Red Plastic Gas Can

I saw her as soon as I pulled off the highway. She was standing on the corner of the frontage road into the truck complex where you can buy coffee, meals, clean laundry, and Lord knows what else. Oh, and gas or diesel. She reminded me immediately, for some reason, of the woman who catered our wedding, as she stood looking at vehicles driving by, a hand-lettered cardboard sign at her feet, ‘Need money for gas’, and a battered red plastic gas can on the grass beside her.

Parking the car, my travel mug in hand, and going inside to use the washroom first, I thought about her out there. Should I give her some money? And how much? I pulled the US bills from my pocket and looked to see what cash I had. A few ones, a five, and a twenty. Well, I knew 20 was more than I was willing to offer, and a dollar seemed a bit skimpy. Maybe the five. I went out to the counter and bought a coffee. Back to the car, grab the garbage from my breakfast – a banana peel and a wrapper from a granola bar – and walk it to the nearest garbage bin. Before I sat down in the driver’s seat, and couldn’t easily retrieve it, I pulled the five dollar bill from my pocket and tucked it beside me.

When I drove by her there was no traffic in either direction; I rolled down the window and caught her eye – not that she wasn’t watching for mine. I held out the five, saying, “I expect there’s a story here’, but not really expecting her to share it, and not so sure I wanted all the details. She walked over, took  the money, and thanked me – at least 3 times, telling me how much it meant to her, and finishing with a ‘God bless you’. She really did look like Lawrence, our caterer, and I said, “God bless you too,’ our eyes connecting. I glanced in the mirror to ensure I wasn’t holding up traffic, looked at her one more time as she stepped back off the road, home next to her brown cardboard sign and red plastic gas can. I turned on the blinker, rolled up the window, and drove on to the on-ramp for 99.

She stayed with me, off and on, for a few hours. The price of gas has just jumped in California, to just over $4/gallon. My fiver would buy her a teeny bit of gas. Did she really even have a car? Maybe it was a scam. No car, no gas. Just for . . . for what? Food? Drink? Drugs? Did it matter, really? What does it take for a person to stand on the corner of a frontage road and ask for money? Could I do that? Would I ever have to do that? Had she ever thought those questions?