Seeing, Really Seeing
 
      His nose was all smooshed looking, like maybe his mom had dropped him when he was a baby.  His ears were two -- maybe even two and a half -- sizes too big for his head.  And his eyes! His eyes bulged like they were ready to pop right out of their sockets.  His clothes were nice, Tim had to admit.  But he was still the homeliest kid he had ever seen.
      So why was he leaning on Jennifer Lawrence's locker like they were best friends or something?  She was a cheerleader and one of the coolest girls in school.  And why was she smiling at him instead of twisting her nose all funny like she did when she looked at Tim? Strange, he thought.  Really strange.  
      By lunchtime, Tim had forgotten about the new kid.  He sat down at his usual table...in the corner, all alone.  Tim was a loner. He wasn't as ugly as the new kid, just a little on the heavy side and kind of nerdy.  Nobody talked to Tim much, but he was used to it. He had adjusted.   
      About halfway through his peanut butter and ketchup sandwich (he put ketchup on everything) Tim looked up and saw that kid again.  He was holding his lunch tray and standing over Jennifer, grinning like he'd just aced a math test. And she was grinning, too.  Then she moved over and made room on the bench next to her.  Strange. Really strange.
      But even stranger was what the new kid did.  Tim would have plunked into that seat so fast, his lunch bag would have been left behind just hanging in the air.  But not this new kid. He shook his head, looked around, and walked straight to Tim's table.
      "Mind if I join you?" he said.
      Just like that. Mind if I join you?  Like the entire eighth grade is fighting to sit at my table or something, Tim thought.
      "Sure," Tim said. "I mean no. I don't mind."
      So the kid sat down.  And he came back, day after day, until they were friends. Real friends.
      Tim had never had a real friend before, but Jeff -- that was his name, Jeff -- invited Tim to his house, on trips with his family, and even hiking. Right!  Tim - hiking!
      Funny thing was...one day Tim realized he wasn't so heavy anymore. All that hiking, I guess, thought Tim. And kids were talking to him, nodding to him in the hallways, and even asking him questions about assignments and things.  And Tim was talking to them.  He wasn't a loner anymore.
      When Jeff sat by Tim one day at lunch, Tim had to ask him, "Why did you sit with me that first day? Didn't Jen ask you to sit with her?"
      "Sure, she asked.  But she didn't need me."
      "Need you?"
      "You did."
      "I did?"
      Tim hoped that nobody was listening.  This is really a dumb conversation, he thought.
      "You were sitting all alone," explained Jeff.  "You looked lonely and scared."
      "Scared?"
      "Uh huh, scared. I knew that look.  I used to have one too, just like it."
      "You?" Tim couldn't believe it.
      "Maybe you didn't notice, but I'm not exactly the best looking guy in school.  At my old school, I always sat alone, with my eyes on my lunch. I was afraid that if I looked up I would see everyone laughing at me."
      "You?"  Tim knew he sounded stupid, but he couldn't picture Jeff sitting all by himself.  He's so friendly.
      "Me.  It took a friend to help me see that I wasn't alone because of my nose or my ears.  I was alone because I never smiled or took an interest in people.  Other people.  I was so concerned about myself, that I never paid attention to anyone else.  That's why I sat with you.  To let you know that someone cared.  Jennifer already knew."
      "Oh, she knows, all right," Tim said, as he watched two guys fighting to sit near her.  Tim and Jeff both laughed.  It felt good to laugh, and I've been doing a lot of it lately, realized Tim.
      Then Tim looked at Jeff. Really looked. He isn't so bad looking, Tim thought. Oh, not handsome or anything like that. But he isn't homely.  Jeff is my friend.  That's when Tim realized that he was seeing Jeff for the first time.  Months earlier all that Tim had seen were a funny-looking nose and "Dumbo ears."  Now he was seeing Jeff, really seeing Jeff.
 

The Most Beautiful Flower
 
 The park bench was deserted as I sat down to read Beneath the long, straggly branches of an old willow tree. Disillusioned by life with good reason to frown, For the world was intent on dragging me down.
 
 And if that weren't enough to ruin my day, A young boy out of breath approached me, all tired from play. He stood right before me with his head tilted down And said with great excitement, "Look what I found!"
 
 In his hand was a flower, and what a pitiful sight, With it's petals all worn - not enough rain or too little light. Wanting him to take his dead flower and go off to play, I faked a small smile and then shifted away.
 
 But instead of retreating he sat next to my side And placed the flower to his nose and declared with overacted surprise, "It sure smells pretty and it's beautiful, too. That's why I picked it; here, it's for you."
 
 The weed before me was dying or dead. Not vibrant of colors, orange, yellow, or red. But I knew I must take it, or he might never leave.
 So I reached for the flower and replied, "Just what I need."
 
 But instead of him placing the flower in my hand, He held it in midair without reason or plan. It was then that I noticed for the very first time That weed-toting boy could not see:  he was blind.
 
 I heard my voice quiver, tears shone like the sun As I thanked him for picking the very best one. "You're welcome," he smiled, and then ran off to play, Unaware of the impact he'd had on my day.
 
 I sat there and wondered how he managed to see A self-pitying woman beneath an old willow tree. How did he know of my self-indulged plight? Perhaps from his heart, he been blessed with true sight.
 
 Through the eyes of a blind child, at last I could see The problem was not with the world, the problem was me. And for all of those times I myself had been blind, I vowed to see the beauty in life, and appreciate every second that's mine.
 
 And then I held that wilted flower up to my nose And breathed in the fragrance of a beautiful rose And smiled as I watched that young boy, another weed in his hand About to change the life of an unsuspecting old man.

True Forgiveness
 
      Forty-three years seems like a long time to remember the name of a mere acquaintance.  I have duly forgotten the name of an old lady who was a customer on my paper route when I was a twelve-year-old boy in Marinette, Wisconsin back in 1954. Yet it seems like just yesterday that she taught me a lesson in forgiveness that I can only hope to pass on to someone else someday.
      On a mindless Saturday afternoon, a friend and I were throwing rocks onto the roof of the old lady's house from a secluded spot in her backyard.  The object of our play was to observe how the rocks changed to missiles as they rolled to the roof's edge and shot out into the yard like comets falling from the sky.
      I found myself a perfectly smooth rock and sent it for a ride.  The stone was too smooth, however, so it slipped from my hand as I let it go and headed straight for a small window on the old lady's back porch.  At the sound of fractured glass, we took off from the old lady's yard faster than any of our missiles flew off her roof.
      I was too scared about getting caught that first night to be concerned about the old lady with the broken porch window.  However, a few days later, when I was sure that I hadn't been discovered, I started to feel guilty for her misfortune.  She still greeted me with a smile each day when I gave her the paper, but I was no longer able to act comfortable in her presence.
      I made up my mind that I would save my paper delivery money, and in three weeks I had the seven dollars that I calculated would cover the cost of her window.  I put the money in an envelope with a note explaining that I was sorry for breaking her window and hoped that the seven dollars would cover the cost for repairing it.
      I waited until it was dark, snuck up to the old lady's house, and put the envelope of retribution through the letter slot in her door.  My soul felt redeemed and I couldn't wait for the freedom of, once again, looking straight into the old lady's eyes.
      The next day, I handed the old lady her paper and was able to return the warm smile that I was receiving from her.  She thanked me for the paper and said, "Here, I have something for you."  It was a bag of cookies. I thanked her and proceeded to eat the cookies as I continued my route.
      After several cookies, I felt an envelope and pulled it out of the bag.  When I opened the envelope, I was stunned.  Inside was the seven dollars and a short note that said, "I'm proud of you."

Afterhours Stories