The Woman I Will NEVER Forget

I was sitting snugly in my black lambourgini, lathering some sunscreen over my pale, aged skin to prevent the harsh rays from searing me, the car park roudy and smelly, when I heard it. It wasthe sound of a tambourine, it was music, the steady and concise rythm of a tambourne. I turned my head towards the sound and at that moment I thought I was going crazy because I could not find the source. But when I did find it, it was coming from a negro woman. Proberbly one of the many homeless who beg for alms, she was in rags. She had a very tattared shirt on, which was dust coated and dirty from over wearance. Her kinky hair was locked in messy, dirty dreads that had unknown materials in it, and her hands were thick, etched with penury...proberbly from years of beating on that tambourine.

She was singing sweetly, a very melodious hymn, whilst swaying her fullhips and radiating good, soulful energy. The strangest mystery about her wretched appearance though, was her beautiful smile. I could literally see past her blackened lips, hersurprisingly pink gums and rotten tobacco-stainrd teeth. I could see past her dry eyes and the snot inside her nose and the slackness of her skin from lack of hydration. I could see past her previous tears, the rhythmic beats of the tambourine, and all of her flesh and bone. I saw through her smile and into her soul. It was pure, delightful, and completely free of worry. It waslively, devoid of outrageous sorrow, and so full of joy that I almost broke down and cried.

Right then and there I reached into my Givenchy purse, a crisp hundrd dollar bill in my hand and I waved towards the begger's direction as she had been looking my way the whole while. She was still smiling, swaying her hips and eternally beating on her tambourine when she walked towards me, radiating joy and comfort. But as soon as I reached out to hand her the hundred dollar bill, something...changed. Thismomentary transition was the encounter that changed my life forever.

Her once joyous face quickly crumpled into one of pure sorrow, and dazed as I was by this sudden transformation, I did not even the tambourine clatter to the ground until I saw her cover her face with both hands. I sat and wtched her cry, frozen and unsure of what to do in this situation. I waited patiently though, until she was done weeping. She revealed her now slightly wet face to me, a big smile on her face, and looked me straight into my eyes. I asked if she wanted a tissue, but I got no reply. It was almost like she could not hear me, like she genuinely was not even there. The next words she uttered were quite chilling, and they still reoccur to me till this day. The hundred dollar bill still suspended in the air via my right hand, I stared back into her eyes and watched her speak.

"Thank you so much, my child. I love you. No matter what you are going through in life I will always love you. Do not falter or worry or want. I will always provide. You are forgiven." Then she bent to pick her tambourine, walking slowly away. I was still, frozen, confused, and puzzled as can be. Her voice had been manlier than I expected, and I thought I had imagined this whole encounter, and that my hand was not still stuck outside my window, hundred dollar bill in hand.

Until my driver came back and entered my car, nudging me softly to put an end to my haze. He looked concerned and a little disgusted, asking me why I looked like I'd seen a ghost and if that 'monkey' had done anything to me? I was taken aback by his delibitating remark, but I knew then that it was not my imagination, as I cautiously retracted my outstretched hand from the window sill, putting the dollar bill back into my purse. The woman was real and she had really said those mysterious words to me,and the chill running down mu spine was not fantasy.

As we drove away from this noisy place, I thought long and hard about what she had said. She did not know me, I did not know her, so how could she say she loved me? She will always provide? She was a BEGGER. 'You have been forgiven', what wrong did I do to her? She even called me her child. I was many years older than her. Baffled as I was I did not disclose this encounter to any soul. Not because I thought I'd be dismissed, but because I felt our meeting was sacred, and should not be known by others. I felt like I had to decode her message in secret in order to be fulfilled.

Thishappened twenty years ago, when I was still sixty-one. Now about eighty, I say my prayers devotionally and pray the Rosary at least once a week. I know now that God was speaking to me and calling me to a change of heart. Though some other people that come into my hospice to give me pies and prune ice-cream dismiss my love for God as post-menopausal Altzheimer's illusory disorder...whatever that means, I will still love Him and He will still love me.

And as I begin now to succumb to my demensia, forgetting most of the people I once knew as closest family and friends, the woman's supple image forma again in my mind. Clear as day, even after twenty years. I could still remember exactly what she looked like. Haggered, poorly, playing the tambourine and unique with the increadible smile on her face. I knew at once that this was the woman I would NEVER forget.