The Investment

  The little convenience store on the north shore of the lake does quite well on days such as this, warm, hazy late spring days, that signal the coming of summer campers and all the needs that "camping away from it all" can manifest. Not just gas and snacks, this cleverly run little market can sell you anything from a nice piece of meat to burn on the grill, to a greeting card for a forgotten special day.
    I am a "regular" there, every morning, stopping to grab a large cappuccino before I settle in to face the day at work. I flirt with the much-too-young cashier(which ever one is working), and nod or chat with other"regulars" as they roll in for their morning rituals.
  The two little boys quietly came in, with plastic bags in hand.
They were dirty, and unkempt, not as children who are homeless or unwanted, but as boys, fresh from some mischief, with a warm bath and a scold for being late awaiting their return home.
Their bags were filled with discarded cans, each a precious nickel closer to that favorite piece of candy, each found on the roadside or at a parking spot from the previous night's fun.
  The girl behind the counter, not the most ambitious girl, saw the boys as they walked in, and informed them that there was no one there to count their cans for another hour, and went back to doing little, as they slumped back out the door in silence.
They looked a little lost, as if trying to decide which was the better choice, to wait the long hour there at the door, or leave, to return when someone would be there to help.
  I, as was usually the case, had little time to spare, so I headed for my car. I looked back as I reached for my handle, and then walked to where the boys were standing. When I asked them how many cans they had, the older boy guessed at 15 or so, and the younger boy agreed with his figure. I told them that I could return the cans later for them, and, if they hurried, I'd  buy the cans myself.
  The way they rushed into their pile of "treasures", counting as best they could without spilling them on the ground, was comical to say the least. Counting cans in a bag is akin to counting jellybeans in a jar, and I could see that it was going no where quickly, so I offered them a dollar for what they had, sure of the fact that there wasn't 20 cans there. They agreed to this, and I left with two leaky bags of cans on my car floor, and they went in to get their treats.
  I considered the whole thing as an "Investment". Those cans will never be worth any more, and I have never actually returned any myself.
But one day,the little kindness may be remembered by one or both of those boys, and repaid to yet two more young stranger,who cross their path through life. A dollar could never go further than that.