He showed me a collection of heartfelt messages. He pulled out a folder. Inside were printed emails and letters from people who’d received the notes. These were Stories of how a few words on a slip of paper had stopped someone from giving up. Had reminded someone to call their mom. Had made someone offer a sandwich to the man sleeping at the station.
A Public Display of Humanity
Years passed. Changes occurred: The bookshop closed. The bus route changed. But the core of the story remained. But the journal stayed with me.
One afternoon, I was contacted by the city. I got a call from the city library. They were curating an exhibit on small acts of kindness. Someone had heard about the notes, the journal, the story. They wanted to include it.
I brought all of Marla’s belongings for the display. I brought everything. The journals. The photos. The notes. Even the duct tape from the mirror the artist girl had fixed.
At the opening, I watched from a distance. I stood quietly in the back, watching people read her words. Marla’s legacy. It felt like watching her walk through the room, unseen but deeply felt.
A small child noticed the picture of the young woman. A little boy pointed at a photo of her and asked his mom, “Who’s that?”
The mother’s reply perfectly summed up Marla’s life. She smiled and said, “Someone who saw the world a little better than most.”
Later that night, I found a final, perfect message. As I left, I found a folded piece of paper tucked into my coat pocket.
It read: “You kept going. Thank you.”Continue reading…
