spacer
Thrive logo
spacer
spacer Log in | Register spacer
corner spacer corner
spacer
spacer
corner browseissues corner
spacer
spacer
spacer
corner spacer corner
spacer
corner popularlinks corner
spacer
spacer
spacer
corner spacer corner
corner spacer corner
spacer
spacer
spacer
spacer
corner spacer corner
spacer
spacer
corner spacer corner
spacer

Credit Card Angel
By Maggie Airncliffe

The city was sweltering under a heat wave that just wouldn’t let up. Before 10 a.m. on the fourth day, the temperature was already nudging 30C. The prospect of another blistering day on the inner city streets was making me cranky. All I wanted was a shady spot on my little balcony, a good book, and a bottomless jug of iced tea.

At the time, I was unofficial ‘street mom’ to a group of kids trying to survive on the margins. Somehow they had adopted me when, on a whim, I’d stopped to offer them a basket of peaches that I’d picked up at the farmer’s market down the block. The fruit disappeared in seconds, but the impression they made on me lingered. The next week, I’d baked up a double batch of cookies, and gone back. Within weeks, I was spending most of my free time with them.

They’d come to accept my presence, true, but gaining their confidence was another matter altogether. The sheer physical, emotional, and psychological burdens of living on the street are enormous in and of themselves. But coping with the attitudes and judgments of the mainstream masses is an additional burden. The kids have grown accustomed to being treated as riffraff, the dregs and failures of society. Once they’ve run up against those kinds of prejudices countless times, it is difficult for them to believe that any other kind of treatment is genuine.

And here I was, about as mainstream as you could get, offering them fruit, cookies, and respect. Who could blame them for being dubious? The streets had taught them lessons most of us couldn’t even begin to imagine. They’d discovered that it was wise not to trust anyone too much, not to take things at face value, and not to let their guard down, especially with people they didn’t know. As a result, they tested me; repeatedly, and in ingenious ways. When they were finally satisfied – by some criteria I’ve never discovered – that I wasn’t a ‘do-gooder’, a cop, a rat, or a ‘holy roller’ come to save their eternal souls, little by little they started to relax and talk freely around me.

As I got to know them, heard their stories, learned about their struggles, hopes, and fears, I couldn’t help but develop a deep fondness for them as individuals, and a greater awareness and respect for the ability of the human spirit to survive, even in the most hostile of circumstances.

Perhaps that’s what motivated me in the broadest sense, but ideological insight is one thing, the reality is often another, much grittier matter. And as time went by, I started to feel discouraged, as if whatever I could offer was always too little, or too late. It seemed that there was an unending stream of new kids on the street every week, running from abuse, alcoholism, family trouble, or just plain running.

I was tired, I was burnt out. And on that particular morning the absolute oppression of the summer heat made me decidedly reluctant to head into the heart of the city. I had almost convinced myself that staying at home for the day wouldn’t really matter, when the phone rang.

“Hey, Mom, it’s Jinx.”

I was a bit surprised to hear his voice. Although most of the kids had my number, they rarely called. He seemed to be trying too hard to be casual, when he said “So, you coming down later?”

“Hmm, not sure yet. It’s pretty hot; probably nobody will be around anyway.”

“Ahh, ok . . . it’s just . . .” A hesitant pause.

“What’s up?”

“Well, it’s just that the cops did a ‘sweep’ last night and closed down all the squats. Nobody’s got anywhere to sleep.”

“Oh bugger, well…”

Jinx, independent, strong-willed Jinx, was a favorite of mine. He would never come right out and ask for help, so I wasn’t surprised when he said, instead, “We could use some cookies, Mom. Just to cheer us up. Y’know?” I could almost hear his cheeky grin through the phone. But then he rushed on, “But if you’re busy, you know, or . . . well, that’s cool.”

How could I refuse? “I’ll be down around three, how’s that?”

“Excellent! See you at the usual, then.” Click. He was gone.

