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[ 4 minute read ]
The effect of being sorry
Something that has always stayed with me is the evening I met a troubled young woman. I was outside my flat and had only walked about twenty metres or 60 or 70 feet towards the city centre, when I noticed a young woman walking towards me and crying. I asked her what was wrong and she sobbed a little and said, "Nothing" like we do when we haven't put anything into words because we haven't started processing anything. I pressed her a little. "No, it's alright. What's wrong?'
She was upset and feeling sorry for herself because her boyfriend had abandoned her in the city centre. I suppose they had, had an argument. She was in her late teens. She told me that she lived a long way out of the city and had no money. I felt sorry for her because I knew the city well and all the surrounding towns and villages. I knew how far she would have to walk, and I had some money, in the bank.
We walked a bit closer to where she lived, into the next clump of shops, banks and car service stations one expects to find just outside a city centre but still within the scope of the city. That was where the nearest bank I could get money from, was. I withdrew ₤20 and gave her ten. I called a taxi and we waited outside a pub. Rochelle told me that she was eighteen. Then she was so happy that someone was saving her that she became a bit amorous and wanted to know my name. I didn't tell her. She wanted to know my telephone number; "So, I can thank you again." I didn't tell her. She wanted to know where I lived. "So I can return the money!" I didn't tell her.
'I just want to thank you.' she said, hugging me. I let her hug me and hugged her back, but turned from her attempts to kiss me.
'I will do anything.' she said, looking me in the eye. I refused to follow her lead in conversation.
I didn't feel at all uncomfortable, but I was a little relieved when the taxi turned up. I unhooked myself from Rochelle and spoke to the driver.
'She wants to go home; to ******. Here's £10 for the fare. I know it is enough for her journey. If she wants to get out early and wants the fare money, let her out but keep the money; she has more money if she needs it. Once you are outside her house, tell her the fare is already paid, and give her the change from this £10. Thank you, Sir.'
Rochelle got in and they left. I didn't worry about her. I was fairly sure she would be fine. I was just glad I could help. I had given her £10 for herself, in case the driver gave her some grief and she had to get out before she arrived home. Rochelle was very attractive. By this time though, I was sure that she was more in control of herself than when I had met her earlier. At least she had options.
Something I never told Rochelle was that twenty minutes before we met, I had received a phone call from my sister telling me our dad had just died. I was heartbroken. I had worked in Germany with him and experienced so many wonderful new things. He had always spread a protective wing over me because he knew that I was deeply wounded. I was about to go into the city to get a little drunk. It was expected that he would die soon, but still I was not prepared. Yet, I could not pass a young woman, clearly upset and feeling more than a little emotionally lost, without trying to help.
'You see, Rochelle, I was trying to keep you from harm, the type of harm you would probably would have gotten if you threw yourself at someone else, saying 'What is your name?' 'I'll do anything to thank you!', and trying to kiss them. My pain was nothing that I could not put aside for half an hour. You can thank Emma, the desperate young woman who had lived in the same building as I, for that.'
I didn't try to help Emma when she needed it. Instead, I witnessed the slow process of stress and anxiety from not having enough money to pay her rent, turn into desperation that led to her becoming a prostitute, because she didn't know how to spell out to me that she needed help. Emma was a lovely woman, kind and intelligent. I really enjoyed her company. Her parents had thrown her out. She had nowhere to turn, money had dried up for her. I had money but I have detached emotions too.
'You, Rochelle, might have woken up regretting the night before, in someone else's bed, if I hadn't managed to get you home. On the other hand, you may have woken smiling, and looked at a fine, young and generous new boyfriend. I wasn't worried about that, though, not one tiny bit.'
This is about seeing ourselves as we truly are, 'warts 'n' all', wanting to not be that way, and learning from our mistakes.