I had no idea that I would meet a homeless stranger who happened to be my father during a brief lunch break and who also happened to share my birthmark. While we wait for the results of the potentially life-changing DNA test, I can not shake the feeling that my life is about to take an entirely different turn. As I stepped outside the office and onto the street, I undid my tie. All I could think about was obtaining a quick food before my afternoon meetings, despite the fact that the city was bustling and the sun was blazing. Work was never-ending these days, but that was only one aspect of the job. I have worked too hard to be in this situation right now, so I can not complain.
Growing up in that outdated trailer with Mom was not easy. Even though we did not have much, she made sure we had plenty. Mother Stacey had a lovely disposition. She worked herself to the bone, taking on double shifts at the cafe, and doing weekend housecleaning in order to put food on the table and a roof over our heads. I still see her exhausted and running late home, but always beaming at me. You should not care about what other people think, darling, she would tell me, her rough hands cupping my face. “You will be successful in life. I simply know it.”
That being said, she was not present while I advanced in my career. I’ve been missing her every day since she passed away a few years ago. Losing mom was like losing a piece of myself because she was my biggest supporter and the one person who never stopped believing in me. Lost in contemplation, I approached the fast-food restaurant when I noticed a homeless man leaning against the wall. He had a gritty appearance. He had a scraggly beard and his tiny physique was hung up with garments. I paused for a while before taking out a ten-dollar bill from my pocket.
I handed him the bill and put it in his basket.
He murmured, “Thanks,” and barely looked up as he tucked the cash into his pocket. I gave a nod and turned to leave, considering what lunch I should get. However, before I could get ten paces, I heard him once more. This time, his voice was rougher but louder. “Hi! Hold on!” When I turned around, I was taken aback to see him standing and pointing at my arm with wide eyes. “The birthmark… on your arm,” he stumbled and shook his voice. “I have the same one.”
A beat skipped in my heart. “What are you talking about?”
He undid his shirt collar and showed me the same crescent-shaped mark on his neck that was on my arm. “Is your mom’s name Stacey?” With tears in his eyes, he questioned, his voice scarcely more than a whisper at this point. He asked, his voice little more than a whisper at this point, tears in his eyes.