The ‘usual’ was an unused parking lot with benches at the perimeter, and a few bushes that gave off the most half-hearted semblance of shade. Across the street from a cascading fountain where the kids could cool off and get a drink, it was the central meeting place. Some wag amongst them had christened it the Litter Box and the name stuck. Probably meant to be ironic, the name was also a tacit thumbing of the nose to those who treated them like the ‘waste’ of society. If they weren’t welcome in the mainstream world, they would create their own community within the confines of the streets. The Litter Box was their ‘town square’ of sorts. And although they didn’t actively discourage other people from stopping by, their simple presence – up to 40 pierced, tattooed, alternatively-dressed kids at one time – was often determent enough. Occasionally a hapless tourist would settle on one of the benches, take a quick look around, and beat hasty retreat. The rare accidental visitor who actually stopped to chat was judged ‘decent’ by the kids – ‘decent’ having the double connotation of being a compliment, and at the same time an expression of unexpectedly being treated, well, decently.

Initially, I didn’t share their sense that they were considered ‘rejects’ and ‘misfits’ but after two years of hanging out with them, I had started to change my mind. Watching passersby literally step over panhandling kids, hurtle abuse at them as they walked down the street, call them foul names, and treat them with cold disdain made it difficult for me to uphold the premise that at heart, most people were basically alright.

The dissembling of the kids’ squats the night before – tearing down tents, blocking off abandoned buildings – was aimed at ‘cleaning up’ the city in preparation for the visit of some foreign diplomat or other. It would never do to admit that this city, so clean, so beautiful, so prosperous, had a ‘homelessness problem.’ Better to just move them all out, and pretend they didn’t exist.

So my mood, as I walked across that baking slab of concrete to join the kids, was anything but positive. Two or three kids were drowsing on benches, but most of them were huddled around the few spindly trees, talking about the street ‘clean up’ and wondering what they were going to do for a place to sleep. Tensions were high, morale was low, and the kids were in a strange frame of mind – rebellious but hopeless at the same time.

Even the freshly –baked cookies I’d brought didn’t help dispel the gloom. I wondered if anything would ever change for the better. From behind me, I heard a voice call out.

“Hey, Mom! Guess what happened to Diamond?”

“Oh no,” I thought, “Not more bad news. Please!”

But it was something else entirely.

Diamond, a short, frumpy kid who’d lived on the streets far too long, had grown restless in the heat, and had gone off to the shopping center next door to take advantage of the air conditioning. Wandering through the mall, she passed display after display of beautiful, expensive things. But when she reached a store front full of gorgeous prom dresses, she stopped dead and simply stared. There in the window was the most wonderful dress she’d ever seen – floor length, blue silk, with tiny rhinestone straps and a cut-away back. Something pushed her to go into the shop, and ask if she could try the dress on.

The shop assistant, taking in her street rags, blue hair, and pierced cheek, looked at her skeptically, then reluctantly handed her the dress on its dainty hanger. Hurrying to the dressing room, discarding her torn combat pants and stained t-shirt on the floor, Diamond slipped into the dress. Then, ignoring the little voice in her head that was telling her how foolish she was – “you’ve never even had a date, you don’t even go to school, you’re sure as hell not going to any prom” – she came out of the dressing room to get a proper look at herself in the full-length mirror.

She couldn’t believe her eyes! The plump, squat, bad-postured kid was gone, and instead she saw a fairy princess reflected back at her – or at least what she imagined a fairy princess might look like. She couldn’t look away, but stood, mesmerized and rapt, at the image looking back.

Perhaps her innocent awe touched the other customers in the shop, who knows? But a voice behind her said “Wow, that’s really good, isn’t it? You look fantastic!” Diamond turned, and saw a young couple with a baby in a stroller, grinning at her. And then she realized that all the customers were looking at her. An older man smiled, nodding, as if to say “Yes, you really do look beautiful.”

Used to being treated like she was invisible, she was a bit overwhelmed by the unfamiliarity of the positive attention. But at the same time she felt ‘normal’ for once, and was reluctant to break the spell.

Only the saleswoman seemed unimpressed. “So, are you taking it, or what?” she asked, reaching out to turn the price tag face upwards so Diamond could read it.

Three hundred and eighty five dollars!

Oh God, the dress price was more than her living allowance from Social Assistance for an entire month. How could that be? Who can afford things like this?

“Oh, no, I just came in to look, really. I . . .ummm . . .might shop around a bit more before I decide.”

“Suit yourself,” the clerk said with a barely concealed sneer, turning on her heel and going back to her counter.

The disdain in her voice brought the silent crush of Diamond’s poverty back to settle over her like a transparent shroud. She took one last look at herself in the tiny mirror on the back of the door, then slid the dress off and returned it to its pink, padded satin hanger.

