It was a typical weekday evening – the metro was humming, dozing and rolling tired people along the line home. I was sitting by the window. At the next stop , the doors opened and a boy of about ten entered the carriage. He looked like he had just run away from school – shaggy, in wrinkled shorts, with one battered sneaker in his hand. But most importantly, he was barefoot. On one foot was a thin striped sock. He sat down in a free seat between two passengers and tried not to attract attention.
The people around him noticed him anyway.Some turned away abruptly to their phones, some glanced appraisingly and then pretended to be too busy with their thoughts. But the man sitting to the right of the boy looked different. He was dressed in work clothes – jeans with paint, a thick jacket, heavy boots. His gaze kept stopping at the boy’s bare feet , then at his bag, which stood at his feet. He was thinking about something .
Two stops passed . Then another . At the fourth , he suddenly leaned forward, cleared his throat – quietly, but in such a way that everyone was wary – and said something that shocked everyone.
– Listen . I just bought sneakers for my son. But he can probably get by. He has a pair, a good one. And you, it seems, need them more.
He took a box out of his bag . He opened the lid. Inside were blue sneakers, fresh, with tags.
The boy looked as if he didn’t understand. First at the shoes. Then at the man. Then at the shoes again . He took them, tried them on carefully … And they fit. Perfectly.
He raised his head, an awkward smile appeared on his lips . He said almost inaudibly:
– Thank you.
The man shrugged his shoulders as if it was all a trifle:
– Just pass it on. When you can.
The boy got off at the next station. No longer hunched over, already wearing new sneakers – and with something else that is not visible, but which warms you more than any footwear: with faith in people.
