A 3rd Serving of Chicken Soup for the Soul Read online

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  an instant he smiled, then took hold of the apple. I flashed on the image of E.T. extending his light-tipped finger. As our hands met on the apple, I felt a subtle exchange of energy.

  Well, we had given presents and shared food. Now the English-speaking man said we were going for a ride. Fear came back. I didn't know where they were taking us. If they were going to kill us, this was as good a place as any. They didn't seem competent enough to pull off a kidnapping and ransom. I suggested that they take the car and leave us here. We were in the middle of nowhere, but anything seemed better than going driving with them. We exchanged views on this several times, then all of a sudden they were back to threatening me with weapons. I got it. As soon as I switched back into fear mode, they became bandits again. "Okay. Let's go!"

  I climbed in the back next to Judith and Leila, and away we went. I had my pants on now, which further improved my state of mind. i flipped in and out of realities, at some moments, just driving through the desert. Then, seeing lights, I planned how I might open the door and push Judith and Leila out if we slowed down near people.

  As we drove along, I asked myself, "What would I do if I were driving along with my honored guests?" Sing, of course!

  Judith, Leila and I started singing:

  Listen, listen, listen to my heart's song.

  Listen, listen, listen to my heart's song.

  I will never forget you, I will never forsake you.

  I will never forget you, I will never forsake you.

  Leila kept smiling her outrageously cute smile. She'd catch the eye of one or another of the young men. Several times I saw them trying to keep it straight. ("Come on kid,

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  cut it out. I'm trying to be a bandit.") Then they'd smile despite themselves.

  They seemed to like the singing. We did. Then I realized I was failing to be a good host. They didn't know any of the songs. I thought for a moment. Inspiration!

  Guantanamera, guajira, guantanamera.

  Guantanamera. . . .

  That did it. They began singing along. The energy came together. No more bandits and victims. Feet were tapping and spirits lifted as we sailed through the desert night.

  We passed through a village without a chance for my great rescue attempt. Then the lights faded away as we entered some remote, hilly country. We pulled down a dark, dirt road, and the RV came to a halt. Judith and I looked at each other as we both had the thought that they were going to kill us. We rested deeply in each others' eyes.

  Then they opened the door and began to get out. Evidently, they lived far from the scene of the robbery. They had driven themselves home!

  Several of them said "Adios" as they exited. Finally, there was just my English-speaking friend. In halting English he struggled to communicate. "Please forgive us. My hombres and me, we are poor people. Our fathers are poor. This is what we do for making the money. I'm sorry. We didn't know it was you. You are such a good man. And your wife and child, so nice."

  He apologized again and again. "You are good people. Please do not think bad of us. I hope this won't ruin your vacation."

  Then he reached into his pocket and took out my wallet. "Here." He handed me back my MasterCard. "We can't really use this. Better you take it." He also gave me my driver's license. As one of his hombres stared in

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  amazement, he peeled off a few Mexican bills. "Here, for the gasoline."

  I was at least as amazed as his fellow bandits. He's giving my money back to me! He wants to make things right between us.

  Then he took my hand. He looked into my eyes, and the veils were gone between us. Just for a moment, we rested in that place. Then he said, "Adios": "with God."

  Our bandit guests disappeared into the night. Then my family held each other and cried.

  Robert Gass

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  Appointment with Love

  Six minutes to six, said the great round clock over the information booth in Grand Central Station. The tall young Army lieutenant who had just come from the direction of the tracks lifted his sunburned face, and his eyes narrowed to note the exact time. His heart was pounding with a beat that shocked him because he could not control it. In six minutes, he would see the woman who had filled such a special place in his life for the past 13 months, the woman he had never seen, yet whose written words had been with him and sustained him unfailingly.

  He placed himself as close as he could to the information booth, just beyond the ring of people besieging the clerks. . . .

  Lieutenant Blandford remembered one night in particular, the worst of the fighting, when his plane had been caught in the midst of a pack of Zeros. He had seen the grinning face of one of the enemy pilots.

  In one of his letters, he had confessed to her that he often felt fear, and only a few days before this battle, he had received her answer: "Of course you fear. . . all brave men do. Didn't King David know fear? That's why he

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  wrote the 23rd Psalm. Next time you doubt yourself, I want you to hear my voice reciting to you: 'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for Thou art with me'." And he had remembered; he had heard her imagined voice, and it had renewed his strength and skill.

