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May 25, 2007

Jim: Always Room For One More

Like most who came before, he just stood there, silent. Sparse hair like the last snows of winter wisped across his spotted pate while eyes that had once been piercing blue now stared at me in rheumy confusion.

I took the pamphlet from him and read the name. “Hello, Ryan,” I smiled. “Won’t you come inside?”

He continued to stare at me as if stricken dumb.

So I put my arm around his thin shoulders and led him in, feeling his youthful vigor return as he crossed the threshold. “I think we’ll be good friends, Ryan. My name is Peter.”

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