Janine's Epiphany

A little give and take

Janine’s Epiphany

Janine was feeling the damp chill penetrating through several layers of cardboard as she sat cross-legged on the sidewalk in front of the Tools ‘n All Hardware Store. For the last three weeks she tried to figure out how she ended up being homeless. It happened quickly: lay-offs at the glove factory, a boyfriend seeking greener pastures, and insurmountable debt. Gloves. Ha! That's a rich one. She doesn't even own a pair now. A shredded parka looked more like a second-hand parachute had landed on her. Her denim pants reeked of must from weeks of wear. Shoes that barely counted as shoes, their soles exposing sock-less feet.

She had learned to ignore the physical pain that came with so many hours of sitting, lotus-like. But, the biggest hurt came from the blows struck against her humility and self-esteem. This was next to intolerable. Each day seemed like the sink hole was growing deeper, until...

A tall man sauntered by in a dark olive raincoat, tan wool beret, and rimless glasses snugged around his broad nose. His gait was almost imperial. Just as he reached Janine he dug into his trench-coat and pulled out a mobile phone. His brisk motion had also dislodged a money clip full of very large bills which then fell tantalizing near Janine.

"Hey mister, you dropped some money," she called out. Why in god's name did I do that, she thought. Stunned, the man swept the wad up and started to walk off. Three steps later he reversed himself and, without speaking, dumped five one-dollar bills in Janine's lap. She almost convulsed with a giddiness approaching euphoria; mostly to do with this unexpectedly humane gesture. Ten minutes later she returned to her normal state of melancholy.

The next day she had a revelation, maybe even an epiphany. Normally, passersby would put on their best evasion techniques: eyes that bored a hole in the horizon, a jerk of a neck to see just what pathetic soul lay panhandling, or the worst, a "Sorry." Sorry! I'm the one's that sorry!! Who the hell do you think you are?

Through her fog of depression, she spotted a woman—thirty-something she guessed—gripping the hand of her young daughter who appeared to be seven or eight. Time for action. What do I have to lose? As the couple approached, Janine held out one of the dollar bills the man had given her. At first, the mother yanked on her child's arm who had, by now, a gleam in her eye seeing the money. "Mommy, Mommy, she's offering me money. Please, please, can I take it? My piggy bank is almost empty."

The mother, reeking of skepticism, slowly led her daughter over to Janine. "What's your name, Sweetie," prodded Janine.

"Angie," the little girl replied.

"Angie, I told you to never give your name out to strangers!" The mother warned, about to give another tug on Angie's sleeve.

"It's okay, I won't bite, promised Janine, and this is perfectly good money.”

As Angie took the dollar bill from Janine, her mother said, "Oh, all right, I guess it's okay."

The mother, starting to walk away, pivoted, and returned to lay four dollar bills into Janine's lap, clearly not wanting to make physical contact with this shabby street person.

Wow, thought Janine, this concept may have merit. Twice in one day she had witnessed the better side of human nature. But, of course, she thought, this can't last and began hearing the ugly gremlins bark loudly in her head again. What are you doing, you fool? You're not supposed to be giving money away, you're supposed to be stashing it away.

For the next several days, she tried moving further out into the sidewalk to gain a better prominence. No luck, until a young man with dreadlocks and one of those Dr. Seuss Cat-in-the-Hat hats that partly concealed a set of AirPods came along.

Almost past her, he braked his skateboard into the paving, picked it up, and approached Janine. "Hey girlie, you givin’ the greenies away?"

"Just one of them, dearie," she clarified.

"Tell you what," the boy countered, "Since the freaks at the surfboard shop where I work just paid me, I'll take your one and give you some cabbage in return. Deal?"

Janine wasn't sure how many weeds the boy had smoked, but she handed the boy the dollar bill.

"Thanks mama," The boy half-growled, as he spun around to leave. "Jest spiffin ya, here ya go." He handed a crisp five-dollar bill to Janine and slammed his skateboard down and rattled off down the street.

She had felt this temporary euphoria before and was not inclined to give in to it. The real world was the real world, after all.

The next day, slipping back into her melancholic fog, she looked up and there was Angie and her mother. This time, Angie skipped over to Janine and asked, "Do you have any more money or did you spend it all?"

Temporarily stung by this accusation, Janine realized it had probably originated with her mother. "I sure do," pronounced Janine as she pulled a one dollar bill from her pocket.

"I told everyone in my class at school about you," blurted Angie, "I said I now have a homeless friend who gives me money. Everyone giggled and told me I was crazy. But I know I'm not."

"You're certainly not Angie, countered Janine. "I look forward to seeing you. In fact, when you don't come by I am sad."

Angie tentatively placed her arm around Janine as her mother cautiously placed a ten-dollar bill into Janine's shirt pocket.

Angie became a frequent visitor to what she called Janine's sidewalk hotel. She brought a small stuffed lizard, a bag of Slime, a slinky, and a yo-yo, convinced that these were all necessary for sidewalk living. And Janine's nest egg kept growing. Soon she was not giving any more money away.

A week later, Janine sat slumped on her cardboard rug. Her face was black and blue and she was leaning to one side. When Angie finally came by again, she raced over to her friend and asked what had happened. Janine said that the nearby commune of homeless people found out about her money and had beaten her and stolen all the cash.

Angie's mother had seen enough. She shuttled Janine to an urgent care facility and one of those mobile shower units. Then she found her a place in an emergency shelter until Janine could find a more permanent place to live and begin looking for work.

Over the next year, Angie and her mother lost track of Janine. Angie was increasingly sad when she walked past the bare piece of concrete that normally held the cardboard “rug.” Then, as the two stopped in at their local coffee house, they spotted Janine behind a counter. She had just been hired as a barista as part of the shop’s Working Your Way Back program. She had told the owners that two wonderful people in the community became her soul mates, her confidants, and more than anything, her caring friends. And, of course, there had been a dash of accident and a pinch of epiphany.