The Moth Radio Hour: More Kindness of Strangers
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This autumn, fall for Moth Stories as we travel across the globe for our mainstages. We're excited to announce our fall lineup of storytelling shows from New York City to Iowa City, London, Nairobi, and so many more. The Moth will be performing in a city near you, featuring a curation of true stories. The Moth mainstage shows feature five tellers who share beautiful, unbelievable, hilarious, and often powerful true stories on a common theme. Each one told reveals something new about our shared connection.

To buy your tickets or find out more about our calendar, visit themoth.org slash mainstage. We hope to see you soon. This is the Moth Radio Hour from PRX, and I'm Katherine Burns. A few years ago, I hosted a radio hour where all the stories involved people going out of their way to help a stranger, employees going the extra mile for a customer, neighbors helping a misdelivered package get to the right destination, or a hug offered at just the right moment.

The response from you, our beloved audience, was tremendous. So we were inspired to bring you more stories of people going out of their way to help. We heard a lot about neighbors taking care of neighbors during the pandemic. We all suffered to one degree or another, but the isolation hit some of us harder than others. So first up, a very energetic and stressed out writer coming out of a period where he couldn't write. From the Skirball Center in New York City, here's Nathan Englander.

The pandemic started so soon after I moved to Canada, I had no idea it was global. I just thought it was a local Toronto thing. Like, charming city, shame it's always closed. It was me, my wife Rach, whose job we moved for, our daughter Olivia, and our baby, I mean a real baby son, Sam. And literally by the time we could get two kids into snowsuits, they were like, let's wrap this back up and head on inside.

And when we told the Canadians, you know, as a nation, like, if you wear a mask at the supermarket and spend some time in the house, your neighbors won't die, they were like, "That sounds utterly sensible." So we did that. So there we are in the house, and we are cut off from everyone. It's just us. You know, me, Rach, and two littles and a dog.

So there we are running a nursery and a grade school and a dog college. It's all on us. One gets up early, one goes to sleep late. And I'm doing it all. I'm all

all the pandemic stuff. I'm baking the sourdough breads and getting fancy. I'm cutting my own hair. I'm doing everything except the one thing that I have done every day of my life, which is write. That is what I do. It's what gives my life meaning outside of that family. It is what keeps me sane and keeps me together. But that is just gone.

You know? Well, a quick two years later, we take our masks off and go back onside. And, you know, we're starting to do stuff, play dates again, all that kind of thing. I drop my daughter on a Sunday at her friend Mia's house. And I head home and I see something I have not seen in a while, the house shattering.

is silent. You know, dog is asleep on the floor. You know, Rach is quiet doing stuff at the table. And we have just not had quiet together in so long. But she knows me. And she knows what I need. And she's like, go write. So I head to my office, which is the boiler room. And I start working on a story. And I am terrified. Like for a number of reasons. Like this is how I contribute. Writing fiction is how I support the family. And like, you know, I haven't had a book and my

My play didn't open and I haven't worked in two years. I am missing two years of income and I'm terrified because it's like going to the gym after two years. You know, it's like getting back in shape. I have interrupted this practice and I have to learn how to sit again. You know, that's hard and I'm terrified for another reason is because I was born terrified. You know what I'm saying?

I was born straight, fright, flight in this world, and it has never stopped. And then they sent me to Jewish school, and they taught us Jewish history, which did not go well. You know what I'm saying? And then there's my mother, who is just classic silent generation warrior. You know, if you go outside, you're going to die across the street. You're going to get hit by a car. Like, you know, you're going to choke on whatever that is. Like, all I got was terror. You know what I'm saying? And because of that, I am

literally never in the moment. I spent my whole life worrying. I've had a very fortunate career and I worried like it's already gone wrong. It will go wrong. You know, I have a lot of friends here tonight. I'm like, they're mad at me. They will be mad at me. I'm so sorry. I think you're mad at me right now. Like that's how I live, you know? So I am working on this story and it is like, holy crap.

