A Twist of Fate

Two boys sat together on the pavement next to a playground, making car noises. Their miniature car models were being raced across the hot cement. The young white boy had a fancy, brand new Hot Wheels race car. The dark-skinned boy he was playing with had a rusty old truck that looked several years old. The two boys played all afternoon, but in there youth, never remembered to ask for each other's names.

"Come on Robby, it's time to go," the white boy's mother called, scowling at her son's new acquaintance. "Don't want to catch germs."

Ignoring his mother, the white boy picked up his shining toy, and put it into the black boy's hands, swapping it for the rusty truck.

He stood up and walked to his disapproving mother. The other boy smiled his thanks and waved as they parted ways.

Robby waved goodbye, sad to leave.

. . .

"What's the holdup?" a man shouted, stamping his foot impatiently.

Rob stood in the grocery store line, wondering why it was going at a snail pace. He was getting annoyed.

At the front of the self-checkout lane, a dark-skinned man was struggling to work the scanner. Anytime he attempted using it, it beeped angrily at him.

Rob pushed his way to the front and scanned the black man's items on his first try, then proceeded to scan his own. He made it look effortlessly easy.

"It's not hard at all. Shouldn't even take half a brain cell to figure this thing out. Wouldn't be called self-checkout if you have to have help anytime you use it," Rob remarked crossly. Clearly this had insulted the man, but the dark man said nothing.

A few people in the line behind him chuckled.

The black man fumbled with the pay machine, causing more snickers from the line.

Humiliated, the man grabbed his newly purchased things and left the grocery store.

. . .

Rob stared at himself in the mirror. In his untarnished suit, he looked very professional, like a business man. He hoped that the interview went well. He desperately needed this job.

He marched confidently into his boss's office, and took a seat in front of a large oak desk.

On the desk was a silver pendulum, a nameplate, various stacks of paper, and an aged Hot Wheels race car.

A woman with a curtly manner stepped inside the room.

"Thank you for coming, Mr..." she paused, waiting for him to tell her his name.

"Rob, please call me Rob," he said, straightening his tie.

"Alright then, Rob. Mr. Boyce will be with you shortly. Good luck on your interview," she said, exiting the office.

A few minutes later, a well dressed black man entered the room carrying a small stack of papers.

Rob's heart sank as recognition flooded his mind. This was the man from the grocery store he insulted a few weeks back. With any luck, his hopeful future boss would not notice.

"Mr. Boyce, a pleasure to meet you," Rob said, standing up and shaking his hand.

"Please be seated," he said, setting down the stack of papers. "Lets begin."

The interview went as an interview should. Rob answered many questions, and overall, he felt good about his performance. He was still clinging onto the hope that Mr. Boyce wouldn't recognize him.

Mr. Boyce left the office to consult his advisor.

When he returned, Rob had a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Mr. Boyce's mouth was tugged down into a frown. Recognition was flashed across his face.

He remembered.

. . .

A man sat bundled in a pile of dirty blankets, shivering. His hair was in long dreadlocks and an unkempt beard crept down his chin. He was sitting on the side of a road in a filthy gutter.

Rob shivered.

He looked down at his dirt-laden, scrawny figure. He hadn't had a good meal since the interview, which was weeks ago. He was the image of poverty. He glanced over at his last belonging, a rusted old toy truck. He kicked aside a crumpled wrapper and picked the toy up.

A woman and her child rushed past, the mother urging her child to walk quicker. The child stared at him. He knew they wanted nothing to do with a dirty homeless man.

He shivered again and shifted in his ragged mountain of blankets to maximize warmth.

A dark-skinned man walked by, stopping in front of the ratty pile of blankets.

"Where'd you get that?" he asked, pointing to the rusted toy car the homeless man was clutching.

"I dunno, sometime when I was a kid. You can have it if you give me a couple bucks," Rob rasped. His stomach growled at the thought of what a couple of dollars could buy.

"No, you can keep it," the man replied, looking away.

"You were right to not hire me. I didn't deserve that job," Rob confessed.

The man looked shocked and confused, then seemed to recognize who he was talking to. He said nothing, but reached into the bag slung around his shoulder and pulled out a stack of cash. He handed it to Rob, and walked away.

. . .

An old man sat in a wheelchair, his eyes unfocused, and his words incomprehensible. A woman was talking slowly to him, like you would to a young child.

He was old, and with age the brain deteriorates. Jacoby Boyce has had a caretaker out of necessity for the past eleven years ever since age began catching up with his brain.

"Mr. Boyce, we've got a new friend," his caretaker said sweetly while rolling his wheelchair around to face the door.

He just mumbled random words back.

Another elderly man entered the room. He was stopping by to help the disabled, since he was perfectly capable of assisting a caretaker for the day.

"This is Rob, he's here to help for today," she told him.

Something incredible happened. The man who hadn't been able to do anything for himself for eleven years remembered.

Jacoby Boyce smiled, pulling out a Hot Wheels race car.