“Whatever,” she thought, “What would I do with a dress like this anyway? I’m stupid to even think about having nice stuff like this.” And making her way out of the shop, she stomped down the tiny voice that whispered “But I really, really, wanted that dress. Just this once . . .”

Deciding to buy herself an ice cream to take the sting away, she was walking slowly towards the frozen treat shop, when she heard someone yelling “Wait, hold up! You, girl! Wait!”

Turning, she saw the saleswoman hurrying down the wide walkway of the mall, gesturing and calling out to her. Confused at first, she suddenly had an awful thought. “Oh, my God, she thinks I’ve shoplifted something!” She hadn’t, of course, but, doubting that anyone would believe the word of a street kid against that of the clerk, she was preparing to run, when the woman caught up to her and grabbed her by the arm.

“Wait, damn it! Will you just hold up for a sec!”

“I didn’t take anything.”

“I know.”

“Huh? You do?”

“Look, can we sit down for a second? I’m outta breath here.”

They sat on a bench, and the woman explained, “OK, so after you left the store, this customer who was shopping for a gift for his wife asked me to charge the dress to his credit card. So I did. Then, he says, he wants me to wrap it up all pretty, and go find you and give it to you. Isn’t that amazing? He bought the dress for you!”

She held up a carry bag and handed it to Diamond, who just sat, dumb-founded.

“But,” she asked, “Who? Who was he? And why?”

“Dunno,” said the clerk, “But one thing’s for sure. He really wanted you to have this dress.” Then with a laugh, she added, “Maybe your guardian angel, huh?”

When Diamond came back to the Litter Box wearing the dress and told us the story, the others grilled her. “What did he look like? Where did he go? Have you ever seen him before?” And when they learned that she didn’t have a clue who he was, they were captivated by the possibilities. “Maybe he’s one of those guys who goes around doing nice things for people anonymously,” said one of the girls. “Or someone really rich, with no one to leave his money to, so he’s trying to spend it all.” The speculations got wilder and wilder, with much giggling and hilarity.

But when one of the guys said “Well how do we know he’s not walking past here right now, and we wouldn’t even know?” we all got quiet. As if we were one single being, we turned towards the street, scrutinizing the people walking past.

Which one? That older fellow with the cane? Or perhaps that guy who looks like a business executive with his expensive suit? Or maybe that guy with the beard and shades who says ‘hi’ to us whenever he passes?

Then Jinx burst out laughing. “Know what? We’ll never figure out who it was. But what’s really cool is . . .hmm, maybe,” then suddenly shy, he mumbled “maybe all the ‘straights’ don’t hate us, after all.”

There was a dead-silent hush, as people thought that over. Me included.

It’s hard to define what changed that day, but something dark and ugly seemed to dissipate just a bit. Of course, the actual circumstances of their lives hadn’t changed. The streets are the streets, and in some ways that will never change. But amongst the kids who were there, a subtle shift in attitude occurred. And I know that more than one person was challenged to reconsider what they thought they knew about judging, as well as being judged, by appearance or class or any other superficial generality.

For my part, I determined to go to the shop and find out the name of the ‘credit card angel,’ as the kids had nicknamed him. I had some vague idea of contacting him, of thanking him, of perhaps telling him how much impact his gesture had on the kids. But some crisis or other broke out on the street, and I didn’t.

For a while, I regretted that. But over time I realized that I was glad I hadn’t. For often, when I’d meet someone new, the thought would flit through my mind that they could be the ‘credit card angel.’ And I realized something else – that simple act of kindness on the part of a stranger had restored my faith in human beings, because, in truth, any one of us could be an angel to someone else.

More than ten years have passed since that day, and although there are constant hordes of new faces on the streets, ‘my’ kids have long since gone: some didn’t survive, a handful are in jail. But most have been absorbed into the ‘straight’ world they claimed to despise, but secretly longed for; they’re pre-occupied with families, mortgages, jobs, and the usual worries and joys of being alive.

The Litter Box is no more, torn to bits to make way for a fancy parking garage. But whenever I pass the spot, memories and almost-images float through my mind, and there they all are again: a ragtag bunch of kids. And, inevitably, in amidst them, a glimmering flash of deepest blue. And each time, I stop and breathe a silent ‘thank you’ for the experience, and a blessing for a truly exceptional stranger.

