angie

Angie’s just chillin’ listening to some beats, standing on the grass in the sunshine, which isn’t exactly what I’d expected based on my past experiences with rides to and from the women’s shelter. 

“Angie? Hi, I’m Santiago.”

“Hi, Santiago.”

“It’s nice to meet you. Welcome.” I orient her to Milo’s amenities.

“Okay, Santiago. Thank you.”

“Sure thing. Now, let’s get you on your way.” Putting the car in gear, I roll slowly out of the parking lot. “How’s your day going today, Angie?”

“Great! Thank you. How about you?”

“Terrific. It’s a beautiful day, and my passengers have been really nice.”

“I’m glad. I had a doctor’s appointment today, and it went really well.”

“That’s awesome.”

“Yeah. I told her everything I needed. I advocated for myself well. And she just listened and then said, ‘Okay.’ I was speechless. I’ve never had that before.”

“Good for you! It’s always hard to speak up for myself at the doctor’s, so I’m impressed. And how great it is that healthcare providers still listen and respond. I think, especially for women, that’s rare.”

“Yes! It was so great. So now we’re just going to pick up my prescription. I know it’s not too far, and I thought I might walk, but I’m new to the area and wasn’t sure if it was a nice walk. So I figured I’d take an Uber the first time to see.”

“That’s smart.” The ride is only a mile or two, but from what I remember, it’s not a very pedestrian-friendly route. A few minutes later, Angie voices the same feeling.

“I’m glad I didn’t walk. But look: I didn’t know there’s a Stop n Shop over here! I’ve only been as far as the Big Y.”

“Yes, and there’s a Panera and a sushi place in that little strip.” 

“Nice!” Angie’s been smiling since the moment she got in the car. It’s not a huge beaming smile. It’s more subtle. But it looks to me like a smile of deep contentment. It is almost beatific. We get to CVS, and I park the car and tell her to take her time. 

“Okay. I’ll be out in a few minutes.” 

She emerges a little earlier than I’d expected but empty-handed.

“They’re out of stock of my medicine. I’ll have to wait ‘til tomorrow.”

“Oh no! How inconvenient, I’m sorry!”

“I’m not. I didn’t need it today, and there’s nothing I can do about it anyway.” She returns to the car, and we start heading back toward the shelter. “Besides, I learned that there’s a Stop n Shop and that this is not a good walk.”

“Man, what a great attitude you have, Angie! That’s very inspiring.”

“Well, of course. I’ve only been here a month, and I’ve already grown more than I have in my whole life before moving here.”

“Wow! Welcome. Where’d you come from?”

“Brockton.”

“Ohh. I’ve only been once.” I remember a long, snowy, endless ride with Joanne, who prattled on for two hours about her conspiracy theories. “It was very ….”

“It’s a dead city.”

“I was going to say very brown and gray.”

“It’s dead. Drugs have destroyed it. You can’t even go to a park there. There are needles and paraphernalia everywhere. Imagine a place where kids can’t even go to the parks.”

“That’s so sad.”

“I know. Life’s too amazing. It’s just too beautiful to waste it like that.”

“Yes. Yes, it is. That’s beautifully put, Angie. And how remarkable that you have such a clear hold on that view. Maybe you could write that down in the notebook for a future passenger.”

“Okay. I’ll be happy to. Good idea!”

When I drop her off, she still has that simple, clear smile. I thank her for the inspiration, and she thanks me for the ride.

At home later, I look at the notebook. In day glow pink, she had written, in very neat block letters:

      “ONE DAY AT

      A TIME.

      You got this.”

With a smile underneath it.

Then above, I guess in hasty response to my prompting, but no less neatly, she’d added, this time in neon orange:

“Life is too Amazing for negativity.”

Again, she added a smile. 

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