Ripple Effect

         With her dusty-blonde hair pushed back into a now-messy ponytail, Shawna wipes up another coffee spill from a neglected diner table.  This is routine for her; she’s worked as a waitress at Lotta’ Latte & More for nearly six years.  She doesn’t earn much money, but she loves interacting with the people who enter through the double glass doors.
         Unlike how it was five years earlier, though, she currently has a difficult time reaching across the tables so she may refill the salt and pepper shakers.  For the last seven months her abdominal region has swollen with the daughter who’s blossoming inside.  Now she must slide along the booth’s seat to the end closest to the window in order to complete her tasks.
         Looking toward the clock she lets out a low sigh.  “Only nine-fifty.  Won’t this night ever end?”
         With her baby inside, Shawna grows tired more quickly.  However, she knows she’d only go crazy if she stayed at home during the pregnancy, something her husband frequently requests.  Although he means well, she prefers to keep busy.
         She looks around at the nearly empty diner from the booth she has just cleaned and restocked.  For a Thursday evening, she ponders, it’s not very busy.  She sees Kris behind the counter at the grill, draining the grease from the hamburger he just finished into a nearby sink; completing the entrée, Alice decorates the bun with two leaves of lettuce and a strip of processed cheese.  The man waiting for it is middle-aged and short and, based on the wide-eyed expression on his face, is apparently about to devour his first meal of the day.
         Shawna snickers, envisioning a tiger hungrily eating its prey.
         Just then the chime on the door sounds as another man walks in.  This one is younger – perhaps in his early thirties – carrying a rundown burgundy briefcase and dressed in a business suit.  She notices that his tie is undone – and he is either severely stressed out or depressed.
         Shawna approaches the new customer with a forced grin.  “Table for one, sir?”
         “Uh-huh…Dat’s fine.”
         Flabbergasted by his not-so-professional demeanor and response, she leads him to a corner to a table that only seats two.
         He literally plops himself down on one of the chairs, maintaining the posture of a limp sack of potatoes.  His head remains drooped and his hands rest in his lap.
         “Can I get you something?” she asks, attempting to hand him a menu.  “You have plenty of time.  We don’t close for a little over an hour yet.”
         Without taking the menu he finally makes eye-contact with her.  His eyes are blood-shot and are highlighted by greenish-gray shadows.  “Ya’ got money on that menu?”
         Clutching the laminated fold in her arms, her smile disappears.  “No, sir.  But we got great coffee and…”
         He cuts her off.  “Then I don’t want nothin’.”  He turns away and stares out the window.
         Taking her chances, she sits in the empty chair across from him.  “You okay, sir?  You need help or something.”
         “Not ‘less you got money you can give me.  That’ll solve my problems.  Money’ll solve anything.”  He continues staring out the window, not acknowledging that she’s joined him at the table.
         Attempting to lighten the mood, she says, “Money’s not always the answer.  Let me get you a cup of coffee, on the house.  If you want to talk, I’d be happy to join you.”
         This time he turns his baggy green eyes toward her.  “Whatever ya’ want.  Ya’ some kinda shrink or somethin’?”  Nodding his head toward her aproned uniform, he adds, “Ya’ only look like a waitress to me.”
         “No,” she replies.  “Shrinks wouldn’t buy you a cup of coffee – and they usually don’t make good listeners.  You just look like you need a shoulder, and I’m not doing anything at the moment.”
         She stands and heads for the counter on the other side of the diner.
         Alice stops her just as Shawna grabs a coffee pot.  “Who’s that seedy lookin’ character?”  She cocks her head toward the corner table.
         “I don’t know, but I feel like he really needs somebody to talk to right now.”  She takes two coffee cups by their handles and continues.  “Can you cover for me while I try to sort this stranger out?  I have a feelin’ it’s gonna take awhile.”
         “Sure,” Alice replies, glancing around the restaurant.  “We don’t have much longer ‘til close, and I don’t think it’s gonna get any busier.  But you better call your husband if you’re gonna be here late again.  Remember last week.”
         Shawna lets out a little laugh, reflecting on the prior week.  She had lost track of time while talking to a fourteen-year-old girl who was hell-bent on running away.  It was nearly one o’clock in the morning when her husband burst trough the diner’s doors in a panic and on the verge of tears.  She had not called and he was petrified when she had yet to come home.  “Will do.  I don’t want another repeat.”
