swallowing rocks.

The day tasted like it was going to be boring. The air tasted stale, the store was stagnant, and I was only half awake. Then there was blackness, covered in dirt and the smell of old food and pavement. The jacket hung around the drooping shoulders of a man with a huge smile and a wildness in his eyes that I could not make sense of. Unlike the woman recklessly flipping through kid's jeans like dog-eared magazine pages, he was not clutching a Starbucks cup of caffeine that tasted like money, wasn't trying to get better cell phone reception by shoving a Blackberry three quarters of the way into his brain, and wasn't carrying any packages that should have been made of recycled credit card statements. There was a mysterious bulge in the side of the coat that protected him from the infectious materialism that hung lightly in the air, threatening to trap anyone who let their guard down. He spoke frantically to Justin, desperately trying to figure out whether or not he could have the black backpack that hung over our heads, like the guilt that hung over mine. As they talked business, I drifted into my own thoughts, regressing heavily into the guilt that washed over me in waves, wondering yet again, if I could have saved her, had I just noticed that she needed me. The clicking of the computer keys brought me back, forcing the guilt back into the bricks that rested on my shoulders. "$44.67, please." Justin spoke softly, an intonation that I rarely heard in his voice, and as I turned to look at the two, I saw Justin's ghosts of the past drifting out the door. The man reached into the inner pocket of his coat, and to both mine and Justin's surprise, he withdrew an envelope of cash, and laid the requested amount on the counter. I grabbed him and held him tightly in my arms, whispering in his ear that I was proud of him and that no matter what he had lost in the past, no one could take that away from him. He looked me in the eye, the wildness in his gaze almost intimidatingly real, and told me to stop judging people, and realize that the goodness of people would come out if I set up a proper stage for it. He began to slip out of my arms, fading into the floor, and I screamed-cried-begged him not to leave me there, but he continued to fall. I clawed angrily at the floor, determined to help this man and get him a better life, shouting at the top of my voice that he was a good man, that whatever miracle had brought him the envelope had made him good enough to spend the money on something useful and had nothing to do with drugs or alcohol. Drugs and alcohol, the two things that could have made his reality more bearable, but no, the money went to a backpack, a container that would hold the things he held most dear, hold his stories and his answers to the questions I had not even thought of yet. I was wasting it, throwing away what he probably had dreamt of for years. He was falling faster now, smiling and telling me not to worry. My frustration was growing exponentially, ticking upwards on the bulletin boards of stock prices, and I screamed louder now, offering to help and give him anything he wanted, if only he would stay. Thousands of pairs of hands grabbed at him now, pulling him away into the darkness, my tears forming puddles around his ankles, covering his sneakers that looked like they might share my date of birth. I fell to the ground crying, praying that my tears would bring him the luck he needed. "Have a nice day, sir." I blinked, and Justin's words brought me back to the scene before me. The man thanked Justin thoroughly, waving, smiling, nodding, gratefully. I watched him turn and swagger out of the door, feeling the pieces of my heart that he'd left shattered in my chest poke bones and organs. I stared at where he'd stood, at the nonexistent rivers of my tears where his feet had been planted. I prayed for someone to take care of him, and walked dazedly into the back room.

-LBR