The Important Thing

         The new return-to-work trial program was going well. Having earned work hours doing various accredited volunteer activities, the participants were shopping at the Go-Go store with their newly acquired Go-Go dollars for the various approved donor items, from food to clothes to household necessities. The clerk behind the counter was earning Go-Go dollars too, Brenda was sure of it: the whole thing was run by volunteers. She imagined him telling a future employer, "Of course I can be trusted. I ran the cash register at Go-Go - Please call them if you like!"

         She approached the open window off to the side with her approved time sheet, thankful that at least she could get a higher reward than most - for counseling, for which there were never enough people qualified for that role to listen to the impoverished. Otherwise, she'd have to cash her volunteer hours at minimum wage for the Go-Go dollars like everyone else, less to put toward the fully retail priced bar of cream cheese and bag of raisin bagels she was looking forward to. Of course anyone could pay with real money, that portion would go toward expenses not donated, like electricity and repairs. But for her, a few extra hours volunteering was just making ends meet - as a school social worker; she wasn't being paid much more than the office staff.

         She'd been working for an hour every other weekday for two weeks with a sullen preteen boy, and felt she had finally earned enough to refill her empty cabinets. The lady behind the window smiled and looked up after reviewing her sheet. "How wonderful," She chirped. "It's so nice to see someone making a difference in the lives of others! And speaking of, would you be willing to earn one more hour at this rate to talk about it?"

         A no duh moment hit Brenda before she thought to ask questions.

         Next minute, she was sitting in the office room with a social media expert, his camera, and the woman who started all this, known to the entire world only as O.P.

         "Can you tell us what impact you are seeing because of what you are doing?"

         Calm face - she hadn't had time to think about that question yet, perhaps distracted by the thought of being examined by the entire world? "What I'm seeing is making a difference in the lives of others. To be able to reach out and help those who otherwise might never get, or even have the chance to get, the help they need." Client confidentiality, she kept whispering inside her head. That's why she couldn't give details, and not because she wasn't actually paying any attention to the client.

         But was she making an impact on him? He didn't seem to be changing from one day to the next. Would she be volunteering without the obvious benefits? Did she really have a vested interest in him over herself?

         She pondered these things as she stuffed her cans away and froze the milk that was about to expire. 'Children,' she thought to herself, 'have so much growing up to do and they think they are already there.' But how grown up was she herself, really, if she was only doing things that benefited her?

         Monday late afternoon she met with Michael again, as usual. But for the first time ever, she tossed aside the clipboard full of notes and leaned forward a bit to look him in the eye. "Michael," she asked softly, "You seem to be in the same place we started. Do I make any difference to you?"

         Michael appeared not to be fazed, but chewed on his lip thoughtfully. Strange, the lack of emotional reaction, like as if he'd stepped out of the picture. Like where he'd been all along. Funny how she'd never noticed that before.
         "Yeah," he said after a bit. "If you weren't here, I wouldn't be here either."

         Instead of reaching for her notes, she sat up and allowed herself step out of the picture with him as things snapped into place. He wouldn't be here...He wouldn't be here. Not just this room, but this world.

         He looked up at her. "Will you always be here for me?"

          "What's more important," she answered carefully, "Is that someone will always be there for you. Your parents love you and want to be there for you. Some of your teachers, and you'll know which ones, will be there for you. If you start making a lot of friends by being there for them, they'll be there for you too. The ones that really are friends, anyway." She took a breath. "I'll be here for you as much as I can, too." But what was really important, she realized, was that she took the time to care, to be there for him now.