         Her conversation with her husband is short.  “…Thanks, baby…I love you too…See you later.”  She hangs up the phone.
         Returning to the stranger, she notices that he’s now completely removed the remnants of his tie and hung his jacket on the back of his chair.  “Did you want cream for your coffee?”
         “Nah, sugar’s fine,” he answers, eyeing the pink and white packets on the table.
         As he flavors his coffee she asks, “Do you need to use the phone…call somebody at home or somethin’?”
         He manages a sarcastic giggle.  “Actually, that’s parta’ the problem.”  He lazily stirs his coffee and watches the ripples bounce off the ceramic walls of his cup.

*Priceless Lesson*
         In what seems like one breath, the gentleman pours out his heart and mind.  He tells Shawna about his cheating fiancé, his dwindling job as an accountant, his need for a new car because his 2002 Sophia finally “kicked the bucket,” and his flooded-out bathroom at home.  By the time he finishes, the second coffee pot is nearly empty and the little hand is approaching twelve.
         “Well,” she begins sarcastically, tearing the corner of a napkin, “is that all?”
         His head shoots up abruptly and he looks at her with a shocked expression.  Then the wrinkles on his face fade and he laughs, identifying the sarcasm in her voice.  For the first time that evening, he manages a pure smile.
         “Money’s not the answer, sir.”
         “Warren.  My name’s Warren…,” he looks at her name badge and finishes, “…Shawna.”  He offers his right hand to properly – and finally – introduce himself.
         “Feel better?” she asks, returning with her hand and a smile.
         “Thanks.  I just don’t know where I went wrong.”  He looks down at his cup, his smile fading.
         “It’s not you that went wrong, or anything that went wrong.”  She hesitates briefly, searching her thoughts for an appropriate metaphor.  “Look at it this way:  The ocean’s a beautiful sight, despite the rise and fall of the tides – or even the tidal waves that cause so much ruckus.  After all’s said and done, it’s still beautiful and we still appreciate it.  That’s the way of life as well.  We just need to look past the ripples and at the possibilities.”
         By the time she finishes, he’s looking at her with both appreciation and admiration.  He straightens his posture and rests against the support of the chair.  “You’re right.  But I just can’t imagine what outcome to look forward to, what with all that’s been going on.”
         “You don’t know the outcome.  That’s what they’re called ‘possibilities.’”
         Still sitting comfortably he crosses his arms on his chest and examines Shawna’s face.  “You’re amazing.  You’re obviously tired and… Er…”
         “Pregnant.”  They both laugh.  “I know, trust me.”
         “How do you manage to remain so lighthearted and carefree?  Hell, I’m sure you’ve been in similar situations.”  He hesitates.  “…Or not.”
         “Yeah, but everybody’s got ups and downs.  I just know the glass is half-full and the light at the end of the tunnel isn’t an oncoming train.”  She stands and begins collecting their coffee cups.
         He laughs again and starts to help her clean off the table.
         “Don’t worry ‘bout it,” she insists.  “It’s my job.”
         “Yeah, but isn’t this place closed?”  He hikes his thumb toward the CLOSED sign on the door.  “Besides, it’s the least I can do.  You’ve no idea how long I’ve been needin’ to talk to somebody, to get this off my chest.”
         “Thanks.”
         “Uh-uh, thank you.”
         After rinsing the coffee mugs and pot, Shawna returns to the table.  Warren is standing, his tie tucked into his pocket, his jacket hooked by one finger and draped over a shoulder.  His briefcase is on the floor and propped against his leg.
         His other hand is outstretched and holding a twenty-dollar bill.
         “No way!” she yelps.  “I told ya’ I’m no therapist, and I surely don’t want some type of compensation for using by given sense of hearing.”
         “Yeah, but you don’t only hear.  You also listen.”
         She takes a step back.
         “Please.  You have no idea where I’d be right now or what I’d be doin’ if you hadn’t sat down with me.  I don’t even know.”  He shoves the bill at her.  “Come on.  Please, take it.”
