I saw him tonight.
I met him about two years ago, just another person working at the corner store.
We grew to talking, learning about each other. He thought it was so cool that I was a writer.
Tonight ended up different, for me.
We talked, he told me of something he did for someone. Someone whose brother was beheaded, whose daughter was drowned in front of him. Scott only translated words to help him get asylum in this country.
While he was telling me this, it took everything I had not to cry. That was not the time, but now, alone, I can. And I can almost write this.
He somehow looks up to me as a writer.
He has done FAR more than I ever have with words. I have changed lives, maybe –
but I don’t think I have saved any.