You never know the outcome

When I was in the fourth grade I met him. His face swollen from the medication. Our teacher said if he got a simple cut he could bleed to death. And I remember, with my 8 year old eyes, scoping him out. He didn't look sick. A little swollen and pale, but not sick. Math and reading went on.

"Ptcakes can you help Michael with his lunch?"

He had been out of school for weeks. He was in a wheelchair.

"Sure." A simple word -- a simple answer.

Michael was in a wheelchair a lot. We ate a lot of lunches together. Sometimes we'd trade. I loved blonde brownies -- still to this day. He'd tease me, like boys do. We were friends through fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh and eighth grade. We were in all the same classes. In eighth grade we were allowed to help Mr. Watts in the science stock room. And as I write this, a memory of a kiss or two exchanged there, flashes through my mind. But it ended there. For in high school, we were separated, and the friendship faded. Maybe I saw him in the hall. Maybe we shared the elevator after my knee surgery. But too much time had passed, and has passed for all to be clear.

Over the years my mother would run into his mother. Michael was in college. Then Michael was married, no kids. Likewise, I was married. Then came the news, Michael died. It was due to complications. I lived too far away for the wake or funeral. I don't remember if I sent a card.

And the years continued to pass.

Today, my Mom reported, " I saw Michael's mom."

I didn't have to ask, "Who?" I knew.

"She's alone now. After Michael died, so did her husband and her mother."

"I didn't know." And to be honest I don't think I would ever recognize Michael's mom if I saw her.

"She asked about you. She remembers how you and Michael would swap lunches in the fourth grade."

Sure is a simple word. You never know what will come from a simple word, a simple act of kindness.