         She shakes her head.  “Uh-uh.  Nope.  I also believe in Karma.  Good deeds come back.”  She rubs her belly and grins.  “This is all I want.”
         With a look of disappointment, he puts the money back in his wallet and picks up his briefcase.  “Fine, but don’t think this is the last you’ll see of me.  That was some good coffee.  I’ll pay you back in tip.”
         She rolls her eyes and smiles again.  “’s fine.  Whatever you say.”
         He holds the door for her when they leave.  Locking it behind them, she asks, “Are you going to be okay?”
         “Sure.  There’s always someplace to go – and there’re more fish in the sea.”  He takes a bundle of keys out of his pocket, looking at the one that unlocks his car.  “Anyway, I should’ve known better than to get a Sophia.”
         “Oh, you don’t have a car!  You want me to give you a lift?”
         “Nah, I’m only a few blocks away.  Trust me, you’ve done plenty.”
         “Fine.  Guess I’ll be seeing you then.  G’night.”  She gives a friendly wave.
         “Night.  And thanks again.”
         Shawna walks over and climbs into her blue Escort.  Warren watches as she drives away.

*Diamond In the Rough*
         Walking down the sidewalk, Warren’s mind begins sorting through names of people he’s met in the past who could help him with his plumbing issue.  “Karl?  Maybe Bud…”
         “Sniffle…”
         “What the…”  Warren looks around but can’t see much in the blackness of the buildings.  The street lights provide just enough light to walk.
         ”Sniffle…”
         Squinting through his eyelids, he sees a dark figure in the shadows of a closed Quick Mart.
         “Hello?”
         “Sniff… Huh?  Oh, I’m sorry…,” the shadow replies in a feminine tone.
         He crouches to get a better look.  “You okay, miss?”
         Crawling out of the darkness is a middle-aged woman.  She wears a moth-eaten dress that looks three sizes too big, her feet are bare, and her black hair is sprouting silver threads.  He dusty cheeks show trails formed by tears, and the luggage beneath her eyes indicates a severe lack of sleep.
         She wipes her nose on the back of her hand.  “Yeah.  Just tired.”  But her tears begin to fall again.
         He notices an abandoned grocery cart full of cans, old clothes, and other ‘junk’ behind her.
         Clearly, she’s homeless.
         “Let me help you,” he begins, reaching under her arm and lifting her.  “Goodness, you alright?”
         “Sure.”  The tears slow, but they don’t cease.  “I’m sorry, but do you have a tissue that I may have?  I think I’ve got some dust in my eyes.”
         “I’ve got a handkerchief you may have, but I don’t think those are dust-triggered tears.”  He takes the cloth from his jacket pocket.
         Oh man, what do I do? he thinks to himself.
         “You’re right.  I’m just a mite hungry.  I’ll sleep it off, though.”  She takes the handkerchief and smears the streaks on her face.  She looks at the now-stained cloth and hides her face in embarrassment.
         “C’mon, let me get you something to eat.  There’s a little…”
         “No thanks,” she urges.  “I can’t go in to any place.  I’m not dressed appropriately by any means.”
         “It’s just a little coffee shop.  I just left a smaller one, but they’re closed now.  This other place is always open and they have sandwiches, soups…”  He stops and takes her by the arm again.  “I insist.”
         She pulls her arm away and wraps them around herself.  Her chin tucks as she looks up with doubting eyes.
         He gets the hint.  “I won’t hurt you.  Promise.  You can even walk behind me if you want, but we’re only going just around the corner.”  Warren nods his head to the up-coming corner.
         She follows the trail of his eyes to the illuminated bend before them and recalls such a place in that area.  What have I got to lose?  She attempts to comb her hair with her fingers and wipes her face nearly red with her new handkerchief.
         Recognizing the queue, he leads the way up the sidewalk.  He can hear his guest behind him, crashing and banging her cart of belongings.
         While walking, he glances over his right shoulder.  “I’m Warren.”
         “Hmm?  Oh.  Nice to meet you.”
         “And you are?” he implies.
         “Hungry.  I don’t want to get friendly, at least not right now.  I’m not really good at trusting people.  Please understand that.”
         He laughs lightly.  “Trust me, I understand.”  Thoughts of his fiancé cross his mind.
