"Can I help you?" I ask as I approach the two women in business attire who sit at a table near the front of the cafe. There is a smaller person sitting beside them, but their head is down. A large hood from their oversized sweater shields their face.
The women read my confusion immediately as one of them stands and reaches out their hand. "My name is Dana Stevens, we're from social services." She tells me and smiles. I shake her hand quickly and then stand there trying to make sense of the situation. I look over to Consuela who simply shrugs and gives me an 'i tolds yers so' look.
"Social Services?" I ask confused.
"Yes, we spoke with Dr. Martinez over at the hospital. She told us that you have been instrumental in helping with one of her patients and we thought we might come by to see if this is an appropriate venue for Maria." She tells me and points to the hooded sweatshirt.
The hoody has a name.
"Maria?" I ask even more confused as I approach the table and try to sneak a peak at the Maria in question.
"Yes," says the other woman from Social Services. "Maria, say hello. Stop being so impolite."
"Hello," she says barely above a whisper.
"She's had a bad day." Says Dana Stevens from Social Services.
Jim brings over some coffees from everyone and I take a seat across from them trying to figure out what exactly it is that they want.
"We understand that you have apartments above this cafe," they start. I nod. They tell me how they would like Maria to stay with me and that I will be reimbursed for her lodging and food.
I try to tell them that I'm not really in the business of taking people in -- that I did it for Jim as an exception and that the apartments upstairs are to be rental income.
They nod and thank me.
Maria takes an extra second to have a sip of coffee and I notice that her her hand is badly scared -- as if she was in some sort of fire.
Maria takes an extra second to have a sip of coffee and I notice that her her hand is badly scared -- as if she was in some sort of fire.
I smile at them and then make a mental note to myself to tell Donna not to send any charity cases my way. I have my hands full with Consuela and Jim.
Maria takes a second or two to get out of her chair, and as she does I realize she is negotating the extra weight of a large belly under her oversized sweater.
When she turns, I notice that her burns extend to her face.
My heart sinks.
"Wait," I say as they head towards the door.
"I have a room. It's not furnished -- but we'll figure something out." I tell them as both women from Social Services extend large smiles of relief.
I open up an arm and gesture for Maria to sit back down while I have Consuela make her something to eat.
The women from Social Services say they'll be back to check on her. They inform me that Maria hasn't decided if she wants to keep the baby just yet, and that I am in no way obligated to care for the child.
I nod and tell them that we can discuss this in more detail later. I then tell Jim to go upstairs and take the couch out of his apartment and put it in the one that I'm designating to be hers.
He nods.
And as Maria sits there quietly eating her ham sandwich and drinking her newly replaced decaf coffee, I am reminded once again, that there are greater profits to be had that extend beyond the boundaries of money. Profits of the heart --which run invariably through the spirit of every human being. Profits, than when acquired, have a greater impact because they endow greater rewards.
And as I head behind the counter to help Consuela with the noontime rush, I start to think about a bed, and carpeting, and perhaps even a television. I start to think about paint colours, and dressers, and curtains. And I notice as I do so, that Maria's heavy burden is slightly lifted. Her shoulders become less weighted down with all the problems the world has to offer. I watch her shoulders rise with a little more purpose and notice, for the first time, a current that extends beyond them. It's invisible, yet visible, and streams out the cafe door and into the world.
I make another ham sandwich for Maria and place it in front of her, encouraging her to eat. She looks up and smiles and her shoulders rise a little more. As they rise, a stream of customers pour into the cafe; causing a small line to form out onto the street.
"Thank you," I say to the current as I hustle to get back behind the counter. And as the line grows longer and thicker with every bite that Maria takes, I know that the current is saying 'you're welcome'.
I feed Maria enough sandwiches to buy all her furniture, curtains and paint by the end of the afternoon. And, leaving the cafe in Consuela's capable hands we venture out to collect for her new beginning. I notice, as we slide into the car and make our way towards the stores, that Maria has let her hood slip to her shoulders -- allowing her scars to be exposed. She is no longer hiding behind them. And, briefly, as we make eye contact her scars disappear -- but only for a second.
Before I can postulate on what I just saw, I am swept away by the demands of city traffic.
Maria, like the baby inside of her, uses the lull of a car on a warm afternoon to take a long overdue nap. She slips into the deepest parts of slumber -- the kind that only comes when stress is melted with every breath. And as she breathes away her woes, I know that when she awakens everything that once was wrong will innevitable and forevermore be fine.
