The Warmth of Kindness

I wake up to the thud of my mother’s feet on the bike path. I huddle deeper into the faded blue jogging stroller my mother is pushing. Fat, icy drops of rain pelt down on me. The drops sting, leaving a red mark where they hit me and chilling me to the bone.

Bikers whiz by, splashing dirty water from their wheels onto me. I guess they weren’t expecting the rain either.

“Are you OK?” my mom asks. “I’m going as fast as I can. We’ll be home soon.” I try to go to sleep, but I can’t. The whirring of the wheels on the wet bike path makes an annoying buzzing sound.

Suddenly, one of the bikers slows down and stops by the side of the bike path. She calls for us to stop, and we do. I can tell my mom doesn’t want to talk to this woman. She wants to go home. The woman’s bright red frizzy hair sticks out of her hood. My mother stands looking at her. I start shivering. The woman takes off her back pack. She rummages in it and sticks her hands down to the very bottom.

“Hi,” she says. “My name is Elaine.”

“Look,” says my mom. “We gotta go.”

“Wait!” Elaine calls. “I just need to find it.” She rummages more, feeling around for whatever she’s looking for.

“My child is soaking wet and shivering!” Mom says.

“I just need to find this one thing.”

My mom starts running again. “I don’t’ know what that woman was thinking,” she mutters under her breath, “holding us up like that.”

Elaine passes us without saying anything. Around the next curve, there she is again with her blue bicycle and black backpack. Before we can pass her, she jumps in front of us and tucks me into a warm, woolly blanket.

“I just wanted to give you this, because I felt sorry for your poor girl.”

“I’m so sorry that I left you!” Mom says. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem, “ said Elaine.

We never saw her again.