Crushed Under My Feet

“Thousands of feet pound Manhattan’s pavement every day“, Craig said under his breath, as he lifted his right foot, "why did it have to be mine"?

Craig Rogers, the man most likely to be a soap star but a stock broker? Tall, dark and handsome didn't sell alot of stocks he could gaurentee that. Living most of his thirty five years on the upper west side of New York City until he married and moved to Long Island, he hated working back in the Big Apple. He was doing it for reasons other than making a living, only two people knowing the secret he kept, his wife and mother.

The five and dime pin now in pieces, belonging to a fellow Wall Street mogul, retired marine who only traded aluminum, five cents a share. His groans Craig swore echoed off the empty lapel his wrinkled hand covered almost reverently. Craig felt the eyes of passerby’s fixed on them for a moment, unlike the steel ones boring into him everyday from tall giants in marbled suits, towering over him. The red, white and blue pieces would soon be swept away. Stars and stripes were no match for March’s cold, unpredictable winds, one of many formidable enemies the old man chose to face day in and day out.

Craig met his tortured glance with his own, then unable to resist glancing down at his leg he knew was not the old man's
own. Another trade executed, except this one on a street in Hanoi at a much higher price. Freedom for what could have been. Tears threatened Craig Rogers yet another morning.

Awkwardly he handed over his own own breakfast to his friend, hoping the gesture turning into a daily ritual would keep him in good graces. Steam escaped from the top of the brown bag, with it the aroma of scrambled eggs and ham. The old man ate quickly, stopping only to gulp the warm coffee that the handsome young man also surrendered. For a moment there seemed to be recognition in his weary brown eyes, but no sooner that the light went on, it
went back out.

Craig slipped a few dollars in his worn pocket while breathing a silent prayer that the old soldier would soon return home from the war. All he received back was a nod before his friend continued to steer his vintage Gristede cart slowly down the busy sidewalk to the annoyance of those in a hurry to get around him.

Craig hesitated only a moment before heading towards Market Street where the offices of his employer, Wagner and Wagner were located. Compared to the larger brokerages, his was perhaps the smallest but run well and considered a stepping stone while learning the ropes. But he found it dificult to concentrate on the business at hand as soon as he sat down before his cluttered desk.

He didn’t need to look at his watch to tell him he was late or stomach to growl to announce how hungry he was. Yet he refused to complain as his thoughts once again drifted to the morning’s unfortunate sequence of events, and the man he remembered building dreams with, calling him dad, the bravest soldier he knew, who always did love his ham and eggs.