         They arrive at Perky’s Café and leave the cart outside.  Entering, they’re forced to briefly shield their eyes from the bright florescent lights.
         A clock in the shape of a coffee mug shows it’s twelve-forty in the morning, but the size of the crowd makes that hard to believe.  Through the plethora of stares and snickers, they weave their way to an empty booth.
         A blonde waitress with gum smacking in her mouth greets them once they’ve seated.  “Ya’ want somethin’ to drink?”  She smiles at Warren but snubs his guest.
         “Two coffees,” he answers.
         “Cream?  Sugar?”
         “Bring both.  Thanks.”
         The waitress shimmies away and Warren looks to the homeless woman seated across from him.  He notices that her cheeks are hollowing due to lack of food.  She’s busy flipping through the menu that was on the table, eyes wide and nearly bulging.
         “Order anything you want,” he says.  But do I have enough money?  I can’t afford another charge on my credit card.  He rocks on his left hip to reach into his right back pocket.  Pulling out his wallet he finds four singles – and the twenty that Shawna refused.  He rummages through scraps of paper and old receipts, but all he finds is twenty-four dollars.
         Seeing Warren searching his wallet, the homeless woman asks, “Are you sure?  This soup will hold me over until tomorrow.”
         He smiles, thinking of Shawna.  “Please, get what you want.  I have plenty here, and there’s more at home.”  Under the still-remaining dirt, he can see and feel the warmth of her smile gleaming from her face.
         When the waitress brings the coffee out, the woman orders two eggs, three waffles, a garden salad, and a slice of apple cobbler.  Her requests come out so quickly the blonde has difficulty writing it all down.
         “An’ you?” she says to Warren.
         “Just the coffee, please,” he smiles, pleased with everything his guest just ordered.  “And keep it coming.”
         Gum still popping, she walks away.
         “By the way, I’m Kajin.  And thank you for this.”
         “It’s my pleasure.  ‘Kajin,’ is that Chinese?”
         “Japanese,” she laughs, dropping a spoonful of sugar into her coffee.  “My grandparents were Japanese.  They moved to America nearly ninety years ago and then had my dad.  My mom wasn’t Japanese; she had Italian in her genes, but nothing distinguishable.  Anyway, later, when my parents married and had me, they wanted to keep some of the culture alive.  I look mostly like my dad did.”
         “That would explain the black hair, huh?”
         “Yeah.  Oops!”  She hurries to clean a small puddle from her wave of coffee that spilled over the rim of her cup.  “Sorry.”
         “It’s no big deal.  ‘Never cry over spilled’…Um, coffee.”  He helps her clean it up.
         “I don’t mean this,” she snickers.  “I mean for my behavior earlier…”
         She’s interrupted by the armful of plates delivered by their waitress and one of the cooks.  Kajin’s eyes widen again as she contemplates on which dish to start.
         She chooses the waffles and, pouring the syrup, continues.  “I’ve been though a lot in the past year.  I’m surprised I’ve even managed to stay alive – or even want to.”
         The words sting Warren’s ears, but he listens attentively as she continues:  a sudden divorce after nineteen years of marriage; three kids who took their father’s side; she, having no job because she was a stay-at-home mother, loses custody of her children; defeated in the entire legal matter and ended up with no home, no money.
         “…And I don’t have any family here.”  She finishes off the last bite of salad.  “My grandparents died when I was a kid, my folks died in an accident a few years back, and I’m an only child.”  Glancing out the window, “That cart’s all I’ve got.”
         For the first time in several minutes, Warren meets her eyes.  “Is there anything you’re good at?  You know, so you can get a job, make some money.”
         “I haven’t worked since I was a teenager.  All I did when I raised my kids was write.  Poetry, mostly, and what’s kinda funny is my name means ‘poet.’  However, I lost it all in the divorce.  I wanted my kids to have something to remind them of me.”
         “Why don’t you start writing again?  I’m sure somebody from a local paper could get you on the right track to sell your work.”
         “Nah.”  She looks at her empty salad bowl.  “I’m just a dirty ol’ bum now with nothing but a cart full of junk.  Well, that’s how everybody thinks of me.”  Looking back at him, she sadly adds, “You’re the first person to actually pay any sort of attention to me – to see me as something other than a ‘bag lady’.”
