Patience: PROUD LADY

I’m hurting but not ashamed, not embarrassed. Roy and I are going thru rough times. As I wait for the Langley bus #604 a chilling rain begins. My husband is using our shared car again today to get his weekly unemployment check. There hasn’t been a day since Calais Clothing Inc. closed its doors that Roy hasn’t scanned the want ads. applied to all possibilities for an experienced cutter. No offers yet. Each day he comes home tired, demoralized. Our savings account is dwindling.

 

The drizzle is now wind blown, stings as if sharp needles were pricking my cheeks. I turn my back and let it make my old raincoat shabbier than it is. The Langley bus slows down as the driver sees me struggling with my umbrella. Stagnant gutter water splashes my shoes. I struggle to get up the two slippery steps, drop my quarter and dime into the coin box. There are few riders aboard, each sitting alone, glances as I walk past and sit opposite the center exit. No one speaks. The driver hits almost every red light and I cuss each time. I had wanted to be early at Helping Hand, maybe get lucky. The shop is almost deserted.

A lone cashier smiles to me and I smile back. In the maze of racks and racks of worn clothes, I have to ask, ‘Which way to women’s wear?’ She points and I head there, finding gorgeous beaded evening gowns on the first rack. Who would buy such beautiful gowns and give them away? My slight urge to just try one on is stifled, forgotten, as I look for sweaters.

 

There are four sweaters that may be right for me. I take them over to the mirror and try them on. Only one looks good, fits well, but it is black and has a hole in the left elbow. The price stuns me. $50.What was it new? I return them all to where I found them, hang them neatly and move on.

 

What I really came for, a new raincoat with a removable lining, must be in the rack after sweaters. Laying on the floor between the two racks is a tan coat that nobody has bothered picking up. My dander explodes as I slide the sweaters section to the right so I can reach the coat on the floor. I mutter to myself, ‘Rotten, rotten people.’ When I hang it correctly, the tag comes out of the sleeve and I see an ‘S’ on the coat, a Small, just what I wear. It is a rich chocolate brown, the chemical smell of a cleaning shop still slightly clings to it. I examine it closely. All the buttons are in place. The belt is in both loops and the price is $18. With a slight bounce to my step I take the coat to the cashier. She folds it neatly, puts it in a large double plastic bag, with a handle.I thank her and remove it, put the old coat in the plastic bag and my new ‘old’ coat on myself. I feel somewhat smug to have found such a great coat at such a reasonable price.  

 

The rain has stopped. The Rockland bus #603 is only a few blocks away. My quarter and dime again go in the coin slot and I sit across from the center exit door. I do feel good, take my house key out of my purse and put it in the pocket of my coat. Something is in there. It feels like paper. It is paper, a twenty dollar bill folded neatly in half. I take in a deep breath and smile like the Cheshire cat. I try the other pocket and damn if there isn’t another $20 bill.

 

This cannot be an accident. Whoever donated her coat to Helping Hand wanted to do more and had to have put the money in the pockets.
I am floating on air, can’t wait to tell Roy. It isn’t even noon but our car
is outside the house. Taking my bagged coat, I hurry in, afraid of what Roy is going to tell me. Instead, he hears me unlock the door and is waiting for me when I walk in.

 

‘Honey, I’ve got a job, a good one. It pays more than Calais used to pay.’ He hugs me. I kiss him and save my new coat story for later.