Best Intentions

Best Intentions

I was buying a snack at a convenience store when I gave the cashier the money. She gave me my change and I shoved it into my pocket. She looked at me with an intensity that is normally rude for a stranger.  There was something else about the look but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.  Then I looked at her again over my shoulder as I left the store.  She was still looking at me.  I thought she looked afraid.

I left the store and put my hands into my pocket. I felt something other than money.  It was much too soft. I pulled my hand out to use the keys and open the car door. I was standing at my car door ready to leave.  Instead I put my hand back in my pocket and pulled out the piece of paper.  It was torn and crumpled like it had seen too many pockets.  The note said, ‘HELP ME PLEASE.’  I looked back at the woman behind the counter helping another customer. That customer’s car was the only other car in the lot, besides mine.  We were the only two here it seemed.  I look around the building and saw another car parked at the back.  It was probably the clerks.

But the note said, ‘HELP ME PLEASE.’  Could I walk away after receiving such a plea as that?  The woman glanced outside and saw that I had not left.  She held me to the spot with her intense expression. I got into my car and got out my cell phone but I couldn’t get a signal.  I could go in there alone but if there was real danger I would be of no help. But she was asking for my help. How could I refuse when it was so clear that help was needed?

The other customer walked out of the store and headed for their car.  I got out and called to them.

“I think there is something wrong.  I think that lady needs help.”

“I think you need help.  Take yourself to a psych ward.” Then he climbed into his car and roared away. 

I looked at the note again, ‘HELP ME PLEASE.’  I couldn’t take it anymore.  I walked back into the store and looked at the lady.  She looked at me, waiting for me to speak.

“Do you need help?” I asked.

“Hell, no I just hate working the night shift.  Boring as hell.  Why would you think I need help?”

“Because of your note.” And I handed her the much crumpled note.

“That ain’t from me.  Sorry I looked at you like that but I thought I knew you.  Seems like the notes been around a while.  You must have picked it up some other time.”

“Sure, sorry to bother you.”

“No trouble sweetie.  Like I said it’s boring as hell in here.”

I walked out to my car and sat in it.  When was the last time I wore these jeans.  I had just washed them so I was surprised the note had survived.  I drove home and went into the kitchen where my son was working on his homework.  I leaned over and looked at it.

“Do you need any help?”

“Now you ask.  I needed help two days ago and you had to go out with your friend.  I got an ‘F’ on my homework.”

Now I remembered.  He had written me a note and left it on the kitchen counter.  I was in a rush to go out with my friend so I read it and told him I would help him when I got home.  Only I got home too late.  I had shoved the note into my pocket and then washed them the next day.

I had not helped my own son.


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