Samuel's Story

Noah looked down at his watch, “Only 30 more minutes” he thought to himself as he restocked coffee cups for the next day’s morning crew. At the sound of the door chimes knocking together, he looked up to see his regular customer stepping inside. He was a homeless man, with kind eyes who stuck to his routine. Every evening at 5 O’clock he came into the shop to order some chamomile tea and enjoy the warmth of the indoors before braving another night sleeping in the subway. “Chamomile tea for you today?” Noah asked the homeless man. He nodded in response; He was a man of few words. In a matter of seconds, in what seemed like a single swift move behind the counter, Noah produced a steaming cup of tea for the small sum of $1.50. The homeless man reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. “Thank you” he said and was about to walk away but then turned back and asked Noah “What are your plans?” “For tonight? Uh, I’ll probably just head home, maybe watch some TV” Again, the homeless man just nodded before turning around and heading towards his usual table by the window.

“Hey Noah! I just finished cleaning out the back, I’m about to head out.” Noah turns to face his co-worker “Oh ok, no problem. Uh real quick though, do you think you can tell him that we’re closed?” he asked, his eyes quickly darting in the direction of the homeless man. His co-worker rolled her eyes. “Please?” Noah asked, “ I just don’t have the heart.” “Fine.” She said begrudgingly. She walked over to the man and then headed out the door. The homeless man followed shortly after.

Noah grabbed a broom and started making his way through the shop. As he got closer to the table by the window, something caught his attention. He got a little closer and realized it was a book, a little black book, with worn down edges from frequent use and a black elastic band holding it closed. He tried remembering each person who had sat there by the window that day and then came to the conclusion, there was only one, the homeless man. Noah opened the book to the first page “Samuel Toussaint” he read from the line reserved for the owner’s name and adress. He flipped through the small journal, almost every page was full of beautiful script. A photograph slipped out from between the pages. It was a picture of a family, a man, and woman in traditional Haitian dress holding a small child. Noah looked around the shop. He was the only one there, he was basically done sweeping and all other closing tasks were finished...he was debating whether to read a few pages. Just a few, he decided.

"I never really knew my parents. I was named Samuel after my father, so I suppose I should be called Samuel Jr. but, no one has ever called me that. My parents were humble working folks born and both raised in the same Hatian city. I should have grown up there too but, when the opportunity arose for me to live with relatives in the U.S. they sent me away; better opportunities they figured. I was young, maybe 2 years old when I came to live with my mother’s sister and her husband. Back then, long distance phone calls were expensive so it was rare that I ever got to speak to my parents but I was too young to understand the gravity of the situation anyways. Now, I realize how painful it must have been for them. As I got a little older I started appreciating those rare calls more and more but, they weren’t meant to last. I always thought I would go and visit my parents one day or maybe, grow up and make enough money to bring them both to the U.S. and take care of them. I never got the chance. They were killed when I was fourteen, in an earthquake that the city never fully recovered from.

Life as an adopted immigrant kid was difficult enough, so I had to block out the pain of losing the parents I never really met and focus on getting by day by day. I spent a lot of time wandering the streets, working odd jobs, just stuff to keep me busy. As if I hadn’t dealt with enough shit in my life already, the universe decided to deal me another hand of cards. It was just a day like any other. I had just finished some sort of handyman job, can’t even remember what exactly but after working I decided to take my usual route through one of the wealthy neighborhoods. I loved looking at the architecture of the homes and studying all the exotic plants in the yards that looked like they belonged in a royal garden or something. I guess that day I had gotten off work a little late because it was already starting to get dark as I made my way through the park-like neighborhood. All of a sudden I heard some voices, a man and a woman’s. As I got closer to the driveway of one of the homes I could tell that the woman was upset. There was a tall stone wall that bordered the yard of the house and where it ended the driveway began. I don’t know why I was so intrigued but for some reason I decided to hide behind the corner of that stone wall and peeked around it to see what the man and woman were arguing about. There was a beat up, rust orange Datsun in the driveway with both doors wide open. The longer I stayed I realized the woman was drunk, or maybe drugged, one thing was for sure, she was trying to get away. The man was tall and slender, but had muscular arms with veins popping out of em. His hair was long, unbrushed and looked dirty. I try not to remember his face anymore but for the longest time I was haunted by it.

