Dear Anonymous,
'Hey, ma!', he yells from down the street.
He calls me Ma. Yes, that makes me feel ancient but at least he doesn't call me Grannie.
'You gonna be proud of me!', he continues.
Which, of course, I am . So I remind him.
But he says 'Yeah, but I got a month bus pass for three dollars!'
Which is wonderful because he needs a bus pass each day to get to the methadone clinic. That bus fee is often a barrier to getting there.
Which is wonderful because he is thinking ahead. Which is wonderful because he thinks it's worth it. Maybe even that HE is worth it.
Life is worth it.
I notice he looks straight into the lens. Something he rarely does. And it makes him feel uncomfortable, but he offers this. I notice the hematoma on his forehead is appearing to resolve. That he has his medicine bag around his neck.
Never question my pride in you, I want to embroider that somewhere close to that medicine bag.