The Spaces Between Your Fingers

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My mom's multitude of surgeries on her hip left her homebound for many months at a time. The adults oftentimes would feel bad for her, but be unsure how to make her feel better. The typical go-to ended up being to buy her food.

Doreen tensed in her seat as the hydraulics of the outer door hissed, slowly closing behind the woman who had just entered the house. Doreen hated Tuesdays. Ever since the latest set of surgeries, she’d been forced to stay at home, interacting with a daily rotation of instructors coming to tutor her.

Today was Miss. Lee’s day. The stern woman, dark hair in a tight bun, stepped into the dining room, staring at Doreen’s leg, which was propped up on a chair, a frilly pink pillow beneath it.

“Grab your things,” the woman said curtly.

Doreen stared at her.

“Go on,” the woman said. Doreen slowly grabbed her notebook and a large textbook. She shoved them into her backpack and began to slide it on. Miss Lee held out her hand, saying, “No need to carry that. You’ll have enough trouble walking.” Doreen gave the bag freely, leaning on her crutches and letting herself up.

“Do you like ice cream?” Miss. Lee asked.

“Y-yes ma’am,” Doreen said, still confused.

“Good. To the car,” Lee said, holding out her hand in an ‘after you’ fashion.

 

Lee’s Random Act of Kindness

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