Why Me?

The world, I'm told, is made up of two kinds of people:
"Haves" and "Have Nots."

That is, there are those who have enough wealth, health, and good fortune, and there are those who have not. Sherry is the lady who lives in the apartment building across the street. Sherry is a "have not." So is Karen, the lady who works at the coffee shop in the train station at Hamilton.

In my neighbourhood, there are many "have nots." I see them dragging children and bags of laundry to the Laundromat. In bonny weather, they sometimes sit outside the local coffee shops and smoke and spit on the sidewalk. Dirty people in wrinkled clothes. People in need of a shave or haircut. Their children have filthy clothes and noses caked with dried snot. We do our best to avoid them, even crossing the street if need be.

What has happened to these poor, feckless souls? Why has fate not smiled on them as it has me? I have a lovely home, a car, new clothes. A job. I bathe regularly and shave. Meagan cuts my hair. Why is there such disparity? Why is Life so challenging for some, while others (like me, for instance) seem to float along so painlessly. Does God love me more than them? I don't think so, Ms J. I'm sure He loves us all.

This morning I went into the station at Hamilton to sit and enjoy a cup of coffee. It's become my regular custom. The girls who work behind the counter know me by name and often surprise me with a free treat. This morning, Karen made me a lovely bagel, toasted with bacon and egg and cheese inside. It was delicious.

I spoke to her as I waited for her mate, Jaime, to fill my coffee mug.

"How was your weekend, Karen?"

She didn't appear to hear me so I spoke again. A bit louder this time.

"Did you have a good weekend, Karen?"

She slowly raised her sad face and when she spoke, her voice was a monotone, held flat perhaps by the weight of her heart.

"No," she said. "I didn't."

I was shocked by her appearance, Ms J! Her face was swollen. Both eyes were blackened. And a strip of white tape was folded neatly across the bridge of her nose. I gasped quietly at the sight.

"Oh my goodness!" I said as I approached her area of the counter. "What the hell happened to you?"

She looked me squarely in the eyes then, and for a second, her lip quivered. I thought she might cry, but she managed somehow not to.

"My son hit me."

I was incredulous. "Your son? Your son hit you? How old is he?"

"Eighteen," was her reply. "He's in jail now. The police took him away on Sunday."

I don't know all the facts. I only know that Karen has always been sweet and kind to me. Her smile greets me every morning. She has black, crooked teeth, and too many tattoos, but she's a beautiful person inside. I just know it. I can feel it somehow. She did not deserve to be beaten. No one does. Karen has a daughter who is eight and a violent son who's eighteen. She has two jobs and no husband.

Life is very difficult for Karen. And my Life is good. Why? Why me? Am I special? Just lucky?

I visited Sherry this morning after work. Sherry is the lady across the street. Sherry has two very young children and a husband who is angry and sometimes violent because he is unemployed. Sherry goes to my church. She's a talented artist and I popped over this morning to ask for her help in designing a simple set for the little play I'm doing at church.

She was on the phone when she answered the door and she motioned for me to come in. I hated to, Ms J. The place was a terrible mess. Broken toys and clothing were strewn about. Pictures hung crooked on the bright pink walls. The smell of dirty diapers and garbage was rather unpleasant, to put it mildly. I was uncomfortable, Ms J, but I put on a brave face and looked for a clean place to sit. I perched delicately on the edge of a kitchen chair and stared at the backs of two little urchins who were watching cartoons on the television.

Sherry hung up the phone and when she turned to face me, I could see she was disturbed.

"What's wrong, Sherry?" I asked. "Have I come at a bad time?"

"No, it's fine, really. We're fine. We'll be fine. It's just that ... Well, it's .. Ummm ... I think I'm gonna have to declare bankruptcy. It's been hard. Really hard." And she began to weep.

I put my arms out and she came to me and sobbed into my shoulder. I didn't know what to do, Ms J. Or what to say. So I held her and said nothing.

"Remember when you told us at church about how you were worried that you'd owe the government money for taxes, and you didn't think you'd have enough, but you said God provided for you and you ended up getting a refund?"

I rubbed her back.

"Yes, I remember."

I knew what was to follow and I dreaded hearing it.

"We've owed money for income tax three years in a row. We never get a refund. The kids haven't had a birthday present or a Christmas present for three years. It's been so hard, Dale. It's been so hard. I just can't go on any more. Maybe God doesn't care about me."

Any day now, I'll receive my tax refund. $1720. How can I accept it? How can I keep that money, Ms Journal, when others need it so desperately. And what would I do with it anyway?

Why me, I wonder? Why should I have so much while others struggle so?