  Now he was going to hear her real voice. Four minutes to six. His face grew sharp.

  Under the immense, starred roof, people were walking fast, like threads of color being woven into a gray web. A girl passed close to him, and Lieutenant Blandford started. She was wearing a red flower in her suit lapel, but it was a crimson sweet pea, not the little red rose they had agreed upon. Besides, this girl was too young, about 18, whereas Hollis Meynell had frankly told him she was 30. "Well, what of it?" he had answered. "I'm 32." He was 29.

  His mind went back to that bookthe book the Lord Himself must have put into his hands out of the hundreds of Army library books sent to the Florida training camp. Of Human Bondage, it was; and throughout the book were notes in a woman's writing. He had always hated that writing-in habit, but these remarks were different. He had never believed that a woman could see into a man's heart so tenderly, so understandingly. Her name was on the bookplate: Hollis Meynell. He had got hold of a New York City telephone book and found her address. He had written, she had answered. Next day he had been shipped out, but they had gone on writing.

  For 13 months, she had faithfully replied, and more than replied. When his letters did not arrive, she wrote anyway, and now he believed he loved her, and she loved him.

  But she had refused all his pleas to send him her photograph. That seemed rather bad, of course. But she had explained: "If your feeling for me has any reality, any honest basis, what I look like won't matter. Suppose I'm

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  beautiful. I'd always be haunted by the feeling that you had been taking a chance on just that, and that kind of love would disgust me. Suppose I'm plain (and you must admit that this is more likely). Then I'd always fear that you were going on writing to me only because you were lonely and had no one else. No, don't ask for my picture. When you come to New York, you shall see me and then you shall make your decision. Remember, both of us are free to stop or to go on after thatwhichever we choose . . .'

  One minute to sixhe pulled hard on a cigarette.

  Then Lieutenant Blandford's heart leaped higher than his plane had ever done.

  A young woman was coming toward him. Her figure was long and slim; her blond hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears. Her eyes were blue as flowers, her lips and chin had a gentle firmness. In her pale green suit, she was like springtime come alive.

  He started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was wearing no rose, and as he moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips.

  "Going my way, soldier?" she murmured.

  Uncontrollably, he made one step closer to her. Then he saw Hollis Meynell.

  She was standing almost directly behind the girl, a woman well
past 40, her graying hair tucked under a worn hat. She was more than plump; her thick-ankled feet were thrust into low-heeled shoes. But she wore a red rose in the rumpled lapel of her brown coat.

  The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away.

  Blandford felt as though he were being split in two, so keen was his desire to follow the girl, yet so deep was his longing for the woman whose spirit had truly companioned and upheld his own; and there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible; he could see that now. Her gray eyes had a warm, kindly twinkle.

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  Lieutenant Blandford did not hesitate. His fingers gripped the small, worn, blue leather copy of Of Human Bondage, which was to identify him to her. This would not be love, but it would be something precious, something perhaps even rarer than lovea friendship for which he had been and must ever be grateful.

  He squared his broad shoulders, saluted and held the book out toward the woman, although even while he spoke he felt shocked by the bitterness of his disappointment.

  "I'm Lieutenant John Blandford, and youyou are Miss Meynell. I'm so glad you could meet me. May . . . may I take you to dinner?"

  The woman's face broadened in a tolerant smile. "I don't know what this is all about, son," she answered. "That young lady in the green suitthe one who just went bybegged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said that if you asked me to go out with you, I should tell you that she's waiting for you in that big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of a test. I've got two boys with Uncle Sam myself, so I didn't mind to oblige you."

  Sumalith Ish-Kishor

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  Whoever Finds This, I Love You!

  On a quiet street in the city a little old man walked along

  Shuffling through the autumn afternoon,

  And the autumn leaves reminded him of other summers

  come and gone.

  He had a long lonely night ahead, waiting for June.

  Then among the leaves near an orphan's home a piece of

  paper caught his eye,

  And he stooped to pick it up with trembling hands.

  As he read the childish writing the old man began to cry

  'Cause the words burned inside him like a brand.

