Make a Wish
In life, I had never heard anything about the Hall of Reconciliation. I wondered through a corridor all my own. Walls stood around me like stone tablets, and yet their surfaces writhed with a living record of a single life—mine.
My greatest failures stared back at me, reproachful. My successes too, meager as they were. I moved through them like their ghost, their witness, their passenger. I was adrift until reaching a last tablet:
'7,999,989,693'
Then, it became:
'7,999,990,432'
I stood transfixed by a number I had no concept of. When I finally had the presence of mind to voice my thoughts, I managed, "What?"
As if to answer what I had yet to ask, the walls fell away. I saw a younger me taunting my younger brother and sister.
"Way to go, genius."
"You were adopted."
"Your face looks as dumb as you sound."
Then, the image changed. Years later, my brother raised a family of boys, my sister one of girls. I saw a time and place I had never visited in life. With a smirk, my brother spoke of a quick-witted uncle and taught his boys mental resilience. With endearing eyes, my sister spoke of humility and taught her girls kindness. Both of them recounted tales full of laughter and elaborate hand gestures. Both spoke of a relentless older brother. A brother who never stopped moving forward.
Before I could even process what I felt, a new image emerged. As an adult, I was visiting a big department store. It was August, and I was in the south. On my way in, I passed a black boy in a reflective vest. He was collecting shopping carts for the store and was obviously aware of the heat.
Inside, I had gone to the restroom where I crossed paths with that same young man again. In the smaller space, I noticed his shoes. The soles were worn nearly to peaces, the heels held on by tape. The toe showed his toes within but not by design. He was barely wearing shoes at all, yet here he was working. Not holding his hand out. Not asking for anything.
After I met with his manager, I left without ever knowing what transpired. In truth, I didn't want to know. I never needed the recognition, I just left her the money and said, "Whatever he needs."
Now, I could see what had happened. After I spoke with her, she contacted corporate for an approval. When she told the boy about what someone had done, he mutely followed her as she led him through the shoe department. When asked to pick his shoes, he simply pointed, unable to speak through his tears. He also got a second pair of shoes, some socks, and two sets of clothes.
My eyes brimmed with tears as I watched him follow her through the store and watched him select his shoes. I never needed the recognition. Had never wanted it. But neither could I have watched as a proud young man's gratitude arrived in his eyes. Because I was proud too.
It was the manager who had gotten him the second pair of shoes. The manager who had gotten corporate to approve of his new clothing. She had told him as much. All I had done was buy a proud boy some reliable shoes so that his work might be more bearable. Some new socks so that the shoes might be more comfortable.
Despite telling him how charitable she and corporate had been, she couldn't answer the one question he wanted to know. "Who was he?"
"He didn't say," she replied.
So, he quit. He took a single pair of shoes and his socks and then walked out, his corporate gifts not accompanying him. He went on to open a chain of shoe stores where every shoe he sold donated a second pair to youths in need. For the rest of his life, a shelf hung over his desk. On it rested a single pair of shoes with a label reading, 'Thank You.'
I nodded mutely as I read the label, for I could not speak. Then, the image was gone.
In its place was a young girl in a hospital bed. She was sick and would not recover. I had previously visited terminally I'll children, but with her, I had felt a special sort of bond. Her smile was contagious. Despite her frail appearance, her laugh was mighty. I found myself doing things to bait out more of her laughter, even going so far as telling her about my most embarrassing moments. Afterward, she wished she could be so embarrassed. And it was a hard thing to hear because we both knew what she meant.
In the end, she told me goodbye, and she really meant it. I left, knowing that I'd never see her again. But then her expiration date came and went. Then, the year lapped that same date twice over. Folks began throwing around words like "miracle" and "don't get your hopes up too high."
I was shocked. I never knew. Was too afraid to even look her up and confirm what we all thought was certain. Then I watched her write me a letter. She wrote about her embarrassment. About saying goodbye only to then not go anywhere.
I barked a laugh as I watched her write the note, smiling. Then, I realized that I had never actually gotten that letter, and so I had never replied.
When her letter came back, 'Return to Sender,' my heart dropped. I had moved. Her letter hadn't found me. Her expression was disappointed, but her spirit didn't bend. "I'll just find some other way to tell you," she said.
In the following years, her illness hadn't returned, so she invested her life into finding its cure. And find it she did. Her discovery made world-wide news. She had uncovered something that proved terminal for cancer. When cancerous cells were exposed to certain frequencies, they disintegrated. It was a treatment that only targeted the problem.
I had seen the news along with everyone else, but at the time, all I could think of was how I wish the discovery had come sooner. "That was you?" I whispered. I had never connected it even after hearing her speak of the kindness of strangers and the power of laughter. It seemed she had found me after all.
On and on the scenarios played out before me until I was kneeling, stupefied by how such small gestures had amounted to what they had.
'8,000,000,396'
The number was still going up, but I had no concept for its scope. Above it read, 'Number of lives saved.'
I wept before reading what was written still higher:
'Petition to enter Heaven and number of signatures.'
Only then did I see how everything had propagated. I had never worn a cape. Had never saved anyone from some great tragedy. I just did what I felt was right without seeking recognition. But in reality, I had set dominoes to falling, which had crossed generations and were improving lives still.
I had never wanted to know what had happened to those whose lives I had touched, but now that I did, all I could think to say was, "Thank you."
Writing prompt: You're a relatively mundane person who just died. While reviewing your life's stats, one in particular jumps out, "Lives saved: 8 billion"
