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.
5 comments:
So simple, and so lovely. Very nice - this little slice of another life.
Very sweet and real; simple and yet it stands alone as a true micro story. Nicely done.
The ending made me smile. Guess Jose was operating on "island time".
Well done. The life that moves outside our field of view is a rich one. It is often we think we know things about people, but we don't. This illustrated that wonderfully.
I agree with the others; lovely and complete, thoughtfully painted characters.
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