dear samaritan.

I was young and I had it all. No worries. I was cruising around town in my Lexus RX300, doing pretty much whatever I wanted. 18 years old with too much money to dispose of and a killer fun boyfriend who was always along for the ride. I hit the mall several times a week, buying new sweaters. There was a woman I always passed on the way there who stood outside a tire shop, asking the people of the highway for money. She had a black cat with her. One day I pulled over and gave her my lunch that I hadn't touched yet and a 50 dollar bill. The boys at the tire shop all yelled at me. They said "Stop!! Don't give her anything!" I thought that was so rude of them, even though I could see the look in her eye and I knew it wasn't good. I had a lot to give, I felt, in that moment. I had no problem giving it. Even if it was wasted, that wasn't the point. My candle stayed lit.

What is the point? I have been wondering lately, as I hear the echos from afar, of some boys at a tire shop yelling at me to stop. A lot of time has passed, and I just shelled out my last two 50's. That makes 100 that I gave, people of the highway. And not to some strange lady, either. Might be tough to fix a flat in candlelight when all the tire shop boys have gone on home.

"You haven't even touched your lunch yet...are you okay?" When you are nothing but a blinking hologram. Flickering on and off, more and more, until you are barely there...but no one really thinks to double check. So you stand up...walk towards the door a bit unnoticed. You are halfway out and no one seems bothered by it. Then the small, quiet sound of the door clicking shut sends them running after you. Suddenly, you have done the wrong, when all you really did was slip away. When all you did was give in the wrong places. Because you had no problem giving, and giving, and giving. Giving in all the wrong places. Giving to the old lady who stood on the highway, whose face had no light, but you just didn't care, that wasn't the point, that look in her eyes. But that look, you took it with you, you carried it way too far.

Meanwhile Grandma was knitting me a sweater back at the cottage. She just wants me warm on cold nights. Her delicate little fingers twisted and spun and her two little hooks click clacked with the fire. And just as fast as she twirled the yarn, an old black cat pulled on it from the other side. Unraveling all she had done; every loop, every rung. She's not thrilled with me, my grams...that I keep bringing this cat home. It's always with me as I click the door shut, riding on my shoulders. I just say "whatever". Until night comes for us and I undress. Grandmother always double checks. She notices the scratches all over my back. I look into her eyes as she sees what has happened. That says it all. It is not the look of an old beggar lady. It is someone who loves me. It is disappointment.

"Look what I am trying to do for you..."

The sweater. The fire. The cottage.
I actually know how she feels.

I blow out the candle. "We will try again tomorrow." We go to bed and don't speak.

But right before we fall asleep, she starts whispering in the dark...

"It was rude of the tire shop boys, to just yell at you like that. They had no clue what was in your heart, my dear. Don't feel bad about what's in your heart. You have so much to give. What ever happened to that killer boyfriend, and your Lexus??? We gotta get those back...but newer ones, we'll do some test drives, don't worry. You have nothing left to lose..."

I was young and had it all. No worries.