If not you

We are so powerful. Immensely strong.
Responsible. We know what is right, almost
every time.

I was at Barnes and Noble today picking out a special card. A few feet from me, a large man, khaki jacket, jeans, hair curling over his collar, two days beard on his face, sat with a book in his lap, his beefy hand at his brow shading his face, seemingly intent on reading. Except he was not reading; he was crying.

How could I be certain? Was he crying? This large man, slumping in the reading chair, an open book on his right thigh, is whimpering, his chin trembling. The card in my hand is a photo of friends leaping from a cliff into water. I glance again, at the book in his lap, at the tilt of his fingers veiling his eyes. I focus on the card rack, open the card, "I'm here with you. Leap."

I want to buy the card. I want to say something to the stranger in the chair. I want to see the title of the book. I want to put my hand on his shoulder. I put the card back in the rack. New Fiction is just to my left: The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox, Breakable You, Trespass, One Mississippi. I step back to the blank journals, plain covers, sunflower covers, leather bindings. He is still in the chair. His hand is still at his brow. His chin is quiet. I move to the back of the store, far from the stranger in the chair.

"Getting and spending
we lay waste our power..."

It is our responsibility to care for and protect every single living being. I shirked that responsibility. Did I?

Infinite power. What if the stranger had been a child? I would not have hesitated. But we are all children. We are all frightened children and we cannot afford to be so. Everything and everyone is counting on us; to take care, to evolve, to leap together.

I went back to get the card, to touch the man in the chair. He was gone.