Robert Clarke was on his way to the old classmates reunion. He hadnt seen any of them for thirty years. After finishing school hed packed his bags and headed straight to university in another city, then on to a job, then to a startup of his own. There were ups and downs, but hed managed to turn a tidy profit.
Every now and then he missed the lads from his school. In his spare moments hed scroll through their pictures on social media and post a few of his own. Above all, he wanted to see Poppy. Back in secondary school Robert had been smitten with her, but Poppy never gave him the time of day. She found him a boring bookworm. The last time he presented her with a bouquet, she hopped onto the back of Jamess motorbike, never even glancing at the flowers, and roared off, kicking up a cloud of dust. He never tried again. He drove off into the sunset, thinking about asking her to join him on a ride, to help her, but never did.
Robert didnt have many close friends from school; hed spent most of his free time hitting the books. He only kept a few mates whod joined him for extra maths tuition and crammed together for the entrance exams.
He arrived at the reunion in high spirits, clutching a small gift for each old classmate none left out. They settled into the local coffee shop, laughing and reminiscing. Roberts eyes kept drifting to Poppy, who sat at the far end, glued to her phone. After school shed married James, but as Robert later learned, they no longer lived together and she was now raising a sick child on her own.
Robert decided to strike up a conversation, but Poppy snapped back at him.
You live in your posh terrace house and you have no idea what our problems are! Ive seen your Instagram your wife never works, shes always at the salon. Youve got a whole staff, yet you never show them in your photos. Your kids are studying abroad, and Im trying to care for a sick son. What are we supposed to talk about? You wouldnt understand.
Poppy, am I really the cause of your troubles?
In this country theres barely any funding for sick children, while people like you sit on their piles of cash and act greedy!
Robert felt his blood boil. He didnt like being dragged into that debate.
How many sick children have you helped, Poppy?
Ive got one myself, and I occasionally send a text offering help.
I regularly donate large sums to charity I dont brag about it. So whos actually helping more?
Its simple for you youre not getting poorer by handing over another hundred grand. My help counts more because I literally give from my own plate. Do you know how I earn my money? Every morning I hop two buses to work and scrape together pennies!
A few onlookers leaned in; some nodded in Poppys favour, the rest stayed quiet.
When the evening wound down, Robert left his gifts on the table, asked the waiter to hand a sealed envelope to Poppy, and stepped out into the cool night. He thought about how theyd all started from the same place, with the same talent. Hed chosen study over drinking pints in the alley, over smoking behind the corner, over endless discos (though hed still hit a few). Hed pursued a university he was passionate about rather than the local vocational college, taken risks, and stepped out of his comfort zone to launch his own business.
Hed fought, learned, stumbled, and lost at times. It wasnt his fault that his old mates now lead the lives they do and complain about his success. He hadnt stolen their money hed earned his own.
How many of you know people like Poppy or Roberts other schoolmates who love counting other peoples cash? Sure, some were lucky enough to be born into wealth and get a good education, but there are plenty of stories of folks from humble backgrounds who made it on their own. Everything is in our own hands, and each of us chooses our path.
