The Secret Discouragement

Leo sat on the worn steps of his apartment building, the afternoon sun warming his face, but doing little to chase away the little shadow that had crept into his heart. The usual sparkle in his eyes was a little dimmer today, like a star peeking through a cloudy sky. He still had Mrs. Gable’s little tasks to do – watering her petunias, sweeping her porch – and he did them with his usual cheerful “You got it, Mrs. Gable!” But beneath the bright smile, a quiet weariness had settled.

The bike. Oh, the bike. It still gleamed in his mind’s eye, a magnificent beast of chrome and speed, with handlebars that practically winked at him from the window of Mr. Henderson’s Bike Emporium. He’d seen it again yesterday, just a quick glance as he’d hurried past with Mrs. Gable’s groceries. It seemed to taunt him, a silent reminder of how much further he still had to go.

He traced a pattern in the dusty concrete with his finger, remembering the early days of his “hustle.” The lemonade stand, which had ended up tasting more like salty seawater thanks to a misplaced shaker of pretzels. The dog-walking spree that had turned into a chaotic parade of tangled leashes and indignant barks. The car washing, where his “sparkling clean” had somehow involved more soap suds on himself than on the cars. Each attempt, while funny in retrospect, had also been a small dent in his initial burst of enthusiasm.