An Act of Kindness

         I left the restaurant with a full stomach. My left overs snuggled in the white styrofoam box that I held with my left hand. I fumbled through my pockets, looking for my ever elusive keys. My fingers finally grasped around the jagged metal and I withdrew them from their denim prison.

         I reached my vehicle and glanced over to my right. There, I saw a man sitting in the trimmed grass, leaning against a small tree. The shade provided by the tree must have protected him from the ruthless sun, because he wasn't even breaking a sweat. A bushy beard lined his chin and mouth, it was grey and held specks of dirt. The green shirt, that hid his small frame, was ripped and torn. Holes filled his jeans that rested snuggly around his legs. His sneakers were once white, but now they had a grey tint with black marks on the toe end. A cardboard sign with crude writing read:

Heading to Lincoln, Nebraska, need ride.

         I'm not a man to act on impulse, and I never give anything away, but something came over me. Some would say God spoke to me, but those people are idiots. I felt a need to care. As simple as that, I wanted to help him. What would I do with these leftovers? Feed them to the dog? Eat them later? Let them sit in the fridge until mold grows and finally throw them out? I gave myself a sigh and slowly made my way to him.

         "So, you headed to Nebraska?" I asked him when I entered the shade. I still had to squint my eyes from the bright glare that leaped from the passing cars.

         "Yes I am sir." he answered in a gruff voice.

         His brown eyes stared in my face, almost pleading me to take him to his destination. I could not just up and leave. I have a son, a job, and wife to think about. I suppose I could invite him home and let him stay the night, but I don't really trust people all that well. Up close you could see scars and pox marks of the battles he faced, and dirt smugged against his sunburned skin.

         I handed him the box, "Sorry it's not more." His hand extended and retrieved the gift. He opened it and began to feed his greedy lips. "So, what's in Lincoln?" I asked him, not sure if he wanted me to leave or not.

         He looked up from his meal with his brown eyes, "My granddaughter turns a year next week. I'd like to see her, I ain't never seen her before." he answered and returned to his meal.

         "Granddaughter huh?" I asked as sat in the grass and twirled it with my fingers. "My son turns one in a few months."

         "You have a son?" he asked with a full mouth.

         I smiled, "Yeah I do."

         "How old are you?" he asked, swallowing his food.

         "I'm nineteen." I answered him.

         "A lot braver than I ever was." he mumbled.

         I looked over at him as he closed the box, "What do you mean?"

         "Well," he began, "when I was about your age, I meet a woman. I loved her, and she loved me. We committed a deed that was frowned upon in the sixties, sex before marriage. She became pregnant, and I was proud, but when her father began the marriage plans, I became unstable." He lowered his head, as if full of shame. "When night fell, I packed my bags and headed for Mexico. I found some work there as a peddle man. I delivered illegal drugs and products to their buyers. The police eventually caught on, and I was deported back to the United States." He rose his head and stared at the passing cars. "I found an honest mans work as a farm hand. After many years passed by, I received a phone call. It was my son, he told me about his daughter, and how he wanted me to come see her. I told him I would, and I apologized for leaving him. A few months later, my employer could no longer keep me on has a farm hand. So I started my way to Lincoln." His eyes started to water, "I want to get there before the cancer beats me."

         I stared at him with shock. Feelings began to well up inside of me, and my eyes began to water as well. "I'm sorry I can't give you a ride." I finally said.

         "Oh, don't worry about it. I'll be fine. Plus you would have to leave your son, and that would be selfish of me." He answered, wiping the tears from his eyes.

         I rose up from my seat, "Well, it was nice to meet you."

         "Wait!" he insisted. "I want you too have this." He reached behind the tree and revealed a guitar. The body was full of scratches and nicks. The fret board was warped and worn, and the head board was full of scratches.

         "I can't except that." I said shaking my head.

         "No, I insist. I wont have any need of it, plus take it as a thank you, for the meal and your company."

         I grabbed the guitar, "Thank you." I said, and walked away.

         They found his body underneath the overpass. He was stabbed to death trying to prevent a thug from mugging two teenage girls. After a few weeks of research, I found his son and told him of the news over the phone. The guitar he gave me was a Hoffner Epiphany, the last series made by the German company, and according to the serial number, it was the last guitar off the line. Even in the condition it is in, it is worth twenty five thousand dollars. Even today, it sits in the corner of my living room, and everyday I play him a song.