         He can feel his face go slightly red as the corners of his lips turn down.  “You can’t mean that.”
         “Unfortunately it’s the truth.  Society today sees what’s on the surface.  Usually I feel as though I’m transparent because most look right through me.”
         Sensing the mood going sour, Warren says, “Don’t let that stand in your way.  What have you got to lose?  If you never try, how will you ever know what could be?”  Surprised by his own positive enthusiasm, he cocks his left elbow upright on the table and props his chin in his fist.  He raises his eyebrows, waiting for her response.
         Kajin rolls her eyes.  “I don’t know.  My only inspiration is my own sadness.”
         “Then write about that.  Maybe you’ll later find inspiration elsewhere.”
         Realizing she can’t get him to change the subject, she ends the conversation with, “I’ll think about.  You never know.”
         A smile blossoms on Warren’s face.  He reaches into his briefcase and pulls out a couple of pens and a barely-used Steno pad.  “Here,” he says, sliding the items toward her.  “Here’s some starting-off tools.”
         Shaking her head, she manages to grin.  “Thank you.  I hope I can put it to good use.”
         “Me too – and I think you will.”

*The Write Direction*
         Eleven days have passed since Kajin met Warren.  However, the pages in her notebook are still empty.
         Passersby take little or no notice of the homeless woman sitting on the bench in Crows Park.  Those who see her immediately look away, as though they fear…something.
         Kajin wears a different dress now, but it’s still much too big for her.  Her cart of belongings is close by.
         Noticing yet another person walk quickly past her, Kajin mutters to herself, “One of these days they’ll learn a person is still a human being, regardless of their situation.”  She doodles an eye with a single tear falling from it.
         Suddenly she gets an idea.  She turns the page and begins writing:

>Elixir For Insolence
         It is not what is seen
                   plainly before you.  It
         goes deeper; not obscene,
                   but nebulously fit –

         though not a glove to hide
                   the contents, like the skin
         covers the ‘us’ inside.
                   This defines who’s within

         that only we, ourselves,
                   and those closest to us,
         without needing to delve
                   too much, know so well.  Thus,

         the energy reflects
                   by way of our aura,
         outward, as it affects
                   others so they feel a

         sense of knowledge that once
                   made them blind from the truth.
         Those labeled as a dunce,
                   narcissism in youth,

         and persons affected
                   by such parties can learn
         much if they look ahead
                   and enroll to discern.

         In a very short time, her poem is complete.
         “Excuse me,” she says to a lady walking her dog.  “Could you please point me in the direction of the newspaper building?”
         The lady wrinkles her nose and grasps the leash closely with both hands.  “Uh…Up that way to the next corner, go left, and keep walking for, I think, two more blocks.  It’s not that far.”  She finishes and quickly walks away.
         Kajin picks up her pens and pad of paper and places them in her cart.  She weaves through the crowd of people with newfound energy and enthusiasm, determined to get on the right track once again.
         Nearly four blocks later she reaches her destination.  Her hands smooth her dress and hair as much as she is able.  Heart pounding, Kajin pushes open the door to The Tribune, poem in hand.
         “Excuse me, is your editor available?” she sheepishly asks the clerk, who seems to be more aware of Kajin’s appearance than her question.
         ”Who, may I ask, needs to speak with him?”
         The sauciness in her voice causes Kajin so much discomfort she almost turns to leave.  “Um…”
         “May I help you?”  The massive voice comes from just behind Kajin.
         She whirls around, dropping her poem and bumping the sign-in sheet on the counter of the clerk’s desk.
         “Sheesh,” mutters the clerk, who goes back to her Solitaire game on her computer.
         “I’ll get that,” the voice says.  He picks up Kajin’s poem and, without asking, begins reading it.
         “That’s mine, and you’ve not been given permission to read it,” Kajin, finally finding her voice, expresses sternly.
         Finishing the poem, he looks back at her and says, “That’s incredible!  Where’d you find it?”
         Snatching the paper from him, she snaps back.  “I didn’t ‘find’ it.  It’s mine, like I said.  I wrote it.  Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
         “Maybe you should look into gettin’ that published or something – put it in this paper.”
