At the train station, I thought I would never see the girl again, so I handed her my scarf and my last $100. However, she was in first class when I boarded my aircraft!
“What does this mean?” I asked, and I was shocked by her response.
Twelve board members observed me with lava-free expressions as I stood in front of a long glass conference table.
I inhaled deeply before selecting the first slide.
I said, “Good morning,” first. “My name is Erin, and I’m here because I believe no young person should ever end up on the street, fighting to stay alive.”
“In my opinion, no young person should
ever find themselves homeless.”
Some of them looked at each other doubtfully.
I persisted nonetheless, my voice growing louder.
“A transitional assistance program for teenagers transitioning out of foster care is my project. We prioritize long-term mentoring, job preparedness, and secure short-term housing.
I waited for an indication of interest from someone.
Nothing. Things weren’t going well.
Things weren’t going well.
I persevered with my presentation, showcasing slides with budget estimates, success stories, and testimonies from children who had participated in our program.
I finally lowered the controller after selecting the last slide.
“I’m requesting seed money to increase the number of young people in our pilot program from 30 to 200. We can give these young people a chance at success in life with your assistance.”
Everybody on the board cleared their throats.
I persevered with
my talk.
“We’ll be in touch.” He hardly looked at me as he pointed to the door.
Though I knew I would probably never hear from them again, I nevertheless grinned and thanked them for their time.
This foundation was my final opportunity to secure significant cash.
I was positive that the meeting had been a waste of time when I left, but I was unaware that the actual interview had not yet begun.
The actual interview had not
not even begun yet.
I went back to my sister’s house, where I had been during my visit. If nothing else, the encounter had provided a legitimate reason to see her.
She sighed deeply after glancing at my face.
“Erin, there will be another issue. You’ll work things out. You consistently do.
I gave a headshake. “Who’d have thought it would be this hard to get people to help kids in need?”
The following morning arrived too quickly.
She glanced at my face once.
And he sighed deeply.
The morning was one of those bitterly chilly ones when the wind rips through your coat.
After bidding my sister farewell, I was carrying my suitcase to the airport and hoping I wouldn’t lose my mind when going through TSA.
At that moment, I noticed a girl, perhaps 17 or 18 years old, curled up on a bench next to the station entrance. Just a lightweight sweater and a backpack for a pillow, no coat.
On a bench, I noticed a girl curled up.
close to the station’s entrance.
She had buried her hands between her legs, and her lips were blue.
From twenty feet away, I could tell how much she was shivering.
I have no idea why I stopped. Perhaps it was instinct, or the fact that I had just spent the previous day contemplating children who had nowhere to go and nothing to keep them warm.
“Sweetheart, you’re freezing.” I knelt next to the bench.
Startled, her eyes red from the cold and most likely from tears, she stared up at me.
She had tucked her lips, which were blue.
between her knees with her hands.
Her look had a raw quality, as if she had been suppressing her emotions for too long and had lost the will to act.
I unwrapped my scarf without thinking.
Long ago, before Alzheimer’s took those kinds of memories, my mom knitted it. I encircled the girl’s shoulders with it.
She made a feeble attempt to object by shaking her head, but I stopped her.
I wrapped my scarf after unwinding it.
around the girl’s shoulders.
“Please,” I murmured. “Keep it.”
In a whisper, she said something like, “Thank you.”
At that moment, the driver of my rideshare pulled up to the curb and gave an impatient honk.
I took out a $100 bill and gave it to her before entering. This felt more essential, even though it was meant to be my emergency airport funds.
“Go buy yourself a hot meal, will you? Breakfast, soup, or anything warm.
I took out a $100 note.
and gave it to her.
Her gaze expanded. “Are you sure?”
I replied, “Absolutely,” “Take care of yourself.”
She held on to the scarf and the cash as if they were delicate, priceless items. I waved at her briefly before rushing to the car, where the driver was already mumbling about traffic and timetables.
That must be it, I thought. One brief encounter with someone I would never see again in a frigid world… However, that same girl was sitting next to me in first class when I boarded my aircraft three hours later!
