That's not it

It amuses me how small, seemingly meaningless moments can completely alter the course of one's day. Perhaps even one's life. I told her that I couldn't have known what would happen. I couldn't have known my actions would set in motion the events that took Karim's life. Sitting in my chair, I felt myself drifting out of the conversation. Her yelling blurred into a raging hum, and I no longer was concerned about the boy.

"...give them what they wanted?" She spoke softly right in front of my face. I realized there was no escaping this conversation.

"What?" I replied obnoxiously.

"Did you give them what they wanted, did you pay them?" She asked.

She was putting all of her energy into looking calm, but I could tell that underneath she was ready to explode the second I told her the answer she already knew was coming.

"Of course I didn't." I said matter-of-factly. "I didn't pay them. I wasn't going to pay them. Knowing what I know now, I still wouldn't have paid them." She cried harder. I heard the door slam and she was gone. I looked at the dimly lit doorway and smiled.

I could only hope the lie might save her life.

Grand Plans

"He's dead." I heard her say as she walked through my door.

"Damn it all, what happened?" I feigned ignorance.

It failed.

"Don't lie to me, you knew this would happen! You could have saved him and you did absolutely nothing - you, you disgust me."

I watched as the muscles in her face tightened. Her hand clinched into a fist with every word, almost like she felt each syllable push the boy farther and farther into the past. The truth is, I had pushed him there in my mind long ago. The boy was hopeless long before he crossed my path four months ago.

The first time I saw Karim was a wholly unique experience. I usually don't even notice the random riff-raff squatting in my city, but for some reason my attention was locked on a small boy curled into the street corner next to my office. As I approached him, my eyes burned at the sight of his bed of dark red snow. For whatever reason, I immediately sought help for the boy. Later, I covered his medical expenses and asked him of the events that led to his premature stroll down death's alley.

I couldn't believe the story. He spoke with suffering beyond his years. His tale was short. It was sad, painful, and unsettlingly fascinating. In the weeks to come I would make this child's future my own. I had grand plans for the boy.

But no one escapes a debt.

New Notebooks

I bought two miniature notebooks yesterday. One will be my agenda. The other has no specific purpose yet. Either way, today I decided to open them. With only a moment of difficulty, I tore through and discarded the plastic wrapping. Suddenly, I feel forced to make the decision as to which notebook remains purposeless. I figure that pages filled with duties and obligations need as much joy as they can get, so I rest the light green notebook above the darker one.

I commit. I crack the light green book's spine with the intention to transform it into something useful. The first page pushes me back, demanding, "In case of loss, please return to:" "Don't look at me", I panic. The first entry into my agenda is difficult. Do I write my name? Perhaps an email address? Whoever finds my agenda needs to be able to contact me. The page continues, "As a reward: $"

Before my mind has a chance to wander once more, the sound of keys turning forces my eyes rightward. I spring to my feet and rush to the door. I feel the need to open the door for my lover, to hold her the instant she walks into the room.

The sight of her is dazzling. Her hair and smile are perfect - the only sign of her walk through the cold is the light chill I feel from pressing my cheek against her face. She did her eyes for me today. I break my gaze only for a kiss and forget all about little green notebooks.