But I gotta grind, that's how you get back in shape. And I push and I push and it's just not going well. And I just, you know, look at my watch, time of death, 3:15, like let's hit the showers, right? So I get in the shower, I call upstairs to Rachel to see if she wants to lifeguard. She comes down, she joins me, and hilarity ensues. No, we had sex. Anyway.

But she goes back upstairs and I know we need to conserve water, but I am stressed. I have told you, I like take a hot shower, I boil myself, I just need to calm down, you know? So I head upstairs in my towel and Rachel's again doing her thing upstairs and I'm like, "I think I had a waking dream." It's so bizarre. Now if any of you are married to like writer types or artsy types, super not weird for me to think I'm in a waking dream.

Doesn't even look up. And then I'm like, "Where's Olivia?" And she's like, "At Mia's." And I'm like, "Who's Mia?" And that gets her attention. And then I ask it again. And then she's like, "Something is terribly wrong." So she's like,

How'd the story go today? And I'm like, what story? And then she asked me, you know, about my whole writing career in five books. And I'm like, no idea what she's talking about. It becomes clear that I know who she is, the kids are, and nothing else. I have had a massive stroke.

I am erased. She dials 911, and they're on the way. And, you know, firstly, like, she and I, like, both being, she says I was my best self, and she, hers, like, her life has just ended. She's like, as she knows it, like, she's not putting me out with recycling. She has two little kids now and me. She's got plenty of worries, but mostly she's just worried about me being okay. You know what I'm saying? It's just love.

And on my end, she said, I just keep going. Where's Sammy? Where's Olivia? Trying to get a handle on making sure my kids are safe. I know that. And also, I say really sadly, because I know what I love what I do, I say,

I know I need my brain for work, and I don't think I'll be able to do that anymore. It's just sad. The other thing, back to, you know, being terrified and worried all the time, I'm also really shy. I don't want an ambulance to come in Toronto. It's not New York where if you hit the street, you know, everyone just steps over and gets on the G train. I got to get to a coffee. You know what I'm saying? I met a neighbor in my building after three years who lived next door. I'm like, "New here?" You know, that kind of thing.

In Toronto, they're all up in your business, taking your mail, shoveling. I spend all day shoveling for neighbors, putting your garbage pails away. I don't want them to see me get in an ambulance, which you really don't take the advice of someone who just seems to have had a massive stroke. Nonetheless, not a good idea. The ambulance shows up right quick.

In come the paramedics who are heroic. Thank you, our brave paramedics. In come three paramedics, and they are on me and getting me outside and getting me ready, and they are also on Rach. They know the routine. They are like, "You, wallet, phone, charger. Wallet, phone, charger." They get us out the door, into the ambulance, strap us in, me, Rach is in the back,

sirens blaring, we are off to the stroke hospital. Right, quick, Rachel is just weeping in back. I'm repeating questions, but she's repeating, is there any way that there isn't the worst case scenario? Is there any way that this can be okay? And they got nothing to tell her. It looks bad. And then one of the paramedics has been doing it for years. He's like, a long time ago, there once was a woman, and I think it was fine. That's all they got for her.

You know, she's working the phones and, you know, and there I am, you know, up front and I'm looping my questions and I got an extra question. I'm like, you know, where are the kids? Where is this? Just trying to get a handle on what was and this primal, I don't think I've ever said this word. You know, they're trying to take care of me. I'm like, did we bone? And the guy's like, yes, sir, you boned. You know what I'm saying? I'm just looping, looping. So we get to the hospital. They stick us in a room and

and everybody's trying to figure out what's wrong. You know, they come in, they come out. You know, Rachel's on the phone with my buddy, Dr. Daniel, a dear friend in New York, top doctor. He's helping out, and in comes the, you know, the attending, the head of the stroke hospital. He can't figure it out. And Daniel's like, wait, the paramedic said he once saw a thing? Like, if those guys have seen it, it's out there. Daniel figures it out. He says, there's this thing called TGA. TGA.

