Mirela Meets Pokey

It is early evening and Mirela treads around the room, pulling the lamp chains and blowing the candles out. It has been a long interesting day at work. She travels down the steep set of stairs, using the splintery railing as her guide. After bidding Mrs. Ryan and Harold goodbye, she pulls the thick wooden door shut behind her and sets out for #725 of the Thallow Flats ( a small space she likes to call "home")

On her last stretch of block Mirela notices a figure across the street nervously fiddling with a head set and player. The young man then approaches the cross walk and presses the orange button three times; the WALK sign blinks on. The boyish man studies his possessions and surroundings, while uttering underneath his breath and nodding his head, possibly making a mental checklist. He looks both ways, steps out between the thick, faded lines of the crosswalk, and begins to cross with his head in a down-turned position.

Mirela stands motionless, just feet from the dull bronze doors of the Thallow Flats. She is absorbed in observation, processing every minute detail of this man's being, while writing his story in her mind the entire time. Realizing that she is staring, though she doubts the man notices, Mirela turns toward the entrance of the flats. She takes half a step and then glances over her shoulder to get one last glimpse of this odd stranger. At that very second, his bag rips open and the contents spill onto the dusty, gray concrete. Wool socks, flannel shirts, galoshes, and thermal wear all fall into a messy unorganized pile of winter clothing. The man begins to frantically collect his clothes with a clenched jaw and reddened cheeks. He could not pick up his belongings fast enough. Mirela was already standing over him with kind eyes. She bends down and picks up a pair of wooly socks and holds them out to him like an offering. He quietly accepts the socks, only making a few seconds of shifty eye contact.



"Hi, I'm Mirela. Do you need a hand? I have an extra bag you can borrow."


Mirela began to pull a cloth grocery bag out of her gigantic purse.


"Um, No. I'm fine."


He begins to pick up each item and stuffs them underneath his arm. It is obvious that he isn't going to be able to carry everything, so Mirela stands her ground.


"Here, just use the bag. I can come pick it up later. Are you in a hurry?"


"No, it's just that I can't let these clothes out of my hands until I get to my room and it's getting dark and mom doesn't like me to-"


He stopped his fast paced stream of words mid statement as Mirela unfolded his hand, placing the bag onto his palm.


"It's no big deal. I live in room #725. Oh, and I never asked you your name."


He gazed into Mirela's gentle eyes with astonishment.


"I'm Pokey. Um, thank you."


And with that, Mirela was off to enjoy the nearing sunset.