#25 Jose

by Dee Shapiro

I sent Jose to get groceries. He read everything back to me on the list; two oranges, a quart of 2% milk, a box of cereal and blueberry yogurt. I gave him enough money for the Korean grocery, the Chinese Bodega as he called it.

He lived on the floor above me in a three-story walkup where everyone knew each other but kept pretty much to themselves. Jose asked to see my paintings when he saw me dragging canvases into my apartment. I let him in that once and every time he would knock gently on the door. He appeared almost daily and then not for a week or two.

We didn’t talk much. He preferred to sit and watch me paint. When he had enough, he got up from his cross-legged sitting position on the floor and left.

He lived with his mother and sister and didn’t seem like he was in trouble or high.

I could have stopped working and gone for the groceries myself, but instead enlisted his help, thinking he would like the responsibility.

That evening, I knocked on his door. His sister seemed surprised to see me “Jose?” “Not home, went to his father’s house uptown. Won’t be back ‘til next week.” Well. I thought, so much for responsibility.

A week later, a gentle knock. I opened the door and there he stood holding a plastic bag and handful of change. “It’s all here” he said, and thrust the bag at me.