Transient global amnesia. We tell the doctor, he's like, let me Google that, I'll be right back. You know, he goes off to check WebMD, he's never seen it at the stroke hospital, you know, but it really is a thing, it is extraordinarily rare, and maybe I got it. And it comes with a checklist. Here's the checklist. Like, number one, have you been stressed? I already told you I was born stressed.

Like, number two, extremes of heat and cold. Like, have you done the polar bear plunge at Coney Island? Like, you know, did you sit in the hot tub too long with a beer? Check. You know, number three, are you repeating questions? I am looping like a motherfucker. Like, that's it. And number four, and I will stick here with the medical term, have you recently boned?

Anyway, I got it all. The doctor comes back. He's like, I've never seen it before, but this really could be it. But you don't mess around with the human brain. They're like, let's get him a CAT scan and see if it bursts. You know, so they send me into the back room. They're going to turn me into a human corn dog, you know, put me on that bed and shoot me into the Holland Tunnel. And the tech...

First, they got to do is give you a shot and, you know, dye all your capillaries. I don't know what it is like melted ices and mercury. But nonetheless, they fill me up. They start rolling me into the machine. And he says, don't worry, it's completely normal. You know, you may have a metallic taste in your mouth or you may feel a tingling in your groin. And I'm like, sir, that's how we got into this mess.

Anyway, they send me in, they send me out. Rach and I go into the waiting room, you know, on the inside of the hospital, and we're just cuddling and having our moment, and the time is going by, they gotta read this, and I'm doing the Monday New York Times crossword puzzle, which could mean I'm getting better or that I stroked out, it's Monday. But nonetheless...

Eventually the doctor comes and he's like, "You know, I've never seen it, but you're fine. Like, it's this thing. Like, there's nothing. No hereditary, no future, no don't eat red meat, like, nothing. No neurologist, just go home. You've got a miracle on your hands." So we say thanks, we head out the door into the night, and Rachel goes, "Did you see that?" And I'm like, "What? I'm already worried about the quality of my memory." Like, "What did I miss? What did I miss?" She's like, "We didn't pay."

It's fucking Canada. There is nowhere to pay because that's what a poorer and decent country does. It is a human right. And I am thankful I got a roof over my head, but man, the ambulance, the emergency room, the CAT scan, it would have ruined us, and most people don't even have enough to get ruined. All I got to pay for is the Uber, and I'm like, honey, it's on me. So I get us a car...

We head home, and I told you those Canadians are nosy. Ishbel was looking out the door. She saw me and Rach getting an ambulance and no kids around, and she's worried, and she baked us bread. There was a loaf of hot bread waiting at the door, and I take it in, and we go to the counter, and Rach and I are just eating hot buttered bread at the counter, looking at each other, and I notice something has changed.

I'm present. I don't think I've ever been in the now before. And that feeling sticks with me, like I'll just be walking down the street with my, you know, sweet old dog Callie and Sammy, and I'm just taking a walk with my son. And one morning, Olivia wakes up at dawn, my daughter, and we're just cuddling in a blanket in the windowsill watching the sunrise. And I think, is this what life is for other people?

And I go to Rach and I was like, is this what other people do? Is this how they live? I never knew. And Rachel cries. She cries. She's so sad. But I don't. I don't cry. Because a half of century of worry gone by and I got thrust into the moment and now I never want to leave. Thank you.

Nathan Englander is an international best-selling author and playwright. His most recent play is What We Talk About When We Talk About Anne Frank, adapted from his book of the same name. You can find out more about him and his writing at themoth.org. Coming up, a beloved childhood teddy bear ends up on a wild adventure. That's when the Moth Radio Hour continues. ♪

The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts and presented by PRX. This is the Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Katherine Burns. In this hour, we're hearing about people going out of their way to help someone they barely know.

