by Moshe Browning

“I was beautiful once,” she said. I didn’t want to look up. I was tired, hungry and anxious about where I was going to sleep. It had rained earlier; the grass would be too wet to sleep in the park. Fuck. I would have to ride the trains tonight.
     “I was in the resistance, you know,” she said. I stopped my spoon in mid-air. I watched the tiny pool of soup tip to one side and then the other before plopping the spoon back into my bowl.
     “The French Resistance?” I asked, hoping I was right. Her eyes got big and her smile widened, as she realized she caught my attention.
     “Yes,” she said, no longer sounding desperate. There’s something about being a part of a historic event. It solidifies your importance forever, at least in moments when you need human contact, when you’re lonely. We were in a Kosher, soup kitchen; I knew she was Jewish, and she did look old enough to have lived through the Holocaust.
     “Tell me about it… if you want to, of course.” She looked me dead in the eye, put her hands palm down on each side of her plate and whispered, “What would you like to know?” Excitement flooded my chest. I was no longer the loser who didn’t have a place to sleep; I was a bright student, who was going to learn a true story about a brave woman who defied Hitler.
     “Everything,” I said. “Everything you want to tell me.” Tell me she did. I listened until the sun went down and the staff asked us to leave. I listened until I remembered God had a plan for me, and it involved more than just finding a dry place to sleep. Sometimes, when it’s bad, I need a hero to help me. Little heroes who defy big monsters inspire me to stop being a jerk and get back to work to make a difference in the world.

---

Moshe Browning is an older Jewish man who has worked in construction most of his life. He is in his second year at NYU. He loves to write short stories and poetry.