Cindy

My reward for writing a good story is to read one in return.

Cindy knows this.

She knew it on the night we met.
She didn't approach me, but she followed.

Alongside, she befriended me and protected me all the way home.

We arrived at my door, but I couldn't let her in.
I told her to go several times, but she stayed.
I left her watching me through the clear glass door.

I ran upstairs, and cried to my mother, "Why can't she stay with us?"

She was there. Her sad face staring through the glass with a tear in her eye.

I'll never forget that image for the rest of my life.



Let me see this story through.
Let my words find their way to you.
And you to them.


Years later, on my own, I visited my mother's house.
As I was about to greet my mother, I turned.
And there she was!

Cindy jumped into my arms.
The joy was overwhelming!
There was no attitude, no suspicion, no guilt, and at no cost.
She played around with everyone.
She even danced on the table!

But she couldn't come home with me.
I didn't have enough room for her.
I guess I never felt man enough to care about anyone.

Men have many excuses.
For Men are such vain creatures.

But not Cindy.
She became my best friend, and I became a deliberate stranger.

I didn't talk to myself anymore
My mother was busy with her own problems.
And my sisters were still confusing.

I began to find not many people that I could completely trust.
Who do I turn to?
Where do I go?
Who do I talk to?
About all that I know.

It seemed no matter how I treated her, she was always there.
I gave her what little I could.
She knows, she understands.
She is always grateful.

My mother couldn't afford to feed her, so she starved.
Yet, she continued to stay.
And all of the other relatives pushed her aside, talked behind her back, and then simply ignored her.
When my mother put her out, she came back in.
When my mother told her to stay in, she went out.

Her warm, frail, bony body still embraces me every week when I arrive from picking up my mother from work.
She looked older, but she still had some life left in her.

Soon thereafter, my family moved away.
Cindy moved on also.

I arrived at the old house too late.
All that greeted me was the broken, cold screen door.

I began to feel so alone, so empty.
"Where's Cindy?",I had to ask.
One young child's joy is a grown man's sorrow.

She'll be very happy with her new family. I will miss her.

I eventually moved out of the city.
I had to get away and start my life over again.
I thought that by moving to a different city, my life would change.
I put myself in those same traps again.
And I was still disappointed and lonely.


Late one night, I heard a sound coming from my back door.
I approached the door and saw an image.
The image of a tilted face with a tear in her eye!

I wasn't afraid anymore.

Hello, faithful friend.

Thank you for letting me love you again.