“On the highway,” he said.
“I’ve wondered.”
Nathan stared at the floor.
“Because I recognized you.”
“What?”
He nodded.
“Eight years ago.”
I frowned.
“What are you talking about?”
“You worked at St. Matthew’s Community Kitchen.”
The memory surfaced instantly.
The homeless outreach center.
The place where I’d volunteered before my own life fell apart.
Nathan continued.
“My company was barely surviving.”
I stared at him.
“You?”
He smiled sadly.
“Believe it or not, yes.”
He looked up.
“I came there because I hadn’t eaten in two days.”
My jaw dropped.
“I remember a man like that.”
“You gave him your lunch.”
The room went silent.
I suddenly remembered.
A tired young businessman sitting alone in the corner.
Embarrassed.
Ashamed.
Hungry.
I’d handed him a sandwich and told him everyone needs help sometimes.
“You remembered that?”
“I never forgot it.”
Emotion caught in his voice.
“You treated me like a human being when nobody else did.”
Tears filled my eyes.
Eight years.
One small act of kindness.