Hope in the Fragile

He sat on the ledge, swinging his legs rhythmically back and forth. His hands were fiddling with his hat, which he held in his lap.

An elderly man approached him timidly from the rear and sat quietly next to him. He took off his own hat and held it in his lap, slowly turning it around in his hands.

“You know, I used to sit on this ledge when I was a boy,” the old man began to explain. “I came up here quite frequently if I remember correctly. It’s a lovely view from here.”

The boy said nothing, staring blankly at his own feet.

The old man chuckled. “I figured you would say about as much.” With his old, trembling hands he set his hat down behind him and folded his hands gingerly in his lap. “I don’t know what brought you up here. But I doubt it’s worth that.” The old man gestured towards the busy city street below with a nod.

The boy took in a deep breath and slowly exhaled, trying to hold back the tears that had formed in his eyes. “What if it is worth it?” He asked, clenching his teeth as he spoke.

The old man smiled softly, “You won’t jump,”

“How do you know that?” The boy asked aggressively, outwardly expressing his anger but inwardly masking his hope.

The old man thought to himself for a second, then with a tone of great compassion and empathy said, “because in sixty years you’ll come to this very ledge and talk a boy off of it just like someone did for the both of us.”

 

Daily Post- Fragile