Quite the Life

I'd already been in the office for a few minutes when she rushed through the wooden doors with a flourish.

"I'm sorry," she said as she placed her purse on the chair and her youngster on her feet. "I got a ride from my mom. I don't have a car."

"No worries," I replied. "We're good here. Not much to do, yet." I looked at the sweet face of her daughter, who munched on a doughnut hole. "She's so precious...just a cutie."

"Thank you." She set about to take off her coat and then began straightening items on the desk.

Her name tag read Lillian. We'd both signed up to help clean out the office of the nearby school library as it got ready for renovation, and we had a three-hour shift ahead of us. Most of what we had to do was placing books into boxes and packing up files. Nothing that couldn't be done with a child in tow. Hence, the presence of her daughter, Gemma. She looked around the small space with the fluorescent lights and let out a slight shriek. I giggled as she ran from one end of the room to the other.

"How old is she?" I asked.

"Four," Lillian said. "She goes to the Presbyterian daycare over on Dillon Road, but they're closed today. Something special going on. I work there, which means I have the day off, too."

"It's my day off as well," I responded. "And we're spending it here." I thought for a moment how that sounded and then added, "I like helping out here, though, so I don't mind."

"Neither do I."

Lillian and I got to work. I showed her a few of the shortcuts I'd learned the last time I volunteered to help move library materials. She looked on with interest until a student walked in, asking to purchase a book that had been put on reserve from the book sale the week before.

"Actually, it's two books," he said, and pointed to the large volumes on the shelves above our heads. "Those right there." With his eyes still on the books, the student pulled out a wallet, two inches thick with cash. I felt my eyes widen and saw Lillian's explode. Who would allow their child to bring that much cash to school? It was doubtful the parents even knew about it.

"You might be careful with that cash, dear," Lillian said to the boy. "If kids knew you had that, they might try to take it."

The boy said he would and then paid the $60 we'd rung up as his sale. Two hard-cover books of facts and he was out that much money. I looked at Lillian.

"That's a lot of cash to spend on two books," I said. I'd just gotten the bills for the three kids and their braces the week before. Even with some insurance money, we'd be out quite a bit for some lovely smiles. We were willing to do it, but those were expenses I hadn't necessarily planned for, and was caught somewhat unawares at how steep the bills would be. And we still had one child to go.

"Sure is," Lillian said. "I only get $100 in food stamps each month. And that's got to last the whole month. Crazy, isn't it?"

I stopped what I was doing and looked at Lillian. She wasn't complaining, she was simply stating a fact. She needed food stamps, and the kid who bought the books spent a little over half of what she received from the government in one fell swoop. And here I was, thinking of my kids' braces? Something we were electing to do? How could I complain about a cost like that? I had two cars at home, plenty of food for groceries and bills, and the choice to work part-time instead of full-time, like Lillian. There was no way in hell that I could possibly whine about my blessed existence.

So I didn't. Instead, I moved on to dusting off some old books and placing a stack of withered papers in the recycling bin before I asked Gemma a few questions that made her laugh. Lillian and I had a wonderful morning, chatting about our kids and our jobs and everything in between--from sexual education to how to publish books. And at the end of our time together, I asked Lillian if she needed a ride. She knew I had other places to be, and she wasn't headed home--she needed to get to the mall (a good fifteen minutes away). She said thank you, but no. And due to my jam-packed schedule, I didn't push her. But once I got in my car and drove away, I thought to myself that I probably should have. 

A character of mine once said to his wife, "From where I'm standing, it looks to me like you've got quite the life." I could imagine Lillian saying the same thing to me, and I wouldn't blame her for doing it. I've got a lot to be thankful for, that I know. And I usually remember to say thank you for this life, but it never hurts to have someone else remind you to do so.

Thank you, Lillian.

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