He stopped on the corner across from St. John’s Cathedral and weighed his options once again. Turn and walk back from where he’d come, or cross the street and join the rest of them.
If he didn’t care about what other people might think of him, it was an easy choice. But he did care. What if someone he knew from his other life spotted him there, in that group. How would that look to them?
His foot instinctively stepped back, as though it agreed, “let’s get out of here.”
Then an image of his children reminded him of why he had come. This was for them. For his children, who expected him to become the father they hadn’t known for seven years because being best at the game had been more important.
That game fell apart; he lost. He wasn’t sure he would ever get a chance to win again.
Remembering the true reasons for his being there in the first place, he choked back the pride which mocked him and trekked across the street toward the church. Shifting his eyes to the concrete ground, he avoided any gaze from others as he joined the long line of people, who patiently waited for charitable handouts which the parish provided them once a week.
– Written by Miss A on September 21, 2012