$3

Monday morning was pretty typical for me. I left the house at 6:40 and my dad dropped me off at Chick-fil-A for my seven to three shift. Only three people were in the building besides me - David (who does morning meat prep in the kitchen), Mike (the manager), and a woman. I recognised the woman; she'd been at Chick-fil-A for several hours the previous Thursday. She'd just sat there all afternoon and evening. I wasn't sure she had been waiting for someone. In all honesty, she didn't look like someone anyone cared to see. Her limp blonde hair hung just below her shoulders. It was oily, I could see, and looked as if it had been a very long time since she had washed it. Her whole outfit was light blue faded denim. Her pale bluish-green, luminescent eyes looked me over as I entered the building.

I saw in her eyes many emotions: fear, defeat, hunger, thirst, desire, homelessness, and destitution. She clutched at a brown plastic bag, which probably contains all she owns in the world.

To make a long story short, I found out she was looking for our dining room hostess, Sharon. Sharon had agreed to give her a little money and try to help her maybe purchase a bus ticket so she could leave town. Right now, she just wanted a few dollars to maybe buy some breakfast.

She did not ask me for money. She didn't beg at all. She just stated what she wanted, and why she wanted it. There was no lie in her eyes. Again, I could see her hunger and thirst. She repeated over and over that all she needed was a few dollars, but she never asked me.

"Wait here," I told her quickly. I went to the back and unlocked my purse from my locker and pulled out three $1. I looked them over. I had about 80 cents in change, a $10 bill, and a $5. I thought about how I'm saving for college, and how I save every penny I can and hate to even spend money on food for myself. But then I remembered something someone I look up to once told me. He said, "Every time I see a bum asking for money, I always give it to them. I know that if they need it, I've really helped Chirst. I know that even if they don't need it, I did what Jesus would have wanted me to, and that I'll be rewarded even if they just ripped me off a few bucks."

Laying aside all misgivings, I snatched the three dollars and a gospel tract with our church's name and phone number on it. I took it out to the woman, and gave it to her. "Here," I said. "This is for you." Then I gave her a big hug. She looked at the money, and her eyes lit up. "Thank you!" She said. "I'm going to buy coffee and some breakfast," she told me. Then she came to the tract. "What's this?" She asked me. She leafed through it and said, "Oh, it's from a church. A Baptist church. Oh, I know where it is." She looked up at me again and said, "May I have this?" I told her it was hers to keep. Then she asked me to write my name on it. In red marker, I printed "Camille." She sounded out my name. "What's your name?" I asked her, and she told me.

She left a few minutes after that, but I still can't get her gaunt figure out of my mind, and her piercing eyes.

Why didn't I give her the five dollar bill? Or the ten? She needs it more than I do!