The underground tunnel was alive with the constant shuffle of hurried feet, each person lost in their own world. Amid the bustle, a young boy named Martin sat by the wall. He was only 14 years old, but life had already given him more than his fair share of struggles. His shoe-shining kit lay before him, his eyes darting hopefully at every passing shoe, hoping someone would stop and give him a chance to earn a few coins.
“Just a handful today,” he whispered to himself, his heart heavy with hope. “Just a handful, please.”
It had been a long, hard morning. His stomach growled from hunger. The two slices of bread he had eaten earlier felt like they had been days ago. He sipped from his water bottle, feeling the small amount of liquid barely quench the hunger that gnawed at him.
“You can do this, Martin,” he muttered under his breath, looking down at his shoes. “For Mom and Josephine.”
He thought of his mother, paralyzed after a stroke, and his little sister Josephine, who depended on him. His father, who had been killed in a car accident three years ago, had always been his role model. He remembered how his dad had taught him the art of shoe shining, how to make each shine perfect, with pride in the work.
Martin smiled at the memory. “I can do this.”
As the hours ticked by, his hope began to fade. No one stopped. The tunnel was packed with people, yet no one seemed to notice him sitting there. But Martin wouldn’t give up. He couldn’t. His family depended on him.
After what felt like an eternity, the sound of heavy footsteps approaching broke his thoughts. A man in a crisp, expensive suit stepped into his view. He had brown leather shoes that looked in need of a polish. Martin’s heart skipped a beat. Maybe this was his chance.
“Shoe shine, sir?” he called out, his voice almost drowned by the noise around him. “Just a small shine, sir?”
The man glanced down at him, his eyes narrowing. “Hurry up, kid. I don’t have time to waste,” he barked.
Martin quickly set aside his half-peeled orange and grabbed his supplies, his hands shaking slightly from the anxiety. He had to make this perfect.
“Right away, sir!” he said, his voice full of hope.
But as he worked on the man’s shoes, the man grew impatient. “What’s taking so long? I don’t have all day!” he snapped, tapping his foot.
“I’m almost done, sir,” Martin promised, his hands trembling as he worked.
The man snorted in disbelief. “At your age, I was already making more money than my father. I wasn’t stuck shining shoes like some beggar.”
The words hit Martin hard. He remembered the night his father had died, the screech of tires, the crash, the heartbreaking news. That night had shattered their world. Then, just months later, his mother had suffered a stroke. She had never walked again, leaving Martin to pick up the pieces.
Trying to ignore the sting, he focused on the shoes, giving them his best shine. But the man wasn’t satisfied.
“You call this shining?” he sneered, examining his shoes. “My dog could do a better job with his tongue!”
Martin’s face turned red with shame. “I’m sorry, sir. I can do it better.”
“Forget it,” the man snapped, pulling out his phone. “Yeah, reschedule the meeting for 4. This incompetent brat wasted my time.”
As the man ranted into his phone, Martin’s mind drifted to the memory of his father. He could almost hear his voice.
“It’s not just about the shine, son,” his father had said. “It’s about dignity. Treat every shoe like it’s the most important one you’ll ever touch.”
“Hey! Are you even listening?” The man’s voice cut through Martin’s thoughts. “What’s your father doing, sending you out here like this? Too lazy to work himself, huh?”
Martin swallowed hard. “My father… he passed away, sir.”
The man’s eyes narrowed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, I see. So your mother probably moved on with someone else, right? Populating the world with more beggars like you? Don’t you people have anything better to do?”
The words stung, but Martin forced a smile. “That’ll be $7, sir.”
“Seven dollars?” the man yelled, laughing harshly. “For this pathetic excuse of a shine? I don’t think so, kid.”
Before Martin could say anything else, the man grabbed his shoes and stormed off, leaving Martin standing there, humiliated and empty-handed.
“Wait!” Martin called out, desperate. “Please, sir! I need that money. Please!”
But the man was already in his car, speeding away. Martin stood there, watching the car disappear in a cloud of dust. His heart sank, and he slumped against the wall, his eyes filling with tears.