We met our next storyteller in a workshop put on by the Moth's Community Engagement Program for the NYC Veterans Alliance. The story was recorded at Greenwood Cemetery in Brooklyn, where we partner with the Greenwood Historic Fund. So if you hear the sounds of nature or airplanes, that's why. Here's Lana Duffy, live at the Moth. So, there I was, 25,000 feet in the air,

On my way to some vacation with friends that I hadn't seen in ages in Ecuador and the Galapagos Islands, trip of a lifetime. They pass out the customs forms, I reach into my bag searching for a pen, but what I didn't realize until that very moment is that I had forgotten a critical piece of my standard operating equipment. Paddington D. Bear.

was purchased on a business trip to London that my father had taken while my mother was pregnant with me. He had been to every state my family went on vacation. He went with me to space camp. He went with me to college. He went to six continents. He went to the top of four mountains.

He has been through every friendship, every breakup that I have endured. Even when I joined the army, he went with me then too. And when I deployed, he went with me to Afghanistan and to Iraq and rode on every convoy that I went on right in my pocket. He survived the explosions with me. He went with me to the surgeries that I got to have afterwards. And...

He was just always there. He was my comfort. He was what was going to get me through whatever I had to get through. Except right now. Because right now, he was sitting next to my door because I had to get up for an O-Dark 30 flight. And I had just walked right by him. And so now I am 32 years old, a decade of decorated military service, two engineering degrees,

Crying my eyes out in public over a teddy bear. Now, let me explain a little something about Paddington is that he showed his age. He is not a pretty bear by any means. He has lost all of his fuzz. He is on ear set three, foot set two and a half.

His beans are scattered all over the world. What am I supposed to do? But, oh no, when I landed, I had a plan because, you know, I'm not going to sit here and cry over my bear and not come up with something to do. So the first thing I did when we touched down was I called home and said, look, you take that bear, you go to FedEx,

You put that bear in a box and you tell them very specifically if he can get here in a week, you send it to location one. If he gets here a couple days after, send him to location two and so on down the line. I then visited each and every hotel that we were going to be going to and said, if a box arrives for me, please hang on to it in case I'm not here. I will come back and get this. It is critical.

Our schedule was very tight. I needed to make this whole thing foolproof. So the next week I spent climbing mountains, wandering around, exploring the cities, and as much fun as we were having every single night, I still went back to the hotel and checked where was the box. By the time we left for the Galapagos,

I saw the box had made its way to Ecuador. It was sitting in customs. Paddington was in the country. I could finally relax and as soon as we got back from the islands for our last day in Quito, I checked. We hadn't even gotten to the hotel yet. I'm burning up data minutes to look and see where is Paddington.

We saw where he was. We diverted the cab. My friends had piled in with me. They were super jazzed about this reunion we were about to have. I get out. I go into the front desk of the hotel where the box said it was. And the hotel clerk was like, oh, no, we don't have a box for you. Can you check again? He checks again.

No, there's no box. There's no box at the desk. There's no box in the storeroom. There's... No one even has a clue where the box might be. Now I'm 32 years and two more weeks older and crying again. And I get back into the cab and I grab my friend's phone and call FedEx. What have you done with my bear? The FedEx agent explains...

Ecuador has a major drug problem. As it turns out, you can't accept a package on behalf of someone else, regardless if you are a hotel clerk or anything else, unless the person is there to take it off your hands.

No one really knows about this law because I guess not a whole lot of people are emergency shipping internationally teddy bears. But like, you know, that's me. So I am desperate. I'm talking to the agent and she's like, look, there's something that we can do here. There's only one storage facility for this type of package in the entire country of Ecuador. Where is it?

Oh, it's in Guayaquil. Are you near Guayaquil? No, I'm in Quito. Quito is several hundred miles away. Like there's, I have 24 hours left in this on land here and I've got to report back to my unit, to my army unit back home. Well, they said that you have to come in person to pick up the package. And so I had to go home empty handed and completely devastated. Yeah.

