Do you have a cigarette?

It was already a bad day, as I got out of my car to rush into CVS, but having to leave my family on Thanksgiving to do this made it worse. "Where are you going?" My dad had asked me. If only the answer was appropriate for the holiday festivities. The truth was, I was going to get emergency medication for a herpes outbreak I was experiencing, making me feel too sick to function. Unfortunately, to this day, these outbreaks give me flashbacks of one thing...rape.

I was seven years old when I told my mom what sex was. I told her I knew from a dad on my baseball team. Years of therapy and severe physical intimacy problems insued. I don't really remember what happened, as to protect me, my brain blacked out the memory. Still I remember being diagnosed with herpes before I became sexually active.

So, here I was on Thanksgiving trying to curb the pain of a disease I was forcefully given, and you better believe I was feeling sorry for myself. I was so in my head that I almost didn't register a woman's voice saying, "Do you have a cigarette?"

I looked down to see a woman with vibrant blonde hair leaning against a parking meter, eyes rimmed with exhaustion. The first thought that came to my mind was that she didn't belong there, but then again, who does. "No, I'm sorry I don't," I respond, taken off guard even though people asking for things on a city street is no strange occurrence. Still, there was something in the way she asked, filled with understanding and lacking pressure or guilt. I don't smoke cigarettes and thus had none, but there was something about this woman that made me wish I did. "Wait here, and let me see what I can do," I found my mouth speaking the words before I could even begin to think.

So, I went inside and get my medicine, but my mind stayed on that of the woman right outside. So, I found myself doing the only thing I could do, pulling the last fifty bucks from my debit card after begging the cashier with the sign that said, "No cash back". Luckily, he was feeling generous that day. Then, I walked back outside holding two twenties and a ten only to realize I had finally ceased the self pity party in my head.

As I approached her, I felt a sense of warmth and kindness emanating from her. So, without hesitation, I leaned forward to give her the money saying, "I hope this can get you what you need today." The first thing I registered in her emotions was shock, then sorrow, and finally, a rarity, hope.

Tears streamed down her face as she said, "You don't know what you have just done. I just got out of the hospital for siezures, and I was hoping and praying to beg enough money to let me pick up my medicine today." That was when I noticed the bruises on her face filling me with even more concern.

"Oh my, what happened to you love?" I asked softly, to show I meant no furthur harm, gesturing to the purpling skin around her eye.

"I've been raped so many times," she said almost nonchalantly. "I got into the wrong car with the wrong man a few days ago," she said with a shrug, seemingly much more concerned with her stuggles at present.

"I'm so sorry," I say, because that is all that I could say sadly, all I could do. She continued to tell me life had become more dangerous after her fiance had died, leaving her to fend for herself. The seizures gave more people opportunity to take advantage, which is why she so desperately needed her preventative medication.

By talking to her, by knowing her story it was if a weight had been lifted off of me, and my concern for myself faded away as I was in the presence of such a strong and greatful human being. So, as much for me as for her, I grabbed her hand and looked her in the eye and said, "You are so beautiful and important, please never stop fighting and never give up because this world needs your light. I wish I could spare more."

Our eyes met with mutual understanding. It is hard to be a woman in this world, and so much gets taken away from us even when we have so much to give. Sometimes it just takes the realization that you are not alone and that you have the power to help someone else if you take a moment to stop feeling so damn sorry for yourself.

I finally let go of her hand, realizing it was time for me to get back home. "Thank you," I told her, even though she could not have realized the impact she had on me and how much I needed it. As, I walked away she realized just how much money I had given her and sobs "Thank yous" after me.

"I am so blessed to have met you," I shout in return before I got back into my car with a different kind of tears than before streaming down my face.

The End