“I’m trying, Dad,” he whispered. “I’m really trying.”
His father’s last words echoed in his mind: “Remember, son. Never give up. Each bump is a step closer to your dreams.”
Wiping away his tears, Martin pushed himself back up. He had no time for pity. No time for tears.
The next morning, he was back at his usual spot, determined to keep going. As he set up his kit, a woman’s frantic voice pierced the air.
“Help! Someone help!”
His heart raced as he ran toward the sound of panic. A crowd had gathered around a fancy car. Martin’s eyes widened in shock when he recognized the man inside. It was Sylvester—the same man who had insulted him yesterday.
“He’s choking on an apple!” someone shouted. “The car doors are locked!”
Without thinking, Martin grabbed a rock from the roadside and smashed the car window. Glass scattered everywhere, and he reached inside to unlock the door.
“Stand back!” he shouted, pulling Sylvester out onto the pavement.
Sylvester was struggling for breath. Martin quickly delivered several sharp blows to his back, and suddenly, a chunk of apple flew out of Sylvester’s mouth. He gasped for air.
“You… you saved me,” Sylvester wheezed, staring at Martin with wide, astonished eyes.
Martin helped him to his feet, his hands trembling. “Are you okay, sir?”
Sylvester nodded, still catching his breath. “I can’t believe it. After how I treated you yesterday… Why did you help me?”
Martin shrugged. “It was the right thing to do.”
Sylvester’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m so sorry, kid. I was horrible to you. Please, let me make it up to you. Name your price. Anything!”
Martin thought for a moment, then looked up. “Just the $7 from yesterday. That’s all I want.”
Sylvester stared at him, stunned. “But… I could give you so much more. A new start, maybe?”
Martin shook his head. “I don’t need a new start, sir. I just need to take care of my family.”
Reluctantly, Sylvester handed him the $7. As the crowd began to disperse, Sylvester lingered, studying Martin’s face.
“You’re quite something, kid,” he said. “What’s your name?”
“Martin, sir.”
Sylvester nodded slowly. “Martin. I won’t forget this… or you.”
As Sylvester walked back to his car, Martin clutched the money tightly in his hand. He looked up at the sky, a small smile spreading across his face.
“I remember, Dad,” he whispered. “I always do.”
That morning, as Martin was still in bed, he heard his sister’s excited voice calling out to him.
“Marty! Marty! Come quick!”
His heart raced as he jumped out of bed, his mother calling after them in confusion. On their doorstep sat a white bag, bulging with cash, and a note.
Trembling, Martin opened the note and read aloud:
“Thanks is a small word for what you did. I know you’d refuse this. But you deserve a happy childhood. It took me just an hour to find your address. The world’s a small place, isn’t it?! Hope we meet again someday, and I hope you stay just the pure heart of gold you are!
— Sylvester.”
Tears filled Martin’s eyes as he stared at the money. His sister jumped up and down in excitement, and his mother wheeled herself closer, her face filled with confusion.
“Martin? What’s going on?” she asked.
Martin’s mind raced. This money could change everything. It could help with his mother’s treatment, pay for Josephine’s education, and secure a better future for them all. But was it right to accept it?
He walked to the small altar in their cottage and grabbed two pieces of paper. On one, he wrote “REMEMBER,” and on the other, “FORGET.” He shuffled them in his hands and lit a candle before the crucifix.
“Dad,” he whispered, “help me make the right choice.”
With a deep breath, he opened one of the papers and smiled. It said “REMEMBER.”
In that moment, Martin knew. He would accept the money, not for himself, but for his family. He would remember his father’s lessons, his own struggles, and the kindness that could be found in the most unexpected places.
“Josephine!” he called, his voice full of emotion. “Go tell Mom we’re going to the doctor today. And after, maybe we’ll stop for ice cream. We’ll get Mom a new comfy mattress… and groceries for the entire week!”
Josephine’s delighted squeals filled the air as Martin clutched the note to his chest. He had remembered, and in doing so, he had found a way forward.