  "Whoever finds this, I love you, whoever finds this, I

  need you

  I ain't even got no one to talk to

  So whoever finds this, I love you!"

  The old man's eyes searched the orphan's home and

  came to rest upon a child

  With her nose pressed up against the window pane.

  And the old man knew he found a friend at last, so he waved to her and smiled

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  And they both knew they'd spend the winter laughing

  at the rain.

  And they did spend the winter laughing at the rain

  Talking through the fence and exchanging little gifts

  they had made for each other.

  The old man would carve toys for the little girl.

  She would draw pictures for him of beautiful ladies

  Surrounded by green trees and sunshine, and they

  laughed a lot.

  But then on the first day of June the little girl ran to the

  fence

  To show the old man a picture she drew, but he wasn't

  there.

  And somehow the little girl knew he wasn't coming back

  So she went to her room, took a crayon and paper and

  wrote . . .

  ''Whoever finds this, I love you, whoever finds this, I

  need you

  I ain't even got no one to talk to

  So whoever finds this, I love you!"

  Author Unknown

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  An Afternoon in the Park

  There once was a little boy who wanted to meet God. He knew it was a long trip to where God lived, so he packed his suitcase with Twinkles and a six-pack of root beer and he started his journey.

  When he had gone about three blocks, he met an old woman. She was sitting in the park just staring at some pigeons. The boy sat down next to her and opened his suitcase. He was about to take a drink from his root beer when he noticed that the old lady looked hungry, so he offered her a Twinkie. She gratefully accepted it and smiled at him. Her smile was so pretty that the boy wanted to see it again, so he offered her a root beer. Once again she smiled at him. The boy was delighted!

  They sat there all afternoon eating and smiling, but they never said a word.

  As it grew dark, the boy realized how tired he was and he got up to leave, but before he had gone more than a few steps, he turned around, ran back to the old woman and gave her a hug. She gave him her biggest smile ever.

  When the boy opened the door to his own house a

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  short time later, his mother was surprised by the look of joy on his face.

  She asked him, "What did you do today that made you so happy?"

  He replied, "I had lunch with God." But before his mother could respond, he added, "You know what? She's got the most beautiful smile I've ever seen!"

  Meanwhile, the old woman, also radiant with joy, returned to her home.

  Her son was stunned by the look of peace on her face and he asked, "Mother, what did you do today that made you so happy?"

  She replied, "I ate Twinkies in the park with God." But before her son responded, she added, "You know, he's much younger than I expected."

  Julie A. Manhan

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  The Little Boy and the Old Man

  Said the little boy, "Sometimes I drop my spoon."

  Said the little old man, "I do that too."

  The little boy whispered, "I wet my pants.''

  "I do that too," laughed the old man.

  Said the little boy, "I often cry."

  The old man nodded. "So do I."

  "But worst of all," said the boy, "it seems

  Grown-ups don't pay attention to me."

  And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.

  "I know what you mean," said the little old man.

  Shel Silverstein

  Submitted by Ruth Wiele

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  What's Really Important

  A few years ago at the Seattle Special Olympics, nine contestants, ali physically or mentally disabled, assembled at the starting line for the 100-yard dash. At the gun they all started out, not exactly in a dash, but with the relish to run the race to the finish and win.

  All, that is, except one boy who stumbled on the asphalt, tumbled over a couple of times, and began to cry. The other eight heard the boy cry. They slowed down and paused. Then they all turned around and went back. Every one of them. One girl with Down's syndrome bent down and kissed him and said, "This will make it better." Then all nine linked arms and walked together to the finish line.

  Everyone in the stadium stood, and the cheering went on for 10 minutes.

  Author Unknown

  Submitted by Bob French

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  Not a One!

  Little Chad was a shy, quiet young man. One day he came home and told his mother that he'd like to make a valentine for everyone in his class. Her heart sank. She thought, "I wish he wouldn't do that!" because she had watched the children when they walked home from school. Her Chad was always behind them. They laughed and hung on to each other and talked to each other. But Chad was never included. Nevertheless, she decided she would go along with her son. So she purchased the paper and glue and crayons. For three weeks, night after night, Chad painstakingly made 35 valentines.