Maggie Airncliffe Bio:

Maggie Airncliffe is a freelance writer and editor who believes in the transformative power of words. And dogs. She lives in a tiny urban space with Gus, a rescue mutt with purebred delusions, who believes that rolling in snow (and, sadly, mud) is not only his right, but his true vocation. Maggie can be reached at figaro2020@hotmail.com

Back to Stories

Share
spacer
COMMENTS (6) | children, inspiration, street kids, tolerance
spacer

Comments

6 Responses to “Credit Card Angel”

  1. SB
    December 15th, 2011 @ 6:31 pm

    The writing was so enjoyable, and the story itself makes you want to run out there and do random acts of kindness. Inspirational. Thank you!!

  2. Diane Schachter
    December 26th, 2011 @ 6:55 pm

    Maggie,you write so well. You should be proud of the relationship you developed with “your kids”
    Anonymous

  3. Melodee
    March 7th, 2012 @ 1:55 pm

    Your story brought tears to my eyes. If only more people would recognize the joy brought through even one small act of kindness …

  4. Cat
    March 8th, 2012 @ 7:42 am

    What a beautiful story. Even the smallest gestures of kindness hold such power and bring hope for humanity. Thankyou for sharing!

  5. Christine
    March 14th, 2012 @ 7:17 am

    Wonderful story! I have worked at a shelter and been overwhelmed by despair at times. It was always that unexpected act of kindness that would restore my faith.

  6. Liz Wood
    March 15th, 2012 @ 5:58 pm

    What an uplifting story and written so beautifully! It’s just made me think that we are here to discover and honor our own individual path – whether we’re on the street or running billion dollar corporations. It doesn’t matter who we are, where we are, but that each of us are truly valuable and so unique. The thread we weave in our daily lives affects others in ways we may never know or understand. But whether we give or receive, it truly makes a difference. Thank you for sharing your beautiful story.

