s when I saw him.
I knew that feeling.
And before I could stop myself, I crossed the street.
Without thinking, I pulled the money from my pocket and pressed it into his hand.
“Please… get something warm.”
He looked up then, really looked at me.
And for some reason, I asked, “What’s your name?”
There was a pause.
Then, quietly, he said, “Arthur.”
I nodded.
“Please… get something warm.”
“I’m Nora,” I added, and also shared my last name. I introduced my twins, leaning them over so Arthur could see them. He repeated my name once, as if he didn’t want to forget it.
“Nora.”
I walked home that night instead of taking the bus, three miles in the rain, holding my girls close so they wouldn’t get wet.
By the time I got to my apartment, my shoes were soaked, and my hands were numb.
He didn’t want to forget it.
