How I Met Bethany

 

The Day I Met Bethany

Bethany sat on the steps outside the university where I attended night classes. She was in my Ethics class this semester, so I recognized her right away, although I didn’t know her name or her story. She was weeping on the steps in the cold, head buried in her hands, folded over on her knees. I almost walked on since it was my pattern to leave people alone, but something about her made me stop.

Instead of approaching to ask what was wrong, I sat beside her. She knew someone was there, and muttered “I’m fine. Go away,” in a thick voice. But I placed a hand on her knee and waited.

It was several awkward moments before she finally lifted her face and looked at me. She seemed startled. “Nichole,” she exclaimed in surprise. It amused me that she knew my name but for the life of me I could not recall hers. That seemed to happen a lot at this college. I was a non-traditional student, started school at 28, last year, and was working a very full-time job. And I was “hands-up-in-the-front” girl in nearly every one of my classes. People knew me because I never stopped making comments and asking questions. Yep, I’m that girl.

“What do you need?” I asked. I rarely asked people what was wrong or if I could help. I could see something was terribly wrong: her eyes were swollen and she I had no trouble believing she must have been crying a very long time. I could see she needed help.

She crumpled into tears again when my concerned words registered. This time, though I hardly knew the girl, she wrapped her arms around me and buried her face in my neck. I didn’t exactly know how to handle it, so I just held her there, letting her cry herself out.

When she did, she let go of me and sat small on the steps, hunched in on her shoulders, arms between her knees, staring at the ground in front of her. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I’m having a bad… life.”

I couldn’t keep from smiling. “How old are you?” I asked playfully. “Twenty? You have a long time ahead of you to have a bad life. You’re young now; enjoy it while you can.”

She glanced up at me through her tears, but could not maintain eye-contact. “I’m nineteen,” she admitted. “I’m homeless and broke, and my car was repossessed today.”

Yikes! That was a lot of trouble for one little girl. “Homeless?” I asked for clarification. She did not seem homeless. She smelled fresh and looked clean. Her hair was done, and her outfit was from an expensive store in the mall. Of course, the only homeless people I had ever seen were the panhandlers I saw on street corners. I wasn’t exactly an expert.

“I can’t pay rent,” she said with a sigh. “My landlord told me I had until today to pay or he would evict me.”

I wasn’t made of money, but I had some saved up. People had helped me in my time of need, and if I could help her, I would. “How much do you need?”

“Fourteen hundred dollars,” she sniffed. “I’m two months behind.”

That was more than I could afford to give a stranger. “What are you going to do?” I asked softly.

“I thought I would live in my car,” she said. “It’s almost summer. I could do it. But…” Her car had been repossessed. Where were this girl’s friends? Her family? Didn’t she have anyone she could ask for help?

“What’s your name, honey?” I asked.

“Bethany,” she replied.

“Do you need a place to stay tonight, Bethany? A shower? I have an extra room.”

I could tell she wanted to accept but did not know how. It was hard to accept charity even when you needed it the most. I stood up. “Come on,” I encouraged. “My car is in the yellow lot.”

She followed almost hesitantly at first, but my peremptory command, “Come on, now,” broke her resistance. I unlocked the door for her and moved my piles of stuff off the front seat. She climbed in and pulled her knees up under her. I watched her with some amusement, wondering what it must be like to be thin enough to do that in a little car. I instructed her to buckle her seatbelt, since I am a stickler for the law, and I drove home.

*Interjection by Pura* At the exact speed limit. I was distressed, but I noticed you drive like a grandmother. 

I always drive the speed limit. And so do you, now that you serve me, little slave.

Readers, Pura looks a little guilty. I'm going to talk with her now about her safety and the concept of obedience to the law. I'll come back and finish this later...