Leave a Reply





spacer
spacer
spacer
spacer
spacer
corner spacer corner
spacer
corner spacer corner
spacer
newsletter
spacer
spacer
spacer
corner spacer corner
spacer
corner comments corner
spacer
  • Robert Goldsmith: Thank you for sharing that very intimate experience and your story. I’m married to an...
  • MANDI: Is this group still going? I love my husband and I knew what I was getting into when I married him. I knew he...
  • Kelly: Dear Keith, I hope you are at peace now. You are missed by many.
  • Delilah Campos: Dear LaVora, Thank you so much for sharing this intimate experience. I am deeply touched and...
  • Mary Ellen Bennett: Thank you so much. I am married to an alcoholic and I have watched him go through rehabilitation...
  • Tracy: Thank you for sharing your story with me Ivor. I’m so glad you had a loving supportive Aunt to guide you...
  • Joe Longo: Love this photo
  • Daniel Fontana: I know those kids,especially Snezana.Please send me their contact information.
  • Neyhaaa: I can’t thank you enough for sharing this. Yet, thank you.
  • Amy: My daughter is five and her dad is an alcoholic. I know we need to leave. We both own our house and I...
  • CPC: I think this is among the such a lot important info for me. And i’m happy studying your article. However...
  • online festival: Every year, people in India find different ways to celebrate the same festival, and perhaps this...
  • Karol: Listening to all the mother’s on here is overwhelming for me. I think about what all of you are going...
  • Vicki Osheka: This is my second marriage and I came from a non drinking family. Didn’t realize what I was...
  • Elle: Wel written article. My husband is walking around totally beligerant. Where he ends up making messes, he has...
  • Maren: Thank you for this! 3rd day on Cipralex and a glimmer of hope.
  • Anonymous: I ‘gave in’ recently. I am more hopeful than ever that things will improve for me after...
  • LindaJane Riley: I apologize to everyone who has commented. I didn’t know this story was still active. I would...
  • Rahulbh28: Dear Members, Please help me. . . I’m sharing my painful moments which my brother and my family...
  • rene: Yes i too lived the nightmare for 45 yrs..when in my marriage the last. 10 yrs my alcoholic lived in the same...
  • Grace: I typed in Google search, overcoming childhood loneliness because I am paying attention to some habits that I...
  • Casadina: I am so thankful that I found this website. I am like others on here and my alcoholic is passed out snoring...
  • Grateful: I cannot express how much I appreciate your story. I have been with my alcoholic for 11 years and I do not...
  • Vic: I stumbled upon this beautifully written article because I just “gave in” today. I just picked up my...
  • Carol: I have recently begun to admit that my husband is an alcoholic. My heart is broken… I am pissed… I...
  • TJ: Thank you for this article. You are the first person who seems to understand why I am still married to an...
  • sariah: I wept as I read your story. I am currently learning to detach as well after 20 years of marriage to an...
  • LaVora: Good luck, N. My experience may not be yours. However, I deeply believe that happiness is our birthright. You...
  • nk: Lavora, I am exactly here in my marriage – trying to turn it around. Rgds, N
  • Suzanne: Hi Martin and Cathy. Watched your documentary. You are a wonderful family. Everyone has their struggles, no...
  • admin: Thank you for letting us know. The link is now set to the their new WEB page. We have our dog from them.
  • Linda Jane Riley: About a year ago I was forced to take a step back from all things related to alcoholism. My...
  • SHerry: Your link to the rescue adoption site is for sale with no other info on the dogs.
  • Marleen: Thank you for sharing your story! That’s real inspirating!
  • Julie: Its 4:50am here. I can hear him snoring in the nursery. I brought the baby to bed with me.. He only snores...
  • ld: I thought I was suffering alone. The advice and comments make me feel better and gives me the strength to go on....
  • Sam: Hi Mike, Very poignant, “There are no grown-ups. We are all children in adult garments” is right on...
  • TJ: Thank You!!! Like “judy” commented above my mind was racing and I felt out of control… My life...
  • Karunakaran: It’s very nice.
  • judy: Thanks for ur writings… it really help my mind to calm down…. where can i go to talk with alot of...
  • Tanya Sousa: We certainly do have to change the way we respond, don’t we Paul? I’m encouraged though. I...
  • Paul Trainer: Thank you, Tanya, this is all so true. As someone who adores starlings too, I know that it is only when...
  • Cathy: In reading I see how difficult it is to be married to an alcoholic husband for 30 years and have now...
  • carrir: You took the words right out of my mouth. Xoxo
  • ceri: What an amazing story of love between step son and step father
  • Caney Texas: Hello! I’ve been reading your site for some time now and finally got the bravery to go ahead and...
  • julie: what a wonderful article, she described me to a tee , it was nice to put words to the feelings , I am new to...
  • michele: I am hurting so badly right now, it is taking all the strength and coping ability I have just to get through...
  • denise morini: PLEASE understand that I do not feel redeemed……still 230;……..getting Lexi...
  • Carleen Quesenberry: Denise- It is perplexing that you would write a “feel good” story after you...
  • Jon: While I love the article, I caution those reading the post by “finally AM, me.” I was in a...
  • Wendy Noer: I felt like I was there, good story Melodee, keep writing. Let me know when you finish another one.
  • Anonymous: thank you
  • Sandi: This is great, Mel! Congratulations! I hope to see more of your writings – especially the novel...
  • Sherveen Ashtari: I never forget kind and terrific people, Alex!! :) I actually beat you to it and sent you an email...
  • Alex: Yaay, you DO remember me and the penguins!! :) That makes me so happy. I’m doing well. Thank ya for...
  • Sherveen Ashtari: Hello, Alex! Of course I remember you, and how can I ever forget that hilarious phrase?! :) How...
  • Alex: Hi, Sherveen! I had always hoped to bump into you again. These are fine articles you’ve written. You may...
  • Katie: My name is Katie. I’m 40. I have only visited your website, haven’t purchased your book yet....
  • Kaylee: Your story helped convince me to start retaking my cipralex! Thank you!
  • gautam khanal: Love actually does not have any boundary of Cast,Religion,Profile,Species, Class etc…..
  • Nayanna Chakrbarty: Dear Kalpana, Thank you for your kind wishes. I do agree with you, when you think you are all...
  • Kalpana: Dear Nayanna, It’ such a pleasure reading your experiences with Ganapthi (as I call him). He is so...
spacer
corner spacer corner
spacer
Copyright 2010 thriveinlife.ca. All rights reserved. | Privacy Statement
spacer
spacer