Paying it Forward

She was sitting in a Starbucks in Paso Robles—an older Indian lady with a large, red fabric suitcase propped next to her, stiff and formal, looking worried, a trifle desperate. She was obviously uncomfortable. I noticed the silver roots growing out of her died brown hair as I sat down to eat my grilled cheese sandwich, and the baristas giving her wary looks.

As I stood to leave our eyes met, and we smiled as strangers do when connecting suddenly in a public place. "Are you going south?" she asked, tentatively. She was the most unlikely hitch-hiker. "No, actually I'm heading east, over to Bakersfield. I don't think it will help you much. Where are you trying to get to?" " San Diego, " she replied."I'm a doctor. I came up here looking for work and I ran out of money. I need $46 to get a train ticket. There is a bus to the station but they won't let you on without a ticket."

If this was a scam, it was awfully complex, so I got out my wallet and gave her $20. "Here's something towards your fare," I said. A wave of gratitude passed over her face, and I could see she was relieved to have made a human connection in the middle of an awkward situation. I said goodbye and drove away, eager to be back on the road so I could reach home before dark.

A quarter of a mile down the highway, I swung a u-turn and went back. There was no way I could leave her stranded like that. When I got back to Starbucks, I gave her another $60. "Buy yourself a ticket and get something to eat, " I said. She grabbed my hand. I could feel the relief, warm in her touch. We talked for a little while. She asked my name and what I did. "I'm a writer and an artist," I said, "but I have a day job as a land agent for wind farms." She explained how she had arrived in America in 1964 as a young girl for an arranged marriage. Her husband had divorced her after only ten months.

She had made a living as a doctor for many years, but was recently laid off due to budget cuts and found herself completely out of money. "I tried working for free at a public clinic but they told me it was illegal," she told me. "Some of my doctor friends are having to raise money from donations to keep their clinics open. Even if you do find work, the cost of liability insurance is so high, it is unaffordable." She had borrowed money to come to Paso Robles, but it hadn't worked out. I didn't know what to say. This is the America we live in today.

Before I left, I gave her my business card. "You can pay me back when you find work and get back on your feet, " I said. "Oh, I will," she replied. She followed me out of the coffee bar and waved goodbye as I drove off. I don't know if she ever will, but it doesn't matter. I'm glad I followed my instincts and helped her.

A week later, I was in Santa Monica. A friend of a friend had offered a housesit while she was on vacation, including feeding her two cats, Pip and Lucy. When I arrived there was an envelope on the table with a card. "Thanks for looking after cats," the note said. "You and your wife go and have a nice meal on me." Inside was $80.