This story was originally written for Chabad.org, and was one of my most popular pieces. But it’s also an older story, and I’d like to think my writing skills have improved since I wrote it. So I’ve revised it, updated, and improved it. You can read the original here.
“I think his name is Jack.” That’s always how it is with him. No friendly arm draped around the shoulder, no, “Hey, have you met my buddy Jack?” Just quiet whispers, pointed fingers. “Who’s that?” they ask.
And then the wait—the long, long wait—until that hesitant, almost-a-question reply.