Almost a year later, I was in another city for a business meeting.
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It wasn’t like my son’s jacket, but the same one he had taken before leaving for school that day.
I knew it wasn’t just a similar jacket because of the guitar-shaped patch on the torn sleeve. I’d sewn it myself, by hand. I also recognized the paint stain on the back when the man turned to the counter and ordered tea.
I pointed it out. “Add that man’s tea and scone to my order.”
The barista looked at him and then…
I tried to catch up with him, but the sidewalks were packed. People were moving aside for him, but not for me.
After two blocks, I realized something: the old man hadn’t stopped once to beg. Nor had he stopped to eat the bun or drink the tea. He moved with purpose.
My instinct told me to stop trying to catch up with him and just follow him.
So that’s what I did.
I followed him to the outskirts of the city.
He moved with determination.
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He stopped in front of an old, abandoned house.
It was surrounded by an overgrown, neglected garden that blended perfectly with the forest in the background.
It seemed like nobody had cared for a long time.
The old man silently knocked on the door.
I approached. The old man turned around at one point, but I hid behind a tree before he saw me.
I heard the door open.
He stopped in front of an old, abandoned house.
” You
said to let you know if anyone asked about the jacket…,” the old man said.
I peeked behind the tree. When I saw who was standing in the doorway of that old, dilapidated house, I thought I was going to faint.