         Kajin raises an eyebrow.  “That’s what I had intended to do, but she’s so rude,” motioning to the clerk, “that I don’t know if it’s even worth the effort now.  Besides, the editor – or whoever – probably wouldn’t even waste their time.”
         “Well, ‘he’ would – and ‘he’ just did.  I’m the chief editor of The Tribune.”  He shoves his right hand toward her.  “Nathan Krane at your service.”
         She’s once again speechless, partly due to the shock of how easy it was to get the editor to see her work and partly due to her sudden self-awareness of arrogance.
         “Oh…God…I’m sorry…I mean, I’m Kajin Shik,” she stutters, shaking his hand.  “I didn’t mean to come across as such an ass.  It’s just that…”  She searches for the right words.
         “No problem.  Follow me, please.  I want to talk to you about your poem.”
         He leads her to an elevator.  Together they step inside and he pushes the button for the third floor.  When the doors open again, she follows him to a small office with a door and walls of glass.
         “Have a seat.  Would you like a cup of coffee?” he offers, pouring himself one from a credenza-turned-bar in one corner of the room.
         “Yes, thank you.”  Her mouth is still gaping as her eyes study the office.  She sits in a leather chair in front of a cherry-oak desk.
         “Cream?  Sugar?”
         “One spoon of sugar, no cream…Please.”
         Nathan scoops one heap of sugar into each cup and drips a few drops of cream into his.
         “So, about your poem,” he begins, stirring the beverages, “it really is good, Kajin, and I meant what I said about getting it published.”
         He walks over to Kajin, hands her coffee to her, and sits on the corner of his desk, still stirring the contents of his cup.
         “What inspired it?  There seems to be a hint of pain, perhaps frustration, in it.”
         She slumps in her seat, her dark reflection looking back at her from her cup.  “Everything…Everybody…How life has treated me in general.  I don’t know how I got in this position.  Most people look right through me, and you’re one of the few to actually acknowledge me as a human being.”  Then she smiles slightly and looks up at him.  “My poem…Do you really think it’s publishable?  I mean, if so, I’d like to go bigger.  I do want to publish it in this paper, but I also want to write more and publish a book – eventually.  I really could use the money and I need something in my life to make me feel like…like I should still keep going.”
         “Wow,” he replies numbly.  “I’m sorry to hear it has been that way for you.  Rough lately?”
         “More-than-a-year type of ‘lately.’”
         “Ouch.  Well, let’s see…,” he says as he stands, walks behind the desk, and sits in an even larger leather chair.  Kajin notices a framed photo on his desk with him and an attractive woman with dirty-blonde hair.  “…I know a few publishers who are always looking for new talent.  One of them founded the grounds that launched M.R. Langston’s career.”
         “Langston?!  The M.R. Langston, who wrote the In-Park Murders series and…”
         “Yes, the very one.”  Nathan takes out a blue ink pen and hands it to her.  “Print your name at the bottom of your poem and then sign it.  I’ll photo-copy it and give you back your original.  I’ll take the copy and see what I can do with it, but it’ll go in this paper first.  How’s that sound?”
         His question is answered by her eagerness to scribble on the paper.
         “Be right back,” he says, leaving the room.
         She watches him through the walls as he walks to a monstrosity of a copier and produces a carbon of her work.
         He returns, handing her the original.  “Now, is there any way I can get in touch with you as soon as I get something for you?” he asks, taking out a blank pad of sky-colored paper.
         Her smile turns upside down.  “I don’t live anywhere – well, nowhere with a phone.  You can usually find me on a local park bench or something.”
         “Oh.”  He hesitates for a moment and her hopes for success begin to fade.  “That’s no problem.  I take it you stick to these parts, right?”
         She nods, her expression softening.
         “Well, just come by every…”  He looks at his navy planner that’s open on his desk and begins flipping the pages.  “…Uh, it looks like Wednesday afternoons are the slowest for me.  Come by every Wednesday, around two o’clock.  Just stop by every week and I’ll let you know what I’ve accomplished.  Sound good to you?”
         Her bright smile radiates and her posture straightens.  “That sounds wonderful!  The only thing is…”  She begins to slouch again.  “I don’t have any way of paying for this.  I really don’t have anything but a cart full of what used to be other peoples’ junk.”
