Karma

Growing up in poverty, I placed very little value on money. I stumbled through life having very little and focusing on experiencing life, rather than being fiscally responsible. As naive as this sounds, it worked out well for me for years. It was not until my house burned down that I realized that money may not buy happiness, but it does buy survival. Having no family and very few friends, I did not have many options for shelter. Eventually, I swallowed my pride and ended up at a homeless shelter in Pittsburgh. Shelters were overcrowded during this time, so I landed in a repurposed factory with roaches and rats that scurried around at night. Day in and day out, there was an old man with a grey, scruffy beard that sat in a dark, damp corner alone. He had only the clothes on his back a small black notebook that he held onto for dear life. I studied this man for months before finally approaching him. On his old, rusty cot, I sat next to him studying the worry lines in his eyes. The old man looked at me with his kind eyes, as if he had been expecting me. His name is Carl.

Over the next 5 months of my homelessness, I sat with Carl every day as he told me fascinating stories. I never asked if they were true or not because I liked the idea of Carl crawling through the Amazon jungle and rescuing sea turtles in Costa Rica. I envisioned a young Carl, full of life while on these exotic missions, and wondered how he ended up stranded in a homeless shelter in Pittsburgh. Talking to Carl eased my endless depression. Many days I woke up wishing I hadn’t until I saw Carl and imagined visiting the magical lands that he spoke of. Even after finding a small apartment an hour away from the shelter, I visited Carl every day. Carl never asked me or anyone else for anything. I often wondered how he ate or how he survived when the shelter was at capacity on some nights. I shared my meager income and meals with Carl, although he often refused. Carl soon became my best and only friend.

After 3 years of visiting Carl, I came one cold and rainy day to find Carl's cot empty. Panicked, I searched the cold, musty building for any trace of Carl. Under his makeshift pillow, I found only a little black book. I was always intrigued by this book, but never found the courage to ask Carl what was in it. Over the years of Carl holding this cook, it had become worn and weathered by his fingers running over the seams. I opened to the first page to find my name in big, bold letters. The second page had an address listed in big, bold letters that were only a few blocks from the shelter. And the third page had only 5 words, "Thank you for your company." I soon found out that Carl disappeared in the night, which was not like him. My curiosity got the best of me and I visited the address in the book, hoping to find Carl. I walked up to a rustic, abandoned house to discover a box on the porch with my name on it. Inside, were so many hundred-dollar bills, I almost dropped the box.

I never found out what happened to Carl or where this money came from. I put it in a saving account for if I am ever homeless again. I still visit that shelter hoping to see Carl one day to let him know that his company meant more to me than all the money he had given to me.