I returned to work the next day. I was the lead non-commissioned officer for my section at an elite military unit of investigators and interrogators and all of these people with long and storied careers and that they couldn't tell you a thing about if you asked them. But they were also mostly men, almost all of them 10 or more years my senior. And

All of them extremely well-trained operatives of some sort. So here, essentially, I was alone. At least in Ecuador, I had had my friends with me supporting my drive to get my teddy bear to come home. But here, I'm not crying on any of these guys' shoulders, that's for sure. In the military, women are already looked at as...

a little too emotional, a little too much, a little weaker. And so you have to prove yourself every single day that you are even tougher than the guy sitting next to you. But you know what? I steeled my resolve. As far as I saw it, this was a hostage crisis. And wouldn't you know it? I had done a stint in hostage rescue a couple years back. I knew exactly what I needed to do.

So for the next month, from a desk in a more secluded office, away from prying eyes, I contacted FedEx every single day. I befriended this FedEx agent who I now saw as my sole ally. She too became emotionally invested in getting Paddington back.

including activating her entire chain all the way through the chief of the international shipping division at FedEx concerned about the whereabouts of this bear. But the only people who didn't seem to care that much was the customs office in Ecuador. They simply could not be convinced.

that someone would go through all this trouble for a beaten up little bear. Unless of course there's some contraband shoved inside as beans. Oh and by the way, packages can only be held in this facility for 45 days. So I was sitting at my desk when the email arrived. "Come to Guayaquil in the next week or the box and its contents will be incinerated."

Looks like Ecuador had issued their ransom note. This is the first time that I'm sitting there and I realize that I am out of options. I have no more leave. I just burned it. I had no way to get down there. I had nothing. My friend, my comfort, my companion was about to be destroyed and there was absolutely nothing that I could do about it.

And at that exact moment, a coworker walked in. She happened to be the only other female operator in my section and just wanted to know where I was on one of our other projects. And there was no quick wiping of my face and slapping a smile on or being that gruff NCO. And she asked me, "Okay, what's wrong?"

And I look at her and in a rush, the whole story just tumbles out that my teddy bear is in Ecuador and is about to be thrown into an incinerator and there's absolutely nothing I can do. And I'm at a total loss. And then I shut my mouth super quick and waited for her to laugh at me. She considered me for a moment.

nodded and said, okay, come follow me. Oh boy. We're weaving through all of the other desks because of course she worked in the back of the room. And as we're going, she's just picking, handpicking people one by one until there's about five people in our little entourage following behind. And as we get back to her desk, she looks at me and

so I can mumble my story and stare at the floor. Well, the room had gone completely silent. And then all of a sudden, it was the biggest hive of activity and everyone had a suggestion. Everyone...

had someone to call. The people that she had picked all had experience in South America. Someone knew someone who knew somebody else who owed them a favor at the last government office that they have been to. We were taking this hostage crisis and we were turning this into an international incident. So

After some calls between three embassies, five customs control officers in two different countries, and a personal visit in South America from one old friend to another, Paddington was finally released from Ecuadorian customs. Less than 24 hours before he was scheduled to be incinerated. So...

When the box arrived, it was battered, travel-stained, looked like it had been through way more than anything that I had seen in my deployments. I tore it open. I pulled Paddington into daylight for the first time in two months, and my fingers fell into this long slit that someone had cut in his back to check for contraband.

But someone at US Customs had lovingly put his spilled beans back into him and then made a little diaper out of customs tape so that he could retain them for the rest of his little journey.

I snapped a little proof of life photo of him popping out of the box so that I could send it back to my coworkers. And they, of course, forwarded it on to all of the other people at all of these embassies and so forth. And I'm getting emails from the FedEx agents. And even when I went back to the office, the little proof of life photo had been

printed out and put up on the wall next to this free Paddington poster that we had made as we're waiting for him to be shipped home. And it seemed impossible to me throughout this whole thing that, like, I'm just a sad Army NCO with a careworn teddy bear, and yet all of these people had...

jumped at the chance to help rescue him. And then one co-worker walked up to me and showed me a picture that he had carried with him in his wallet since high school. And another one pointed to a little trinket that was on his desk that had been on every military mission he'd been on. Another, one of the embassy agents had pointed

sent along a picture of his own teddy bear which sat on a shelf behind him in a place of honor at the embassy that he now worked. And I kind of realized, you know, as tough and independent and strong as we all make ourselves out to be, everyone has a Paddington. Lana Duffy is an engineer, a decorated U.S. Army veteran, and, whenever possible, an explorer.