         “Did I ask for anything?”  He laughs lightly.  “No, so don’t worry about it.  Just make sure I’m there for your first book signing, okay?”
         She laughs too.  “It’s a deal.  Thank you…Oh, thank you so much!”  She shakes his hand vigorously in appreciation.  “I’ll see you next week.”
         “Again, it’s my pleasure.  And I’ll see you Wednesday.  In the meantime, I have some phone calls to make – and you have more poetry to write.”  She smiles again.
         He walks her to his glass door and points toward a pair of sliding reflective doors.  “There’s the elevator.  It’ll take you back to the lobby.  And I’m sorry about the clerk’s attitude.  I’ll have a talk with her.”
         Kajin chuckles.  “Don’t worry about it.  Thanks again, and I’ll see you soon.”
         Just as she turns toward the elevator Nathan calls back out to her.  “Uh, where will you go?”
         “Oh, don’t worry about me.  I have a whole new outlook now and I’ll be just fine.”  She actually believes herself as she says this.
         Still concerned, he says, “Feel free to come into the lobby anytime you wish.  We always have coffee and a water cooler down there, just to the right of the doors when you walk in.  There’s always some assortment of food there, too.  Usually doughnuts or muffins or fruit.  Please, help yourself.  And you may use our bathrooms down there too, in the event you ever wish to freshen up.”  He starts back toward his office.  “I’ll notify the staff downstairs so that they’ll know to expect you.  Please, I mean it.”
         With every gesture she feels stronger and more alive.  Fighting back the urge to cry, she replies, “Thank you so much, Mr. Krane.  I just can’t thank you enough.”
         “Nathan, please.  We’re working together here.”  He smiles back at her one more time and returns to his office.
         Kajin watches him a moment longer as he sits down to his desk and starts typing on his computer’s keyboard.  Then she enters the elevator, goes down to the lobby, and steps out into her new life.
         But before leaving, she stops over at the table of coffee and fruit.  Nobody stops her.

*Nearly two years later*
         Ring-ring-rrrrring!
         “This is Nathan, chief editor.  How can I help you?”
         “Good.  You’re still there.”
         Nathan hesitates and searches his thoughts, looking at a framed photo of himself, his wife, and his baby girl.
         “Aw, you don’t recognize my voice?  I know it’s been almost a year, but I haven’t forgotten who I have to thank.”
         “Oh my goodness!  Kajin?”
         “The one and only.”
         “How the hell have you been?  Your picture’s at nearly every bookstore in town!”
         “Ha-ha – there too?  Well then, I guess that means I’ve been doing pretty well.”
         “You looked great at your book signing last year, but that was before your real fame broke.”
         “I’m still doing great.  I get to see my kids every now and then.”
         “Wow, that’s incredible.  So what’re you doing with yourself now?”
         “Well, I bought a place in Shenandoah, Virginia.  However, I’m in town right now.  I wanted to pay you a visit…If you can pencil me in.”
         “That’d be wonderful!  You have any plans tonight?”
         “No – well, not yet.”
         “Great!  You still haven’t met my wife and little girl.”
         “I know.  I was hoping to remedy that this trip.  How about it?”
         “I want you to come over.  We’ll cook you a nice dinner – my own form of ‘congratulations.’  After all, it’s been in order for a long time now.”
         He can hear her smile.  “That sounds really nice.  I’d like that.”
         “How’s seven tonight?”
         “Perfect.”
         “Let me give you my address.”
         “Actually, I already have it.  I researched it back home to make sure you still lived in the area.  I got your address then.”
         He laughs.  “That works.  Let me give my wife a call so she knows to expect company.”
         “Can I bring anything?”
         “Nope – just yourself.”
         “Okay, I’ll see you then.”
         “Great!”
         “Bye.”
         “See ya’ later!”

*Completing the Circle*
         Ding-ding-dong!
         “I’ll get it, hon!” Nathan shouts to his wife as he anxiously runs to the front door.
         Throwing it open, he almost doesn’t recognize the woman standing before him.  Her black hair no longer shows signs of silver.  Her face glows with a healthy complexion, and she has lost the bags beneath her eyes.  Her figure is feminine and dressed in a neutral, form-fitting designer dress.  Her perfectly-capped whites glitter in her permanent smile.
