The boy with the fruit snacks.

*This is actually something that happened to me, and I couldn't stop thinking or worrying about it, so I had to write it down.*

            “Hi, Miss, would you buy fruit snacks for my soccer team?” I stopped and stared at the tall boy of around 18 standing in front of me. The vacant, deer-caught-in-headlights look in his eyes and something about his voice told me that there was something wrong with him. His light brown hair fell past his ears, the edges sticking to his face with sweat. A tight, mottled pink and gray t-shirt accentuated his rail-thin frame; baggy jeans that didn’t quite fit made him look disproportional. Everyone who passed him avoided looking at him, politely declined his request, then pretended he didn’t exist. I stood there staring, wondering if I was being naïve for feeling so sympathetic towards this lone figure in a crowd standing outside a food market.

            “Miss, you wanna buy fruit snacks for my soccer team?” I smiled apologetically then shook my head ‘no.’ Averting my gaze from his figure, I hurried back to my car with my groceries. As I pulled out of the parking lot, I felt haunted by the image of the boy holding his box of fruit snacks, wondering why no one, including myself, had wanted to help him and his soccer team. It made me flinch as I recalled his facial expression when I too had refused to help: blank, too accustomed to disappointment to even care anymore. Although I wished with all my heart that I had bought just one fruit snack, I realized why I didn’t. I had been scared of the boy, scared of my own pity for him. He was off, not normal, and as much as I hated to admit it, that had frightened me. I felt ashamed and disgusted with myself. Even more than that, I was disappointed with myself. I drove back home, knowing that the image of the boy with the fruit snacks would haunt me forever.