When You Reach Me

by Rebecca Stead

Mom says each of us has a veil between ourselves and the rest of the world, like a bride wears on her wedding day, except this kind of veil is invisible. We walk around happily with these invisible veils hanging down over our faces. The world is kind of blurry, and we like it that way. But sometimes our veils are pushed away for a few moments, like there’s a wind blowing it from our faces. And when the veil lifts, we can see the world as it really is, just for those few seconds before it settles down again. We see all the beauty, and cruelty, and sadness, and love. But mostly we are happy not to. Some people learn to lift the veil themselves. Then they don’t have to depend on the wind anymore. She doesn’t mean that it’s a real veil.

It’s just her way of saying that most of the time, people get distracted by little stuff and ignore the big stuff.

I’ve thought a lot about those veils. I wonder if, every once in a while, someone is born without one. Someone who sees the big stuff all the time. Like maybe you.

there’s a two-dollar bill in circulation for every twelve one-dollar bills.

“People think two-dollar bills are special. That’s why you don’t see them around much.”