Restless Hope

Chapter 11 - Part 1

Isaac

I am hiding out in one of David's bedroom under the pretense of dropping off my coat. My leather jacket was added to the pile ten minutes ago, so I don't have any excuse to stay other than I don't want to leave and face the crush of people out there all eager to meet me and congratulate me for actually making something of myself. They will probably be polite to my face, I know, but many of them are still scratching their heads as to why the son of Polly isn't some guy's girlfriend in a prison somewhere.

I can't entirely blame them. If you would have told me back when I first moved to Lexington that I would one day go to Harvard and help build a multimillion dollar business, I would have thought you were smoking something.

When I first arrived at the party, David introduced me to one of the girls from high school, a skinny girl in a backless dress that I remember as a stuck up snot who snubbed me back in the day. Apparently, muscles and a buttload of money is enough to overcome the strongest of prejudices, because she seems to have forgotten she despises me. She gushes on about how noble my work is with the poor wretches in Africa and keeps touching my arm for emphasis. Gives me the shivers. Hypocrite.

I think of Kwami, my friend and CEO of my nonprofit, a man who was born into poverty to a single mother in Ethiopia. He literally grew up digging through trash heaps to scrounge for whatever he could sell to take care of his family, but his vision for his future never wavered. He eventually found his first job, and proving himself there, he worked his way up and his tail off to earn enough money to put himself through school and eventually earned a business degree. He created a successful business, bought his mom a house, and retired to pursue his passion of helping the poor at the age of 25. Poor wretch? Nonsense!

I once asked him how it was that he could dream so big when everyone around him was living so small. He shrugged. I had nowhere to go but up, he said, and just never stopped climbing. Then he turned the question on me, and the only answer I could think to tell him was I wanted to impress a girl. He smiled at that, but didn't ask questions. That's one of the best things about Kwami. He lets you be.

I'm not eager to return and mingle. The idea of facing a bunch of wealthy people doesn't excite me. I've forced myself to a few functions like this since I formed my nonprofit to raise funds for the cause. I try to be civil, I really do, but these people seem so fake to me. Most of the time they have no clue what they're talking about. They speak with self important pride about that time they donated a hundred bucks to this cause or saw the plight of the poor beggars while taking shore leave on their glitzy cruise, and they think they understand poverty just because they've seen a tiny piece of it. Hard to believe it as they're sipping champagne and flashing their diamonds.

You don't understand poverty until you've experienced it first hand. Kwami gets it. I get it. Sadly, millions around the world get it.

Poverty is a state of suffering mind and heart. It's the helpless feeling when your child is sick, but is denied the option to see a doctor. It's not having access to school, and sometimes no access to reading. It's the gnawing pit in your stomach, never knowing what it is to be full.

The only difference between me and them is I have a Gran, and too many of them have no one.

The door opens and a woman holding a stack of coats so high she can't see over them runs smack into me and drops the coats all over the floor.

"Sorry," she mumbles, then looks up and her eyes widen as she recognizes me.

I stare down into Beth's stunned expression and am dazzled. Her gleaming brown hair is coiled in an elegant updo with a silver filigreed leaf comb. She is wearing a pair of pearl earrings and a pink dress that hugs her curves perfectly. As she bends over to pick up the coats, I can't help but ogle over her beautiful backside. At least I'm smart enough to snap my eyes to her face as she straightens before she catches me staring.