Despite sustaining combat injuries that required neurosurgery and, later, the loss of her leg, she has visited all seven continents and reached the summit of multiple mountains. Since leaving the service, she has become a fierce advocate for the military and veteran communities. To see photos of Lana and Paddington D. Bear in the Arctic Circle, go to themoth.org.

While there, you can call our pitch line and leave us a two-minute version of a story you'd like to tell. Do you have a story about a time when someone went out of their way to help you? I live for stories like that, so please call and tell us about it. The number to call is 877-799-MOTH, or you can pitch us your story at themoth.org. Coming up, a young Native American boy gets encouragement from a kind neighbor. That's when the Moth Radio Hour continues. ♪♪♪

The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts and presented by PRX. This is the Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Katherine Burns. We're hearing stories about people taking the time to pay attention to those around them, offering an encouraging word or going that extra mile to help. I personally needed a lot of extra kindness when my son was young.

One year, my family was spending Christmas with my folks down south. We decided to fly home very early on Christmas Day to avoid the crowds. We woke up at 4 a.m., and after a bumpy taxi ride, I found myself in the airport, holding my four-year-old son's hand, gently but firmly, pulling him towards the security gate. I was looking ahead, eyes intently focused on where we were going, when I heard a voice crying out, "'Ma'am! Ma'am! Your son!'

I turned around to see an airport employee wearing a Santa hat, pointing to my son, who was puking his guts up as I pulled him along, totally unaware. I was horrified, and trying to help my son, when out of nowhere, a man appeared with a mop and bucket and began cleaning up the mess. He was also wearing a Santa hat. I thanked them both profusely, and will never forget how kind and non-judgmental they were about my complete parenting fail. ♪

Our final story this hour was recorded at the River Walk Center in Breckenridge, Colorado. Here's Alistair Andrew Bain live at the Moth. I was standing on a sidewalk in southwest Denver looking up at a big gray house on a hill. I was buying my first home and this was the one I wanted. It was in my price range. It had big yard for the dogs I rescued and fostered.

Now my realtor seemed a little bit concerned and kept repetitively describing it as an extreme fixer-upper. But I wasn't worried because I watch a lot of HGTV. Besides, the work it had taken to get to this place in my life was a whole lot more work than this house needed.

There was a time in my life that I thought I'd never have a home of my own, not just in terms of being able to afford the brick and mortar of a house, but in the sense of finding a place where I felt safe and like I belonged. I'd grown up with two very different parents: an Eastern Shawnee father, a strict Irish Catholic mother, both of whom drank too much and argued too much.

The only common ground they seemed to be able to find was disappointment in the fact that their son was queer. I had left home early, I drifted, I felt like I'd made more mistakes than progress in life.

But when I turned 18 and became a legitimate official adult, I felt like maybe it was time to try to make my life something better. I was going to school during the day, working at a rock and roll bar at night, which at the time seemed like a very legitimate job. I had my own room to live in at Rent by the Week Transient Hotel. To be honest, some of the residents at that hotel scared me.

Not in terms of them being tougher than me because I was a pretty tough. But when I look in the faces of the older residents, sometimes I think that maybe once a place like this and the life it represented got a hold of you, it wouldn't let go. Maybe all my efforts were just in vain. But there was one person who lived at that hotel that believed I could do anything I wanted in life.

His name was Rex and he lived in the room across the hall from me. I met him one night about 3:30 a.m. when I was coming home from my job and he was standing in the doorway of his room. He was a tall, thin, native guy and right away I really liked him.

He had his own fashion scene going on where he was dressed like he came straight out of 1970s and he reminded me of the pictures I'd seen of Aime at the Wounded Knee Siege. He said, "Hey, Kola, where are you from?" When Native people ask, "Where are you from?" we're asking, "Who's your tribe? Who's your family?" We're looking for connection because relatives are what make you rich.

I told him I was Eastern Shawnee and right away he started talking about some of our famous leaders from the old days. Tecumseh, Tskwadawa, Nan Halima, the warrior woman. He said, "Coming from people like that, I bet you feel strong. I bet you feel like you can do anything you want in life." I didn't actually feel that way then, but when he said that, I wanted to feel that way.

Over the next few months, I'd run into Rex when I was coming home from work maybe two or three times a week. And there was something about him that I just felt like I could open up to him and tell him all my dreams, tell him what I was afraid of, tell him things about my childhood I'd never told anyone before. I can remember one time I told him how it hurt to have my parents reject me for being queer. And he had said...

You know, there's stories about people like you from the old days. They said that you had power, that you could ride into battle and not get hit by bullets, that you could talk to and see the spirits and help people. You've got to start believing in yourself, and you've got to get out of here. It was nice to have somebody that cared about me that way. I've heard it said that words are medicine.

and we choose every day to be good or bad medicine to each other. And Rex's words were good medicine for me. I slowly started to believe in myself, and there were better places to live and jobs that had meaning for me because I was helping people. And eventually, I found myself in Denver, buying my first home, putting down roots. The day came for myself and my dogs to move into my new house.

While I started work inside, the dogs began excavating the backyard.

In dog turns, they had almost immediate success. They unearthed an old bicycle tire, ancient cow femur, and even a mildewed Barbie doll from under the deck. If you rescue dogs, they're forever grateful to you, so the dogs gifted me these things. I gratefully accepted them and waited until the dogs fell asleep to throw the things away.

so that I wouldn't hurt their dog feelings. Meanwhile inside, work was going a little slower than I had predicted. In the excitement of wanting to buy this house, there's a lot of damage I hadn't seen. For one thing, at about shoulder height in all the rooms, there were these dents and cracks in the drywall and doors.

One night I was walking around surveying all the damage. I'd walk down the upstairs hall to this bedroom that was painted the kind of bright fuchsia pink that only happens when you tell a child, "You can pick the color out yourself!" On the interior of the door were the kind of stickers that little girls love: glittery unicorns and Hello Kitty. And on the outside of that door were more of those marks and dents.

I said out loud, "What in the world caused all this?" And as I did, this memory surfaced of when I'd been a teenager, I thought I'd met a man who was going to love me and keep me safe, only to find out that the opposite was true. I could remember ducking his fist and hearing it hit the drywall behind my head. I looked down at my own hand made into a fist and matched it to the dents in the door.

And as I did, I could almost hear and see a man raging and pounding on that door and imagined a child inside that room, fearful that if that door gave way, he would take his anger out on her. I bought this house so I could shut out all the darkness I knew the world was capable of. And now I felt like that darkness had just been waiting there for me to arrive, and I was angry.

I decided I was going to erase it, starting with that room. For the next three days, I got up at dawn, I worked lay into the night, plastering, drywalling, painting, flooring, hanging a new door, until the room looked like blank and new. The last night, I was almost done, I just had to paint a little bit more in the closet. As I reached down to paint by the baseboard, I noticed some small writing.

It was in the looping cursive of a child, and the words said, "Help me, help me, help, help me." It was a kind of tiny, almost silent plea you make when you've stopped believing anyone is listening. I thought of the Barbie doll that my dogs had found, and I wondered if that doll had been that little girl's only friend and comfort, and I'd thrown it in the trash.

I felt almost an irrational panic. I ran outside, dumped the trash onto the driveway, began rummaging for the doll. I found her. I carried her inside to the kitchen sink. I pulled off her mildewed clothes, began washing her. I trimmed the ruined ends of her hair and gave her a short but stylish haircut.

I got in the car, I drove to the 24-hour Walmart, and I didn't care if it was weird for a grown man to be Barbie doll clothes shopping at midnight. I found an outfit that was the same fuchsia pink as the paint had been in her room, so I knew she'd approve of it. I went home, dressed the doll, she looked almost new again.

