An Introduction

I was on my way to the coffee shop for my shift, it was dark and cold, and my hands were in my pockets feeling like ice to me. I gave my mittens away a few days ago and hadn’t yet replaced them. I was hoping to do that tomorrow since it was my day off from work. Normally my walk to work is fine, but my family had recently moved to a new location in the city. Both of my parents worked full-time which left me to teach my younger siblings school in my spare time and walk to work by myself whenever I had a shift at the coffee shop. 

My shift started normally, I opened the coffee shop and served each customer as they came in, and my coworker Brooke came in to help as well. However, sometime near noon, a familiar face walked in. It was Miles, the homeless boy I had talked to a few days prior on the city streets. He came up and ordered a Chamomile tea, using the gift card I had given him when I first met him. Miles also asked if I had some time to help him with something. I took my lunch break and sat down at one of the coffee shop tables to talk with him. He said he was struggling to get a job and was wondering if I could help him put together a proper resume. I also heard him complain a lot about the expectations employers seemed to hold, he wasn’t looking for any complicated job position, only something like a shelf stocker at a grocery store. I told him to meet back with me at the coffee shop tomorrow, I would have time to help write a new resume that way.

My mother was home that morning, she questioned where I was going and why I wasn’t helping my siblings. We argued for some time but I eventually stepped out the door and started running up the hill towards the coffee shop. I made it up to the glass door of the shop and wiped the tears from my face before stepping in. Miles was already there waiting for me at one of the tables. He asked if I was alright, insisting he saw me crying before coming inside. I said I was fine and that I was there to help him, I could worry about myself later.

Miles then refused to be helped until I talked., He asked who I had to help me, and who I asked for help from when I was struggling. I stayed silent for a bit, trying to encourage him to just focus on the resume. He asked who helped me again, still refusing to change the topic. After a moment I finally answered, saying I didn’t need someone to help me, and that I helped myself.

He then asked me, “How would you feel if someone helped you, but would never say anything about themselves ever? Would you trust them?”

I was left unsure with that question, he could have worded it differently but I understood what he was saying. He knew nothing about me, he felt unsure of who he was even talking to. When I met him I asked him several questions to get to know him, yet he never got to hear anything about me. I never really talked to people about myself, I moved frequently and never seemed to be able to keep friends, they all criticised me and found me weird, annoying, or even intimidating for some reason. Nobody knew how to feel around me, so I just stopped trying, now Miles is asking about me, he wants to know me, why?

“Here,” Miles said, “how about you start over, start by introducing yourself?”

I hesitated, I was so used to people just calling me Rose, I never put in the effort to share any other name, I never even told people my name was Rose, that name simply started because other people liked my rose-coloured scarf. “Hailey,” I said, “my name is Hailey Rose.”

Miles held out his hand and said, “Nice to meet you, Hailey.” He shook my hand as if meeting for the first time all over again.

I gave him a smile, and we were able to work on his resume after that, and in the end, it looked much better than the one he was using before. Miles seemed fairly confident about getting a job, even though he still wasn’t pleased with the amount of effort a job required, we were able to talk more about that too.

Miles stood up from the table and grabbed the new resume they had made up. “It was nice talking to you Hailey,” he said, “I’ll see you later.” He then walked out of the store. 

I looked down to the table we were sitting at to see the rose-coloured mittens I had given him before sitting on the table, with a small piece of torn paper saying, “Thank you.”