The same female was sitting.
next to me in first class!
After my major meeting didn’t work out, my sister insisted that I should be upgraded using her airline miles.
When I saw who was sitting next to me, I almost dropped my coffee after finding my seat.
The girl from the bench was the one!
But from the shivering girl I’d met so briefly, she’d changed drastically.
The girl from the bench was the one!
She wore a fitted coat, was tidy, and exuded confidence.
If she hadn’t been wearing my scarf around her neck, I might not have recognized her.
Beside her stood two men in black suits, the kind of security detail that guards politicians or celebrities.
A person leaned near her ear.
“Miss Vivienne, we’ll be right outside if you need anything.”
She continued to wear
I wrapped my shawl over her neck.
She gave a composed nod, as if having bodyguards on a commercial trip were commonplace. I think time stopped when she glanced up at me.
My carry-on bag slipped off my shoulder as I halted in mid-step.
“What… what does this mean?”
She pointed to where I was sitting. A sense of entitlement and confidence had taken the place of the vulnerability.
She pointed to where I was sitting.
“Sit, Erin.” Her hands were neatly folded on her lap. “This is the real interview.”
My stomach fell. “I apologize? What is the purpose of the interview?
Her face grew stern.
“You made a presentation yesterday asking for money for a project that will help young people transitioning out of foster care. We’ll get in contact, one of the board members promised. This is your follow-up, and that foundation belongs to my family.”
I sank into my chair. She took out a folder and opened it while I was still in shock over what she had said.
She produced a folder.
and opened it.
“You handed your scarf and $100 to me, a complete stranger. You want money to give these children mentorship and short-term housing.” She let out a sigh. “That might be referred to as generosity. I refer to it as gullibility.
My cheeks became hot. “How are you able to say that? You were icy.”
“I was a trap, one you fell for hook, line, and sinker.” With icy eyes, she glanced up sharply. “You make emotional decisions and act impulsively. inadequate basis for leadership.
“You fell for a trap that I set.”
sinker, line, and hook.
What I was hearing was unbelievable. “What was I supposed to do, walk past you?”
Ignoring my question, she turned to the next page in the folder.
“You’ve dedicated your professional life to assisting those who take advantage of others. Have you never thought that compassion is simply a way to manipulate people? Do you not want to earn money?
She seemed to be tearing me open one question at a time with the sharpness of her voice.
I was stuck with someone who seemed to believe that compassion was a weakness.
She seemed to be cutting me.
open one query at a time.
I felt a surge of wrath and tightened my jaw.
As you can see, you’ve already decided that you can humiliate me for having empathy. However, I won’t apologize for lending a hand to someone in need. “And you shouldn’t be this young and already convinced that kindness is a flaw,” I said, gesturing to the scarf around her neck.
She fell silent for the first time since I had sat down.
“I will not offer an apology for
assisting a person in need.
Then she gently snapped the folder closed. “Good.”
I blinked. “Good?”
Her whole attitude softened.
“Everything was staged. I wanted to know if you would stand up for what you believe in. The majority of people immediately give up or, worse, confess that their sole motivation for giving to charity is tax-related. You genuinely mean what you say.
“That was a test?”
“That was a test?”
“The only one that matters.” She delicately caressed the wool scarf. “Before you knew who I was, you helped me. That is more important than any pitch deck or presentation. Your project will be funded by the foundation.
I was utterly amazed as I gazed at her. It was as if my brain had been put through a blender.
She reached across the small gap between our seats with her hand.
“Let’s build something good together.”
“Let’s construct something.”
good in tandem.”
Still taking it all in, I took her hand.
I continued to tremble a little as I gazed down at my hands. Then I turned to face the odd young lady who had just completely upended my day.
“Thank you,” I muttered. “But next time, maybe just email?”
She chuckled. “What’s the fun in that? Furthermore, I can’t use email to adequately test people.”
I turned to face the odd
A young lady who had recently turned
my whole day inverted.
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