My Sister in a Stranger
I met a woman at the tire shop today. She was a stranger, but she had my sister’s eyes. Even as I write that, I’m not exactly sure what it means, but it felt significant…like something that deserves my attention.
I was waiting on a minor tire repair when a woman about my age came into the shop and sat down next to me. She smelled of cigarette smoke, and moisture leaked from her nose, runny from the cold. She was bundled in layers of clothing – jacket over sweater, scarf over jacket, worn stocking cap over a scramble of hair.
Busy with my morning puzzles, I stared into my phone screen, barely taking notice that she’d come in, until she reached across, touching my shoulder. “Ma’am,” she said, “I’m stuck here on the side of the road. Could you help me make a phone call?”
She explained that her truck had broken down and she'd been waiting several hours for roadside assistance. She’d worn out her welcome, and her telephone privileges, at the gas station next door and the tire shop wouldn’t allow her to make a call. Since she had no phone, she asked if I could dial her insurance carrier on her behalf.
I’ll admit: My first thought was that this was some sort of scam. I hesitated briefly as she handed me a piece of paper with her insurance policy information and the company’s phone number. What can it hurt? I asked myself.
After several minutes of trying to get through, encountering far too many touch-tone prompts, being hung up on by an automated system, and getting nowhere, I put the phone down. I really looked at her for the first time and, finally, listened.
“So, all you need is some gasoline?” I asked, after she’d recounted her story. She’d been waiting two hours for someone to bring her a single can of fuel, stranded without help, though countless people busy on their way to work or doing daily errands rushed past her.
I opened my wallet and handed her $20. “Why don’t we just do this?” I suggested. “This is much easier and faster than waiting for your insurance folks to come through.” We both laughed, then she began to tear up, telling me of the circumstances that had led to her being homeless, nearly penniless, and living in her car with a cat and a few belongings.
As she recounted this story, I noticed something in her eyes, something in her face, that looked familiar. I couldn't place it.
I began to get teary, too. As she got up to leave, I squeezed her hand, wishing her luck.
When we left shortly after, she was still in the parking lot with a gas can, filling her tank with the few gallons of gas $20 can buy these days.
“I’ll remember you,” she shouted as we passed.
That’s when I realized: I’d seen my sister in her eyes. My sister, who struggled with addiction, but for a little bit of luck and a boyfriend with a house, could very well have ended up like this woman – Jackie – living on the street, with few resources to her name. The phrase "But for the grace of God..." came to mind.
When I’d first offered the money to Jackie, she wanted to reciprocate: Give me a check or some vegetables. I suggested that she allow me to do this good deed for her – that, I proposed, would be gift enough.
As we drove away, I could tell I’d gained something more, something unexpected, from my random encounter with this stranger. I was reminded of the vulnerability we all share and the grace by which we all live our lives. It occurred to me how important it is to look into the eyes of the people I encounter: Friends, co-workers, strangers, wait staff, store clerks.
You never know who you might meet there.
