Street Angel

Penelope stormed angrily out of the bank downtown flinging open the doors with abandon. She had just been denied a loan for her creative arts program for teens on the street. She had been working to get funding for their own building and housing for a few years to no avail.

Grant after grant had passed her by. Big donors felt it was too high a risk.

The last place she wanted to turn was the bank.

But these kids needed her. And she loved them. The money could mean that they could finish high school having a place to live, and that they would have free access to an arts center that could open up opportunites for scholarships and new futures.

But the bank turned her away too.

Coming out of the building blind with rage, she body checked a little old woman wearing a colorful assortment of clothes. As their small frames collided, both sets of their belongings flew into the air as they fell to the ground. Mortified, Penny rushed to help the lady up on her feet, apologizing profusely.

“I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I did that!”

The woman’s clothes had tiny bells attached, so her every movement was accompanied by a symphony of jingles. She responded in a humored tone.

“Oh, it’s no trouble deary, we all are in a rush sometimes. It’s just that some of us can’t rush with as much gusto as others. My old slow bones are just fine. Help me with my things, would you?”

There on the sidewalk lay Penny’s phone, keys, two little black notebooks, some pens and a rosary. Penny quickly gathered all the items, and the little old lady took one the notebooks and the rosary beads.

“These are mine,” she said.

“Again, I’m so sorry. I was so angry coming out of the bank that I didn’t have all my senses. Can I do anything for you?”

The wrinkly-faced woman stared up at her for a prolonged moment. The evening sun silhouetted her white hair, creating a glowing halo. Her bells jingled in the light breeze. Penny was mesmerized.

“I don’t need anything,” she finally replied. “But it looks like you need something…I see we have the same notebook.”

Penny looked down at the notebook in her hands. Her book of ideas and poetry and little dreams. She always had a small black notebook there when she needed it to externally process, to make her dreams come to life, even if just on paper. She had just used it to show the loan officer her plans for the teen arts center.

“Oh yeah, it looks like we do.”

“Let’s trade.”

“What?” Penny was surprised by the lady’s suggestion.

“Well, you asked if you could do something for me. Let’s trade notebooks. I want yours and you need mine.”

“What?” Penny asked again. “No I don’t. Is this something else I could do for you?”

The little old lady smiled.

“No. Just trade notebooks with me. Trust me. You need mine.”

Penny was a mixture of curious and exhausted. She didn’t really want to fight with the stranger, but she didn’t know how to exit this situation gracefully.

“Why do you keep saying that? That I need your notebook?”

“Humor me,” she responded. “Trade, and I’ll tell you. I know your notebook probably means a lot to you, but sometimes you need to start a new one for new things to come.”

“Okay…” Penny held out her notebook hesitantly.

The old woman gently took it and replaced it with hers.

“You’ll see that your new notebook is empty. Clean slate. But whatever you write in that notebook will come true.”

Penny looked down at the notebook and flipped through its pages. Not a word. Not a dot of ink. She felt crazy, but she kind of believed this little street angel.

When she looked up, the lady was gone. Nowhere to be found.

“What now?” Penny said aloud.

Had anyone else witnessed this odd moment? She thought.

She decided to head to her favorite coffee shop for a drink before heading home in defeat. She needed a little pick me up.

Sitting at a bar up against the window looking out on the neighborhood, over her cup of tea, she wondered if she had dreamed up the scenario outside the bank. She opened her notebook up and her name and phone number was written on the front page. Maybe she was dreaming after all.

But then the rest of the notebook was empty.

Penny was spooked. She hadn’t written her name and number in the book. What if the lady was right? Whatever she wrote would come true…could it be?

She pulled out a pen from her purse, took a deep breath and quickly scribbled,

I want an arts center for the teens and $20,000 in funding.

She dropped the pen in the crease of the notebook, sat up and ran her hands through her hair and laughed out loud.

There’s no way this will happen, she said under her breath.

After a minute, the owner of the coffee shop walked over to her. They had been friends for a few years.

“What are you over here laughing about, Penny?” He asked.

“Oh hi Jeremy,” Penny rolled her eyes. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

Jeremy smiled but didn’t press her for answers.

“I’m actually really glad you came in this afternoon.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I have some kind of crazy news for you.”

“What?”

“I just bought the building next door. It’s a combination of lofts upstairs and a business space.”

“Oh my gosh that’s so cool. What are you going to turn it into?”

“I’m not going to turn it into anything.” He said smile on his face.

Penny was confused. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I’ll help, but you’re going to turn into your arts center.”

“WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?” The color rushed out of Penny’s face. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“There’s more!” Jeremy continued. “An anonymous donor left a $20,000 check for you earlier today. They wanted to remain unknown."

“You’re kidding me. This isn’t real.”

“You better believe it is, or else I have to figure out what to with that building and I had no plans myself.”

In disbelief, Penny grabbed the notebook and excitedly shoved it in Jeremy’s face. “Look what I just wrote like two minutes ago.”

Jeremy backed up a little so he could see the sentence.

I want an arts center for the teens and $20,000 in funding.

Jeremy looked back at her, his eyes wide. “What? That’s crazy.”

Penny quickly snatched the book back and got to furiously scribbling all her new plans for the arts center.

“What are you writing now?”

“I’m writing down the vision for the arts center and my dreams for it.”

“Slow down, Penny. Why don’t we celebrate a little? What’s the rush? We have all the time in the world!”