Six Hundred Miles

Journal

He drove six hundred miles to return a wallet with twelve dollars in it.

Tom found it at a truck stop in Ohio. Twelve dollars, a photo, and a teacher's ID. He could've mailed it. He didn't.

He drove to the address on the ID. A little school in Pennsylvania. 'I'm looking for Mrs. Ellis,' he said.

The door opened. And Mrs. Ellis went pale. 'Tommy?' she said. 'Tommy Alvarez? I taught you in fifth grade.'

She'd been the one who paid for his school lunches when his family couldn't. Who told him he'd amount to something. He never forgot.

He gave her the wallet. She tried to give him the twelve dollars. He said, 'Mrs. Ellis, you already paid me. Fifty years ago.'

She hugged him and said, 'You did amount to something.' Six hundred miles, and the best twelve dollars he never kept.

Twelve dollars. Six hundred miles. Some debts you don't repay. You just pass them on.