The next time I wanted to fix someone's life, I should ask what they wanted first.
“No,” I said.
The man sat down.
“I’m Jeremy.
I smiled.
“I’m Sarah.
We sat quietly for a moment, watching people rush into the subway.
Then I looked at the second coffee next to me.
Black.
I took a sip.
And he immediately made a face.
Jeremy looked up.
“Bad?”
“No.
I looked at Larry's empty point.
“Just not mine.”
I went back to the kiosk.
The woman behind the counter smiled.
“Another black man?”
I shook my head.
“Are you really able to get some cream?”
When I returned to the bank, Larry's letter and our marriage certificate were still by my side.
For once, I wasn't running anywhere.
And while holding my coffee in both hands, I finally understood what Larry had been trying to tell me.
I hadn't saved him.
He hadn't fixed his life.
I hadn't even given him what he originally claimed to need.
I had just sat next to him.
And for a lonely man who had spent twenty-eight years standing next to other people’s marriages, perhaps being elected, even for only three weeks, had meant more than I ever realized.
