The popcorn man stands on the same corner. I see him daily after escaping from the grade school lunchroom. He’s used to me, the little girl who buys popcorn every day and pays with bits of change pulled from her pocket. Today is different. The bits of change do not add up. He's passed the bag to me. I've nibbled from the top. I see his eyes watching and know he is thinking. "I trust you to pay tomorrow," he says. I hike back to school with new sense of responsibility: An adult recognized me as a person. Trusted me.
Connie Taylor was an Alaska commercial fisherman for twenty years, then a printer, art gallery owner, paralegal, auctioneer, bookkeeper. Now a photographer, webmaster, author.