Ten Dollar Conscience

© 1999 by Lynda J. Williams

Lynn was relieved to recognize the park outside the bus station. From here, she knew she could retrace her steps home again.

The place had a barren feel apart from that, sliced off on three sides by the SkyTrain and hard working city roads with the park sandwiched between like something going stale but still edible in a transit shop's fridge unit.

Lynn picked up her conference bag, regretting the weight of her laptop on the opposite shoulder and paused a moment to convince herself she really could not get lost. She was home free.

That left thinking space to flinch at the extravagance of the Celtic Harp ordered from a downtown music store as a rather pricey spur of the moment binge. This, in turn, was driven out by the challenge of negotiating strangers and traffic between her and the familiar anonymity of SkyTrain.

She didn't consider herself sappy. Quite the contrary. She was an adventurer in life's busy currents in her own small way. There were loved ones, none the less, who would frown on the fact she had been hit up twice for hand outs en route to her conference.

First there was the young man, on SkyTrain, with bright blue eyes and soiled clothes, who looked like he'd crawled out from under a car and a long night's labor. He had so obviously needed the coke he bummed a loonie for that the pleasure of his cavalier promise to 'buy you one next time' was payment. She was a sucker for bright eyes. She knew that. So long as she felt safe she saw no harm in it and found it impossible to muster guilt in the face of her husband's downstairs pin ups.

She was less sure how she felt about the woman who anxiously fretted at her over being short on her fare to Nainamo. It seemed genuine enough at the time, her bare-skinned face, authentic hippie commune braids and beaded vest shoring up belief over cynicism to the extent of a two dollar donation. Ten hours later Lynn was not so sure. And here she was, back at the bus station where she'd run into her.

What if she attracted amateur beggars? She knew she noticed people, made eye contact when she probably shouldn't. It would be a stretch, of course, to cast either the bright eyed young man or the worried Nainamo resident as shy and retiring. It was possible they did such things routinely without batting an eye. She would have given the woman the whole $8.50 she said she was short if she'd really been sure she was genuine. Probably. The twonie was a sort of compromise.

The whole business worried Lynn as she trudged across the street to the beleaguered park, laden with her things and a day's disjointed socializing.

She was so wrapped up in thought she did not even notice the teenage girl standing, hip slanting in a self-effacing slouch, on the border of the grass, right in front of her. Her first clear impression was of the cardboard sign around her neck saying, "Please help me get home to Toronto."

Lynn had daughters. The eldest was half as old as this girl, who looked about 18. She was nice looking: eyes tense, mouth sad. Discouraged. A stray only just turned out on the streets. She wore inexpensive, clean clothing. No jacket, just a plain green T-shirt. No luggage except for the modest navy backpack nestled at the small of her back, it's straps looking more comfortable on her shoulders than Lynn's ridiculous laptop which she had not used anyway.

'Oh no,' Lynn thought, even as she stopped and asked, "What happened."

The girl launched into what felt like a half-gelled spiel. "I have a cousin -- still have a cousin -- said I could come live with him in Vancouver. Didn't tell me he was a heroine addict. I want to get back to Toronto but I haven't got the fare." She fumbled with an ordinary looking silver dropper in one ear. "I could sell you my earrings."

"No, that's okay." Lynn felt her forehead growing worried. This wasn't comfortable. She fumbled around in her fanny pack, loath to put down anything. Her body had a tingling feeling, as if she was doing something dangerous although she was not the least afraid of the girl, standing there in the open in the midst of such plenty, motionless in the bustle of the transit all around them taking people somewhere. If they could pay the fare. Had she eaten recently? She looked well. Maybe she was raising money for the cousin, not to get away from him. What if she didn't earn enough this way?

"I like your pouch," the girl remarked, surprising Lynn.

It was a canvas fanny pack bought in Alaska during a summer Lynn had worked there with a University of Fairbanks head start program for qualifying rural natives. It cost less than $20 but the dog team bursting across the front drew comments from acquaintances. Normally Lynn told them about her summer in Fairbanks.

"I've had it a long time," she heard herself say and knew she was anxious not to look too rich, in her good earrings and fashion pin, with the black carry case of a Compaq computer on one shoulder. Apart from that she wasn't dressed much differently from the girl, if you substituted something more appropriate for conference going for the blue jeans.

Lynn had a twonie and a loonie in her coin purse and a $10 bill, she knew, in her wallet deeper down. She turned out the coin purse. "Here."

"Thanks."

"Hope it works out."

"Thanks."

The girl's optimism sounded weak. She said, "Thanks again," once more, to Lynn's retreating back. 'I should have given her the $10,' Lynn thought. For a moment, between footfalls, she very nearly stopped.

She was already worrying about SkyTrain fare. Not that she didn't have it, in a bank account, if she could remember which one there was money in. She wasn't sure where to find a machine either, and she was already late for a social engagement. Life seemed to push her along too fast and she was late for too many things, subconsciously digging in her heels. It wasn't something that she liked about herself. So why hadn't she given the girl the $10 and kept the change?

Going back now would just be too embarrassing. When she turned out the coin purse it was almost like making a claim that she had no more to give.

As if the girl would care.

On the far side of the park, across another busy street, Lynn turned back.

The girl with the cardboard sign around her neck was still standing there. She looked frail and small, framed in time by passing cars, unchanged.

'If she was my daughter,' Lynn thought. 'She could call me from any place, any time. I would get the fare to her.'

She should have asked the girl if she had any one in Toronto.

As if she would not have thought of calling him or her collect if such a person existed.

A man went by with an armload of flowers in see-through wrap, chatting to his stylish wife in an animated way about holiday plans. The woman wore high heels.

Lynn's feet were tired of pounding city streets. If she kept moving she would not be late.

Except that now she hadn't any change.

What if the girl was genuine?

She fantasized going back, taking her into the bus station and buying her Toronto fare. Saving her from a life of prostitution through the magic of a visa card. How could she be taken then? She could damn well put her on the bus with a meal inside her.

Girls made mistakes.

If this was one of hers, some day, standing on the edge of patch of park with a cardboard sign around her neck, wouldn't she want to believe someone like her would save her life?

Could it really be that desperate?

Lynn's skin had an electric feeling.

The man and his wife moved on, inadvertently pointing out the way to the SkyTrain entrance which she thought she had misplaced. It was so close. Just around the corner.

She was hungry, but nothing offered by the row of transit cafes appealed to her. The people sitting in the nearest one, on high stools, looked out on the little bit of captive park in the arms of the city and made animated conversation, read books or stared out over steaming cappuccinos.

She had barely given the girl enough for one of those.

Why had she been so stingy? What was $3 and spare change toward a ticket to Toronto? It had to cost at least $100 dollars. If she had given her the $10 she would be more comfortable getting on with her life now.

'I've a $10 conscience,' Lynn thought, grimly.

She headed for Sky Train wanting to convince herself she would have done the whole fairy godmother bit and been proud of it if she'd known the girl's story to be genuine. If she hadn't just run up a visa bill. If she didn't have to explain to her husband who would tell her she'd been taken. If she wasn't just a bit afraid the cousin might still be in the picture somewhere.

None of it was satisfying. And maybe it would have made a difference, even if she was conning, if one stranger cared enough to really help. Whatever her reasons for begging with a cardboard sign around her neck they could not be comfortable.

Lynn was lucky, the change machine at Sky Train took $10 bills.

She would never know the truth about the girl.

Page last updated: 04-Feb-2004

Corrections to webmaster