Good works are links that form a chain of love.
— Mother Teresa
My nickname is eleven-fifty-nine. That is the time I show up at the bank on Saturdays. They close at noon. I know the tellers. They laugh each week when I come in. I laugh too. I always promise I will try to get there earlier next week. I never do. Life just gets in the way.
I went to the bank this past Friday. It is my writing day, and I was writing what you are now reading. I got there about 10 a.m. The tellers laughed, checked their imaginary or real watches and wondered out loud what day it was. I told them not to expect this from me again.
As I filled out the deposit slip, an unkempt, scraggly man carrying a satchel got in line. I noticed the tellers paying attention to him and his sack. My anti-terrorism paranoia took over and I watched as he made his way through the line. I finished filling out my deposit slip and got in line, two people behind him.
He was not your typical stone-faced, impatient customer. He smiled and nodded at the tellers. They each kept a keen eye on him. I heard him tell one teller “today’s the day.” My paranoia burst into full bloom.
When he got to the front of the line, he reached into his bag.
“I got a surprise for you,” he said, grabbing out of the bag something with a handle.
I took the cell phone out of my pocket.
He took something out of the bag: