It had been a brutal, exhausting day. First my mom made me dry, crusty muffins for breakfast. They looked disgusting, so I fed them to the dog. Then the carpool came late – as usual – and I had to sprint all the way up the sidewalk and into the school just to be on time for homeroom.

           

            At least I didn’t have to take any tests today. I dozed through morning prayer and sleepwalked to my morning classes. When lunch finally came, I sat at my usual table and scarfed down two turkey sandwiches and some chips. Then I went to theology and listened to the teacher ramble on about the Gospel of Matthew. That was boring.

 

            Finally school ended and I went home. My brother wanted help with his homework, but I had more important things to do. After an hour or so of watching television, I went up to my room and did my homework. At dinner, Dad asked me about my day, and I told him nothing happened, and that he should ask Mom about making crummy muffins. After dinner I went up to my room and read magazines for a while before going to bed.

 

            I lay in bed, limp and ready to fall into the peaceful nothingness of sleep. I remembered that this was the time when I used to say prayers. Not anymore. Why would I need prayers, anyway? I thought as I began to lose consciousness.

 

            Suddenly I became aware of a radiant light. I bolted upright and realized that everything around me had turned a blank, opaque white – the walls, the books, even the window. I wheeled toward the doorway and saw an illuminated figure standing there, beckoning for me to follow him. Entranced, I clumsily lowered one foot at a time onto the floor and made after the shadow.

 

            I crossed the threshold of the doorway and found that color had returned to the world with ethereal sharpness and clarity. As I entered the kitchen, I saw that the figure had the build of a child, yet had no face. I waved my hand to acknowledge the child, but he only pointed toward the kitchen table. I felt my mouth open in shock as I stared at myself sitting at the table.

           

            I froze, my mind working faster than my mouth. What was this place? I turned to ask the child, but he remained pointing at the table. I realized with dawning comprehension that I was reliving my tiresome day.

 

            “Breakfast’s ready,” said a familiar voice. I had been so occupied with seeing myself that I hadn’t even noticed my mom bustling around the kitchen making breakfast for my siblings and me. She scooped up a plate of muffins and cooked apples and set them before my place at the table. I saw myself make a face akin to one I might make while taking out the trash. I watched my mom turn and make for the kitchen, only to look back at the table just as my past self slipped a muffin under the table to my dog.

 

            I felt a stinging pang of remorse. Why hadn’t I simply told her I didn’t want to eat the muffins? Why hadn’t I at least thanked her for feeding me? I saw my mom’s face wrinkle in hurt, and suddenly I knew what to do. I walked to where my mom stood making my sister’s lunch and said, “Mom, I’m sorry.” But she didn’t answer, or even seem to recognize me. Again I turned to the child, but he just motioned for me to follow him out of the house. A car had pulled into the driveway and sounded its horn. I watched in disgust as my past self strode out of the house without so much as a “Love you, Mom.” I wanted to go far away from this place, or at least return to bed, but something kept me following the child.

 

            We got to school, and I followed my sprinting past self up the sidewalk towards school. I saw a smaller student, probably a freshman, try to approach my past self. The boy barely had time to say “Excuse me” before he had to dive out of the way of my past self. I stopped following and turned to the boy I had shunned. He turned and, possibly confused and obviously hurt by my behavior, walked past me and away from the school.

 

            I tried to stop him, to apologize, to do something, but the boy didn’t see me. I turned to the child again, but he just shook his head and walked towards the school. As I followed him, I noticed that he looked paler than he had when I first saw him, almost transparent.

 

            I followed my past self to morning prayer, where the child looked on sadly at my sleeping past self. I followed him through my classes, and saw myself ignore students in need of pencils, walk past garbage on the floor, and brush off a classmate’s request for homework help. I followed him home, where I saw my unabashed denial hurt my brother, my dad, and my mom. After each incident, the child became fainter and fainter to the point of resembling a cloud.

           

            Finally I followed the child into my bedroom. When I saw myself sleeping, my vision blurred as if the room were melting around me. I thought I saw the child kneel down at the foot of my bed just before the room went black and I lost track of my thoughts.

 

            I awoke to bright sunlight shining through my window. My clothes were damp with sweat. Suddenly I remembered the faceless child, and I looked around for him. I discovered my room to be empty. I thought for sure I hadn’t imagined the whole thing. Oh well, I thought.

 

            I took one last glance around the room and saw a folded-over piece of paper at the foot of my bed. It was addressed to me. I bent over to open it. It read:

 

“Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers, you did for me… Whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.”

            -Jesus Christ

Matthew 25: 40, 45