Each person we refuse to see, to hear, to love, to include, to let belong has a story deep within. How that story ends often depends on a single helping hand, a simple “How can I help?”, a simple smile, a moment of grace and acknowledgement of our shared humanity… or not.

The Push

Brigitta felt like she could cry, but the baby in the back seat was crying enough for both of them. The car had died- again- on the hill and people were honking at her, one driver yelling out his window “Get the hell outta the road!” as he swerved around her and drove on.

She put her hazard lights on and the emergency brake and got out of the car to get a better look at where she was. To her left, nothing but more lanes of traffic. To her right, a large grocery store parking lot a small ways down on a side road and beside the store, a phone booth. All she’d have to do is let the brakes off,  put the car in neutral and back up to the corner about 30 feet away where the road flattened out, then push the car into the parking lot entry, about 20 feet away, and get it to a parking space out of the way.

She considered the possibilities as the child continued to cry. She’d been on her way to the doctor to try to find out why the baby would not stop crying when the car had died. She frowned- now she’d have to make another appointment, explain about her car and hope they didn’t charge her for missing the appointment.

To read the rest of this story, see link to The Twilight Mirror and the New Dawn by Jordan Amar

© 2021 Eschate