I found a piece of cardboard and wrote, "Give me a home," with a smiley face on it. I carried her down the hill to the retaining wall by the sidewalk. I sat her there knowing that every morning children walked past my house on their way to the elementary school up the street. I was hoping one of them would find her and be happy to have a new friend. That night, I tried to sleep but it was difficult.

I was anxious to see if the doll would be gone in the morning, but I also kept thinking way, way back all those years ago when I lived at that hotel, when I needed a friend and Rex had been there for me and what our conversations had meant to my life. Way back then, I was curious about Rex because I never met anybody that kind.

And so one week when I needed to pay my rent, I asked Bill the desk man what he knew about Rex. Bill had worked at that hotel since 1968 and he knew everything about everyone who had ever lived there. He lived for gossip. I said, "Hey Bill, what do you know about that guy Rex who lives across the hall from me?"

Now Bill had worked at Transient Hotel long enough that nothing ever shocked him. But for some reason, when I had asked about Rex, Bill got really pale, his eyes got really wide. He leaned close to the plexiglass that separated him and the money from the rest of us. He'd said, "You seen him?" I was like, "Uh, yeah, he lives across the hall, so I guess I seen him."

Bill stood up and motioned for me to come around the corner to the door of the office and when I got there he grabbed my coat and pulled me inside. He said again, "You seen him?" I said, "Yeah, he lives across the hall. I talk to him all the time when I come home from work. Where you tripping about?" And that's when Bill told me. He had said that Rex had moved into the hotel in 1972.

He had been a really good, kind-hearted guy, but he had had a rough life and he was an addict. Not long after he had moved into the hotel, he had OD'd and died in his room. Bill had said that over the years when he tried to rent that room, people would come down to the front desk, freaking out, saying that they woke up and saw some Native guy watching them sleep.

Bill had said to me, "You know, I didn't know if they were just trying to get out and pay the bill or if they were crazy, but you kid, you're pretty sane and you're telling me that you've seen him and you talked to him." I had said, "Yeah, he's my friend." I think Bill had never been so terrified in his life, but I had never felt more safe and loved because I knew it was true what my people said, that we never walk through this life alone.

The next morning in Denver, I woke up in my new home. I put on a coat and I ran down the hill to see if the doll was gone. She was, and that made me happy. It might have seemed crazy to some people that I cared that much about a doll that belonged to a little girl that I had never met. But I believe that acts of love and kindness could ripple out across this world and touch someone far away.

and maybe they could even ripple from this world to other worlds and back again. I looked up at my house. It did not have what HGTV calls curb appeal yet, but I was proud of it because I was making it into a home where I would never let anyone feel alone or afraid again. Alistair Andrew Bain is a citizen of the Eastern Shawnee Tribe of Oklahoma.

He's a quilter, artist, writer, and storyteller. Do you have a story about being helped or helping someone else? I personally cannot get enough of these stories. The number to call is 877-799-MOTH. Or you can pitch us your own story at themoth.org. That's it for this episode of the Moth Radio Hour. We hope you'll join us next time.

This episode of the Moth Radio Hour was produced by me, Jay Allison, and Catherine Burns, who also hosted and directed the stories, along with Sarah Austin-Janess. Co-producer, Vicki Merrick. Associate producer, Emily Couch.

The rest of the Moss leadership team includes Sarah Haberman, Jennifer Hickson, Meg Bowles, Kate Tellers, Jennifer Birmingham, Marina Cloutier, Leanne Gulley, Suzanne Rust, Brandon Grant, Sarah Jane Johnson, and Aldi Casa.

Most stories are true as remembered and affirmed by the storytellers. Our theme music is by The Drift. Other music in this hour from John Schofield, Karala Dust, Michael Hordern, Haruomi Hosono, and Bill Frizzell. We receive funding from the National Endowment for the Arts. Special thanks to the Ford Foundation's Build Women Leaders program for its support of the Moth Global Community program.

The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by PRX. For more about our podcast, for information on pitching us your own story, which we always hope you'll do, and everything else, go to our website, themoth.org.