My twins were born when I was just seventeen years old. At that age, I was passionately clinging to my education as my only hope for the future despite being utterly broke, fatigued all the time, and barely making ends meet every day. My parents pushed me out without a second thought and were utterly unsupportive, saying that I had ruined my life. In a matter of days, I had nowhere to stay and no one to turn to. By November 1998, I was balancing two babies, college coursework, and whatever odd jobs I could find. When I refused to get an abortion, their father left us. I worked the late shift in the university library most nights, holding the girls, Mae and Lily, close to my bosom in a tattered old sling. I subsisted only on cheap campus coffee and quick noodles. It was just a never-ending survival drill, not a life with a plan.
As I left work that fateful night, it was pouring heavily in Seattle. I had exactly ten dollars, which, if I pushed it as far as I could, would cover my bus fare and bread for the following three days. I adjusted the sling to keep the babies dry under a cheap umbrella as I left the library. I saw him at that moment. Across the street, an elderly man sat crouched beneath a corroded awning, his clothes drenched. He was sitting there trembling so badly that it hurt to see, without even looking up or begging for assistance. Before I could stop myself, I crossed the street because I recognized that type of sadness. I told him to grab something warm as I dug into my pocket and placed the cash into his shaking fingers. I asked him his name when he turned to face me. Silently, he introduced himself as Arthur. I showed him the twins and introduced myself as Nora. As though he didn’t want to forget my name, he repeated it. That evening, I made sure my daughters were shielded from the cold by walking the three miles home in the rain rather than taking the bus. My hands were completely frozen and my shoes were wet by the time I got to our tiny flat. Being compassionate was a luxury I could not afford, so I stood in the dark and stared at my empty wallet, thinking that I had just made a stupid mistake.
The years that followed were quite challenging. I worked nights at the library and afternoons at a diner, getting as much sleep as I could when the girls slept. Mrs. Greene, a helpful neighbor, then intervened. Every time I had a shift, she instructed me to leave the babies with her. She only told me to continue my schoolwork when I attempted to pay her. I took one lesson at a time as a result. Growing up in that little, dilapidated apartment, Lily and Mae ultimately relocated to a marginally better one after I was able to get stable administrative employment at a small company. Twenty-seven years later, at the age of forty-four, life pulled me under once more, despite my belief that the story was over. At the age of twenty-five, my daughter Mae became gravely ill. The doctor visits evolved into intricate medical procedures, and the ensuing expenditures became out of control. I reduced everything, took on other jobs, and worked longer hours, but it wasn’t enough. Once more, I was drowning.
I was sitting at my desk at work one morning, trying to figure out which bill I could put off while staring at another overdue notice. My cubicle door opened abruptly. I was asked whether I was Nora by a man who entered wearing a charcoal suit. He put a little, battered box on my desk and introduced himself as Carter, an attorney for Arthur’s estate, when I answered doubtfully. I was hit by the name like lightning. In 1998, I had met this homeless man for less than a minute. Carter clarified that Arthur had been searching for me for years and had left explicit instructions to personally deliver the box. I opened the box with trembling hands and saw a faded leather notebook. There were dates and brief notes on every page, but the first one broke my heart. “November 12, 1998. Girl named Nora,” it said. Two infants. gave me ten dollars. Remember this. As I turned the page and saw my name repeated across the decades, tears clouded my vision. I was the most important person in Arthur’s records, and he had tracked individuals rather than money.
Carter clarified that Arthur wasn’t homeless all the time. He used to own a profitable machining company, but once it failed and he lost everything, he wandered and ended himself on the streets. Treating him like a human being during our brief contact in the rain transformed him. He ultimately saved enough money, rented a tiny apartment, and worked in maintenance, but he never forgot the young woman and her two infants. Two years ago, he came across my name and the girls in the picture when he spotted my community campaign online. As his health deteriorated, he wrote a will. Carter then gestured to a cashier’s check that was lying within the box. My breath caught when I saw the number. It was for sixty-two thousand dollars, all of the money Arthur had saved over the years. Arthur believed the money belonged to the moment that changed his life, thus he had left instructions for me to receive it without conditions.
I started crying when I realized that the ten bucks I had donated decades earlier had come back to save my family during our most trying time. I sat in my cubicle after the lawyer had left, taking in the scope of what had transpired. I showed the cheque to my kids, Lily and Mae, when I got home that night. They were in disbelief, but Mae understood that the miracle had resulted from being acknowledged and appreciated when I told them where it came from. I paid off the medical bill over the course of the next few weeks, relieving us of the oppressive burden. Now that we were free again, I went to Mrs. Greene and gave her the money I owed her for babysitting all those years ago. When I told her that I wanted to spread the goodwill, she finally agreed. I purchased a new notebook and made my own list, which included paying for bus tickets, lending a hand to coworkers, and purchasing groceries for the underprivileged. When I visited Arthur’s grave months later, I pledged to keep his spirit alive by laying a ten-dollar bill at the foot of the stone. Kindness never fades; it just waits for the ideal opportunity to transform everything.