Maybe a Hero

“I’m finished!” my mom exclaimed, her blue eyes twinkling, appearing to be white clouds plastered against a cerulean sky. Her brown hair swung past her shoulders as she shoved the object that she held into my face. A bit taken back, I stared down at the item. It was a bright red, big bow, sewn by her. A smile appeared on my lips. It was the bow for my costume. She made it for me because I wanted her to, and she wanted to make me happy and I knew she had a hard time making it. As usual, Mom was doing something for someone else. She was sacrificing the time she could spend on chores or relaxation. She was letting those duties pile up and using her free time on me.

Mom is always doing things along that nature. This summer, while at the San Diego Comic Con we arrived early and were hungry, so we decided to get a bagel at the nearby Ralph’s. As we were devouring them at the metal tables outside of the store, with their warm dough a large contrast to the cold chill in the air and their fragrance floating up to the clouds, a strange man approached us. He was wearing ragged clothing, with tears scattered about his atire and mud painted across his pants and shirt as an extra layer. His hair was greasy and untidy. It fell across his visage in long tangled strands. “Can I have your leftovers?” he asked.

My sister, my mom, and I all stared at him, flabbergasted. Then a clattering of heels against the concrete ground rose in the air and a shout rung out, “Hey, you can’t do that!” It was a policeman of about middle age. He was a black man with a nearly bald head. The homeless man became fidgety and backed away. He apologized to the authority in a slightly tipsy manner. He walked away from the scene and the policeman turned to us. “I’m sorry about that,” he said.

My mom was silent a moment. Then her features grew to a mix of concentration and concern. “Is he really hungry?” she inquired, a sincere sympathy in her voice. I knew right away she was remembering her rough childhood.

Her concern only grew larger with his reply of, “Probably.”

She rose to her feet. “If I buy him something to eat would you give it to him?” He nodded and in a split second Mom no longer stood beside us, but instead was making her way to the sliding door of the grocery store. The door swooshed automatically open and once again when it closed behind her.

A few minutes later she emerged with a bag full of bagels in her hand. She handed the package to the policeman, who took it from her and departed to find the homeless man, but not without a final comment of, “You’re really a kind person.” I couldn’t agree more. Where most people would have grunted at the rudeness of the homeless man or felt empty sympathy, she actually went out of her way to help him and bring some happiness to him.

On another occasion we were exploring the Causeways in Northern Ireland. The Causeways are a natural formation of rocks along the coast that are shaped like hexagons. They appear to be a pile of polygonal steps. We had climbed all around and up to the highest point of them. We had fun taking pictures of the Causeways with and without ourselves in the images. A horrible gust of wind started to blow, sending our hair flying and our bodies shaking with a cold chill. Mom told my sister and me, “It’s time to go.” However, we didn’t dare fight our way up the huge hill we had originally came up. The wind was too strong of a foe for that. Even though my sister and I didn’t mind, our mom was completely against it.

We waited for the bus that made trips back and forth between the Causeways and the entrance. We paid and hopped onto the warm, snug seats.

A ruckus soon occurred that delayed the bus’s departure. Two old women who were most likely tourists from France, which was evident by their poor English and accent, were having trouble getting on the bus.

“That’s not enough for two!” said the bus driver loudly in her Irish accent. She had long brown hair and was middle aged. She wore a stern expression. The old ladies were baffled and tried once again to hand her over the coins, but the driver pushed back their hands. “That’s not enough,” she reiterated. Her tone was crude and irritated. It was obvious she wanted to go already. The people waiting in line were becoming impatient, too.

The ladies spoke to each other in their native tongue, but still seemed confused. “Here is the money,” one tried again, her voice rough with an accent.

“That’s not enough!” the bus driver snapped. “You’ll have to walk!”

Walking was absolutely out of the question for these two. They couldn’t possibly make the hike up that hill. No way!

“Here!” said a voice next to me and a figure rose. It was my mom holding out several coins in her hand. “This should be enough for them.”

The driver seemed ever more annoyed. Her eyes twitched unpleasantly. “That’s nice of you, but it’s not necessary,” she managed to choke out, as if the words were suffocating. She turned to the elderly ladies. “Here, just get on.”

My mom sat down as the two were finally allowed on the bus and for free at that. I smiled. Once again mom was showing kindness where others weren’t.

Long before any of these previous events, while we were on a trip to Disneyland, mom showed her caring side to its full extent. We were on the train which takes visitors to and from different areas of the park. It was night and only the light post illuminated the area. The train had come to a stop, which never happens. An announcement told us it was due to another train being still at the station. No one minded the stop and soon we were off again. A gust of wind soared through the train when it began to move once again. My sister’s Minnie Mouse ears went flying off her blonde head. She attempted to grab them as they fluttered into the night. Her hand reached out and her fingers missed. The rest of her body followed suit after her hands and out into the night.

Instantly, panic rose in my being. My stomach churned and my eyes widened to their full extent. My breath got lost in my throat and my heart throbbed with a horrible pang. My mom was in even more disarray than me. Her frantic shouts were evident. “Michelle! Michelle!” she desperately called. Her voice was shrill and tearful.

Alarm swept through the train. A chorus of shouts emerged. “Stop the train! Stop the train! A child has fallen off!” The voices were muffled, but nonetheless loud, yet, still, the ruckus didn’t have any effect on the momentum of the train; it still continued to go.

“Stay right here,” my mom ordered me. “I’m going after her.” My instant thought was she had gone insane. I had all ready lost my sister; I didn’t want to lose her too. However, the words to keep her there never reached my lips. Fear and shock kept them in my throat.

She turned away and headed to the edge of the train. In an instant she was gone in a blur and I was powerless to stop it from happening. Even as panicked and confused as I was I knew she was doing a great deed as a mother and a human. Here she was attempting to save another even at the cost of her own life; a great sacrifice that can only come from the heart. Thanks in part to her efforts my sister and her were both brought back to me later that night, and unbelievably unharmed at that. Perhaps it’s partly due to all the kind things she has and still does for other. Maybe kindness really is rewarded. And maybe that blur was really her cape blowing in the wind as a hero stepped into action.

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This was an essay for my 10th grade English class.