The Man in The Puffy Red Coat

When a man falls back and ceases to breathe in your hands, when his eyes roll into the back of his head, and when his wrists no longer pulse—you hope and pray with all your might and strength that if there is a G-d, He will save this man. I remember hearing a man come out of the restaurant Jaja Bistro on 5641 Nevada in downtown Littleton and say “Thank G-d you were there for him.” and saying “Yes, there is a G-d.” It may have been in my head where I said it, or it may have been

That Night In The River

I closed my eyes because I thought it would teach me what it was like to be blind. Never could I have known that it would teach me how to see. We walked down Frenchmen St. beneath the chorus of New Orleans's midnight choir: street performers, drunks, tourists, beer cans, and laughter. I heard playful voices rolling down the street from behind me. I felt someone wrap their elbow in the crook of mine. "What's wrong with your friend?" She asked. "He's blind," James said. I smiled and kept my eyelids closed as her fingers reached up and tried to

The Woman Who Smiled

I remember driving across a great expanse of darkness thinking, “This is what the poorest state in India is like? It’s not so bad.” I looked outside the SUV and envied the simplicity of their life. There were no streetlamps, no neon signs. Lightbulbs swayed in the cool wind of the autumn night. In the silence I pondered the past three years of my life. The shame of living a lie washed over me. Gopal Ji barely said a word as we drove. The muscles and tendons in his arms bulged as we crashed through potholes in the unpaved