         Her life is truly back on track.
         “My God, you look great,” he comments softly, shaking his head.  They exchange hugs.
         “You look good, too.  You’ve been taking care of yourself – or perhaps it’s the fatherly glow,” she says, stepping into the foyer.
         He smiles proudly.  “Yeah, everything has been great.”  He then looks down at his wrinkled slacks and shrugs his shoulders.  “It’s been another long day, but everything’s good.”
         “Change any other lives lately?” she jokes.
         “I didn’t change your life.  I just wanted to help you out.  You did the rest.  You’re the best-selling author.”
         “I’d still be a bag lady if it wasn’t for you.  You helped me turn my life around.”  She then reaches into her purse and removes an envelope.  On it reads ‘Thank you, Nathan.’  “Here.”  She hands it to him.
         “What’s this?” he asks, reading the envelope.
         “You think I’m going to tell you?  You have to open it.”
         He carefully slices through the top with his finger.  Peering inside, he sees a check.  He removes it slowly.
         It’s made out to Nathan Krane.
         It’s signed by Kajin Shik.
         It’s in the amount of fifty thousand dollars.
         He nearly drops it, envelope and all.  “I can’t accept this!”  He shoves it back at her.  “No, I can’t take this!”
         “She pushes his hands back to him.  “Yes, you can and you will.  I’m fortunate to say I can more than afford this now.  And it’s the very least I can do.  You put months of your time and effort into helping me become a somebody when everybody had me convinced I was a nobody.”  A lump forms in her throat as she fights back an emotional sob.  “You never asked for anything in return, even after you became a father and it became tougher for you.  You didn’t know me, but that didn’t mean anything.  You changed my life – you changed me.  This is the very least I can do.  Please…”
         His eyes become glossy.  He wraps his arms around her again.  “Thank you, Kajin.  I never wanted this though.”
         “I know, but I really appreciate you.  I wish there were more of you in this world.”
         “Nathan, honey?  Is that your friend?” a cheerful voice calls from another room.
         “Yes.  It’s Kajin.”  He lets go of her.
         “Perfect.  Go ahead and bring her into the kitchen.  Dinner’s ready.”
         “Okay.”  He turns back to Kajin.  “She’s a great cook – and the perfect wife and mother.  I can’t wait for you to meet her and Sheila.”
         “Sheila?”
         “Our daughter.”
         He leads them to a large dining room with a bright chandelier hanging above a dark oak table.  There’s a bouquet of spring flowers in the center of the setting with a lit candle on each side of it.  There are three place settings of white china, sparkling silverware, and spotless lead-crystal glasses.
         At one end of the table is a highchair with an infant girl.  Her hair is pulled back into a tiny blonde ponytail.
         “And this is Sheila,” Nathan says, lifting her from her seat.  Sheila’s eyes sparkle and dance as she laughs.
         “She’s beautiful,” Kajin comments, touching the girl softly on one cheek.  “How old is she now?”
         “Not quite two years.  About twenty-two months.”
         “Wow.  She looks like a happy, healthy baby.  And what does your wife do now?”
         “Well,” he begins, placing Sheila back in her seat, “she used to be a waitress.  I finally convinced her to stop working for awhile when Sheila was born.  It’s not like we really needed her to work.  We’re making ends meet just fine.”
         Nathan walks over to a swinging door that leads to the kitchen.  “We’re in here, baby.  You want me to pour the wine?”
         “That’d be great.  I’ll be right there.”
         He picks up a bottle of red wine from the table, peels back the foil, and starts working at it with a corkscrew.  Sheila giggles at her father struggling with the cork.
         Just as Nathan opens the bottle and begins pouring the wine, his wife appears through the adjacent door.
         “Hi.  I’m sorry for taking so long,” she says breathlessly.  “I was actually a little premature in my announcement.  The roast still needs a few more minutes.”
         “No biggie,” Nathan says, wrapping an arm around his wife’s waist.  “Kajin, I’d like you to meet my wife.”
         “Hi.  I’m Kajin Shik.  It’s so nice to finally meet you.”
         The women shake hands and hug each other gently.
         “And I’m Shawna.  It’s so nice to meet you too.  I just can’t wait to hear about your exciting past two years.”