I’ll always regret that day, I should’ve done more; fuck, I should’ve done something. It seemed like just seconds then this man’s nasty hands were around her neck and then he threw her down to the ground. Her head slammed down on the pavement. I ran. I turned around and ran as fast as I could in the other direction. Turns out, that young woman was Mei Zhao, daughter of a wealthy banker, Mr. Han Zhao. The story was instantly all over the news and I was reminded of what I’d witnessed day after day. It became too much and I finally decided to go to the police with the information I had. I told my family my plan and they flipped out on me! They told me not to go, that if I did, and I was the only witness, I would be accused of the murdered and arrested myself, but I had already made up my mind. Apparently, as I headed out the door on my way to the police station my family turned on the TV and switched it to the news as the authorities were announcing a $20,000 reward to anyone who had information leading to the arrest of the person who killed Miss Mei Zhao. It was interesting timing, that’s for sure, but I had no idea that the family was offering any type of reward. I walked into the station, checked in at the desk and patiently waited to pass on as much information as I could. Eventually, the lead detective on the case came out and then took me into a room so we could talk. I told him everything I could think of. The make of the car, the last three numbers of the license plate that I could remember, and a description of the man I saw, his dead eyes, crooked nose, dirty hair. The detective and the cop that was with him seemed impressed, then they left the room for a few minutes. My family wasn’t wrong. When the detective came back he said I was under arrest and going to be held for further questioning. Panic swept over me as they put me in handcuffs. The detective’s hand was placed firmly around my arm as he led me out of that room, I guess to take me to a holding cell. But as he was pushing me forward I turned my head and saw Mr. Han Zhao, I recognized him from the news. I called out to him; ‘Mr. Zhao! I have information about your daughter!’ The detective, clearly annoyed at me yelling, told me to shut up and continued pushing me toward a cell. But I had caught Mr. Zhao’s attention.

He called out after me 'Stop! Wait!' and with a sigh the detective stopped nudging me forward. 'What do you know?' Mr. Zhao asked me. I told him everything that I had told the detective. 'Why did you only come forward once the reward was announced?' 'Reward?' I asked, genuinely confused. He looked at me for what felt like a solid ten minutes and then told the detective to look into the details of my story, that's the kind of leverage he had. I was released and a few weeks later they found the guy, driving that beat up lemon. It was a blind date gone wrong, he definitely was not what Miss Mei had been expecting. I was invited to the press conference when they announced the arrest of Mr. Smith and they did indeed reward me $20,000. There’s a lot I coulda done with $20,000, especially back then, that was a lot of money. I gave $5,000 to my aunt and uncle, the least I could do after they treated me as their own all those years. And the rest? I felt guilty having it, it seemed wrong. I was there! I shoulda done something to stop Mei’s murder. But shit, I was just a kid, barely eighteen and I was scared.

I continued living as I had before, working handyman jobs, anything I could find, forgetting about the $15,000 I had sitting in savings. Months went by but my stomach still felt knotted up when I thought back to that day; The sound of Mei’s head loudly thumping on the ground. One day, my aunt and uncle told me they were going to Haiti to visit the town my aunt and mother grew up in and they wanted me to come along. I wasn’t sure if I could handle being in that environment, being reminded of my parent’s death. After a few weeks of my family asking and asking, I finally agreed to go. Like I said, the town had never fully recovered from the earthquake. I felt like I had struggled my entire life and now I was surrounded by people who were just happy to be alive. One day, when I was walking around the town I saw a group of kids playing all over some sorta jungle gym, or what was left of it. As I got closer I realized it was once part of a school yard but the school was no longer there. And right then I knew, I knew what to do with the rest of the money.

After a shit ton of paperwork and haggling with authorities and banks I was finally able to transfer the $15,000 to an organization in Haiti that would use the money to rebuild the school, buy supplies for the kids and even cover the salary of a few teachers for a year or two. The money never really felt like mine anyways and it was finally being used for something good. Relieved to finally find a purpose for that money, I felt like I'd also discovered my own purpose and decided to continue taking trips to Haiti and volunteering for multiple projects. While in NYC I’d live off the bare minimum, often homeless. I would make just enough to go back to Haiti every 7 months or so and help where I could. I’m 73 now and can’t make those trips like I used to but the time I spent there was life changing. I met some amazing people, had some amazing experiences and finally felt a connection to my parents.

Almost every person we meet is struggling in their own way, at some level. We don’t always realize how much of a difference we can make in someone’s life with just a small act of kindness, since most of us don’t have $15,000 laying around. I hope whoever finds this story will be inspired to help those who are less fortunate than them, you’d be surprised how much peace it can bring you. "

An ambulance drove by, lights blaring, sirens wailing, kicking Noah out of the trance that Samuel’s story had put him in. Samuel. Noah finally had a name to put to the customer of few words… or not so few. Noah felt his phone vibrate. “ Are you almost home?” his girlfriend had texted him. “Fuck,” he sighed. Time had really gotten away from him, he normally would have been home an a half hour ago. He put the little black book in his pocket. He was going to be working the next day and figured he’d keep Samuel’s story safe until he saw him the following evening. Noah turned out all the lights, locked up the shop and headed down the busy New York street. It was a day like any other, but it was starting to get dark since he’d gotten off of work so late. He walked a few steps down the sidewalk and then looked across the way. He saw the ambulance that had passed by the shop window a few minutes prior. There was a figure in a black bag on the paramedic’s gurney. Noah stopped. He looked closer and just before the paramedics finished closing the bag, he saw Samuel’s face. Then it was gone. The paramedics loaded the gurney up, then set off down the bustling New York street. Noah pulled the little black book out of his pocket. He looked to his right, to a nearby street bench and walked over. With a heaviness in his chest, he set the book down for the next stranger to read Samuel’s story.