Epiphany on Barracks Road by Deborah Prum

This is a story about discovering human goodness on a winter day when I felt knee-deep in human crankiness….

"Don't eat the snow as you wait for the bus!" I shouted early one cold morning, as I pushed two sons out the front door, one to middle and the other to elementary school. No pre-school that day for my two year old, so I dragged him downstairs hoping to entertain him while I prepared to send out four manuscripts.

I write for a living. Or, at least I used to earn a living by writing. My medical articles kept rice and beans on the table for over five years as my husband went to school. However, once he found a job, I switched to writing fiction. Over the past ten months, my efforts had netted slightly less than $24.45. That morning, a keen urgency overcame me: justify my existence by bringing in hard cold cash or change professions.

Yet, how could I accomplish anything with two year old Ian under foot? I decided to use the age-old technique of bribery.

First, I let Ian play with his big brother's intricately constructed Lego rocket ship while I wrote four different query letters. Then, I allowed him to watch his Babysong video for the 1,257th time as I picked sample chapters to go with each letter. At the end of the tape, I handed him a black felt tip pen and yellow legal pad. I warned him to stay away from the dining room wallpaper and hoped for the best.

Two hours after I started, my slower-than-the-speed-of-banana-slugs printer churned out four query letters and manuscript samples. I tore Ian away from his latest artistic pursuit: scribbling all over the business section of The Washington Post. Next, I stuffed thirty-five pounds of the child into his rapidly shrinking winter jacket.

My bank is at the same shopping plaza as the post office, so first I stopped by there in order to cash a Christmas check I had been carrying around for the past month. I planned to use the money to mail off the manuscripts. To my logic-impaired brain, spending the cash from this check meant I wasn't actually wasting postage if the pieces were rejected.

When we arrived at the bank, I pried Ian from his narrow car seat and hoisted him down out of the van. All the while, a woman who was parked next to me in blue Taurus, watched and smiled sympathetically.

By now, it was close to lunch and I enticed a grumpy Ian into walking up the hill by promising, "You'll get a lollipop from the teller."

When we were half-way to the entrance, a young man walking the other way cheerfully informed me, "It's closed. Bank holiday."

My face dropped--no money and no manuscripts in the mail. I turned back to the car and tried to persuade my son to change directions. Visions of lollipops still danced in his head. We got as far as the sidewalk in front of our van where he threw himself on the concrete and howled.

Ms. Blue Taurus popped out of her car, ATM card in hand. I glanced up at her: straight black hair (combed), make-up on face(in all the right places), nice blue wool coat (no lint or yucky stains).

She smiled down at me and said, "Washington's birthday."

Ian was now screaming and rolling around on the muddy grass. “Custer’s Last Stand.” I growled back at her.

The woman tried to comfort me. "The ATM is open."

I groaned and did my best to ignore Ian for a moment. "Can't use my ATM card. I don't remember my password. It's the name of some insect.”

I must have looked especially pathetic, because then the woman said. "Look, I'll get some money for you with my card. It's no problem. You can mail me a check later."

At first, I assumed I must be dizzy from lifting thirty-five pounds of toddler. But no, she repeated, "Really. I don't mind. How much would you like?"

I thought "With an offer like this, why bother writing?"

Nice as her gesture seemed, I didn't plan to take her up on it. If the bank wasn’t open, it was likely the post office wasn’t open either. The errand would have to wait until tomorrow.

However, I was dying to know who she was and how she came to be so trusting and generous. I was sorely tempted to take her money just to get a name and address.

Then, Ian started to wail louder. I said a quick "good bye" to the woman and crammed my child back into his car seat. All the while, my mind was racing.

Was she a wandering billionaire philanthropist? Not likely, not in a blue Taurus.

Maybe she was a crack-addicted criminal. When I pulled out my wallet to accept her money, she'd steal it. Steal my empty wallet? Less likely.

Or, maybe she was an exceptionally nice person who wanted to help a flustered and exhausted mother on a frustrating day. What a concept! If you are out there, Ms. Taurus, please send me your name. I forgot to thank you.