I had asked the man if he had a few minutes to talk. Something had been bothering me and I needed a few minutes of his time. Maybe he could help me figure it out.
“Okay, I’m ready,” he said. But I could tell he wasn’t.
And as I shared what was in my heart, his eyes kept drifting back to his computer screen.
It’s okay, I said to myself. He’s giving me some attention. He can do two things at once. But there was something inside me that just couldn’t buy that.
Was he hearing what I was really saying? If I stopped talking in the middle of a sentence and walked out of the room, would he really even notice if I was gone?
The new Schwinn sat there outside our office window for three long months. Someone bought a nice bike, carefully chained it to a trashcan, and then walked away. Leaving it there—for good.
My co-workers and I saw the bike daily and, since it sat near one of the main entrances to our building, so did everyone else.
During the last few storms of winter, we would watch the snow pile up on its seat.
And, in rain—we wondered if it would start to rust. At times when I passed it, I thought could see a little mold beginning on its nicely cushioned seat.
Speculations about the bike bounced around our office at times, as we tried to guess what happened to the owner. Were they abducted? Did they just forget where they'd left the bike? Or maybe they just couldn't fit it in their car when they left the area.
Sometimes the Schwinn would take to leaning away from the trashcan, making it difficult for people to pass. And this is when it bugged me the most. What was such a nice bike doing sitting out in the weather getting in everyone's way?
by Debra Torres
There was something in the cabinet that someone was trying to keep safe. It was in a shared office kitchen, but the creamer in that cabinet wasn’t for all to use. Thus the chain, the padlock, and the paper clip.
Yep, the paperclip.
That was the funny part. If you look closely at the image above, you’ll see it. The last link of the chain is connected to the padlock with what looks like a twisted paper clip.
I thought it was a funny site. How secure was the creamer, really? Who did it keep out? Probably anyone who wasn’t strong enough to untwist a paperclip.
I laughed at that and even took a picture with my phone. But the more I thought about the paperclip lock, the more I realized that I often do the same kind of thing in my own life.
And maybe you do, too.
By Debra Torres
Out of the early morning mist the deer bounded swiftly across the road far in front of our car. And I told my husband to watch so he wouldn’t miss its beauty.
But my appreciation quickly turned to alarm as I saw that the deer wasn’t alone.
Two twin fawns trailed her, and the mother obviously hadn’t factored in the extra time it would take for their little legs to get across the road.
Oncoming traffic was rapidly approaching and was almost upon the two little creatures when a car swerved and one fawn slipped and hit the pavement hard.
By Debra Torres
Amish Fiction Author and Blogger:
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