One winter evening, I bought shawarma and coffee for a homeless man and his dog. It seemed like a small act of kindness at first. But then he gave me a note that made me really shocked because it reminded me of something from my past that I had completely forgotten.
I worked at a sporting goods store in the downtown mall. After being married for 17 years, having two teenagers, and working so many late shifts, I thought nothing could surprise me anymore. But life is full of surprises.
That day was really tough. Holiday shoppers were asking for refunds for things they had clearly worn. The register kept getting stuck, and my daughter Amy texted me to tell me she had failed another math test. We really needed to think about getting a tutor.
All these things were on my mind when my shift ended. And it was even colder outside. The thermometer showed 26.6°F.
The wind was blowing between the buildings, and it was whipping the loose papers across the sidewalk. I pulled my coat tighter and was thinking about the warm bath I was going to take at home.
On my way to the bus stop, I saw the shawarma stand that had been there as long as I had worked at the store. It was between a closed flower shop and a dim convenience store.
Steam was rising from the grill’s metal surface into the warm air. The smell of the roasted meat and spices made me want to stop and get some. But I didn’t really like the vendor. He was a thickset man with frown lines that never went away.
The food was good, and you could get your shawarma in a flash, but I wasn’t in the mood to deal with any grumpiness today.
But when I saw a homeless man and his dog walking towards the stand, I stopped anyway. The man was about 55 years old and looked really cold and hungry as he stared at the rotating meat.
He was wearing a thin coat, and the poor little dog didn’t have much fur. My heart went out to them.
“You’re going to order something or just stand there?” the vendor’s sharp voice made me jump.
I watched the homeless man gather his courage. “Sir, please. Just some hot water?” he asked, with his shoulders hunched.
I knew what the vendor was going to say before he even said it. “Get out of here! This isn’t a charity!” he shouted.
As the dog moved closer to its owner, I saw the man’s shoulders droop. That’s when my grandmother’s face popped into my mind.
She had told me stories about her hard childhood and how a single act of kindness had saved her family from starving. I never forgot that lesson, and even though I couldn’t always help, her words came back to me: “Kindness doesn’t cost anything, but it can change everything.”
Before I knew it, I spoke up. “Two coffees and two shawarmas.”
The vendor nodded and worked really fast. “It’s $18,” he said flatly as he put my order on the counter.
I handed over the money, grabbed the takeout bag and a tray, and ran to catch up with the homeless man.
When I gave him the food, his hands were shaking.
“God bless you, child,” he whispered.
I nodded awkwardly and was about to hurry home to get away from the cold weather. But his rough voice stopped me.
“Wait.” I turned around and watched as he took out a pen and paper and wrote something quickly. Then he held it out to me. “Read it at home,” he said with a strange smile.
I nodded and put the note in my pocket. My mind was already on other things, like whether there would be any seats on the bus and what I was going to make for dinner.
That night at home, life went on as usual. My son Derek needed help with his science project. Amy was complaining about her math teacher. And my husband Tom was talking about a new client at his law firm.
The note stayed in my coat pocket until the next evening when I was getting ready to do the laundry.
I opened the crumpled paper and read the message:
“Thank you for saving my life. You don’t know this, but you’ve already saved it once before.”
Below the message was a date from three years ago and the name “Lucy’s Café.”
The clothes I was holding almost fell out of my hands. Lucy’s had been my usual lunch place before it closed.
And then I suddenly remembered that day clearly. There was a thunderstorm, and a lot of people came into the café looking for shelter.
A man came in. His clothes were wet, and the look in his eyes told me he was in a bad way, not just for food. He needed something else.
