JOYce.

I was doing the same thing I did every day; absentmindedly, driving home for lunch after my morning work routine was finished. I was fortunate to work just a few miles from my home, when ahead of me on the shoulder, I noticed a small, African American woman, in a white dress, a tattered crocheted shawl covered her shoulders in an attempt to escape the unpredictable chill of the late October mountain winds in the lake communities. 

She wore a raggedy blue backpack secured across her hunched shoulders, while struggling to pull a set of unmatched, rolling suitcases, along the side of the gravel-side roadway. As I passed by, like so many other drivers, I watched her large bags collide and topple, nearly taking the woman with them.

I continued driving like so many others because I needed to get home, feed the cats, eat a late breakfast, and watch a bit of TV before heading back to work. I needed this break halfway through my day. Truth be told, I hated my job. I had Mercedes Benz owners complaining their HED headlights didn't seem even, or their heated seats needed adjusting before they headed to their winter resorts. You know, the bare necessities.

Without even thinking, I made a U-turn. I needed to be careful; this was rural New Jersey and I feared frighteningher. I slowed when I was close enough to realize the woman was once again struggling to upright her suitcases. As I pulled onto the gravel shoulder behind her, she looked up. Ant ounce of doubt in my decision was immediately gone. 

I was met with a beautiful smile of relief and gratitude. Without exiting my Jeep, I rolled down my passenger side window. Her kind eyes greeted mine. I asked her if she needed a ride and she said, "Yes, to Port Jervis or as far as I can get, my kind sir."

I paused but she didn’t notice. Port Jervis was about an hour round-trip and getting back to work caused me to vacillate. My hesitations were short-lived, when I saw her through my passenger-side mirror – that smile.

I hopped out and opened my trunk. When I lifted her first suitcase, I joked, "What do you have rocks in here?" She let out a laugh so infectious it will stay with me forever. Beautiful as it was, the sad truth was in the next thing she said.

"These is all my earthly possessions, sweet man. Keepsakes, photos, everything, is in these three bags."

I realized this woman was homeless, only managing to let out an "oh". I continued loading her belongings into my trunk. She smiled, oblivious to the lump in my throat. Joyce went to climb in the back-seat but I opened the passenger door and bowed like a chauffeur. She obliged and although I saw her falter, she called me silly, shegiggled.

We drove.

"So, Joyce, what's your story?"

She went on to tell me she was on her way to a loved one's funeral. The church, her Lord gathered $50 and she’s use it as far as her legs would take her. I asked about her family. No family, just distant folk, husband died in Vietnam at 20.”Bless his soul” was all she said on that matter. 

Then, she asked about me. I told her I was a single guy in my thirties with a decent job. I was happy because to feel any different was to be a spoiled brat. No clue what my answer would’ve been ten minutes before I met Joyce.

Together, we admired the last remnants of fall and the harsh debut of winter. We talked about our love of reading and writing, and how we didn't care much for arithmetic and what was a 401k anyway? We bemoaned paying taxes for the numerous construction workers we observed leaning on shovels. I didn't think about my job or my beloved cats or even my sweetheart. If I'd ever lived in the moment – it was at that very moment.

We grew quiet for a spell, and I started to wonder. This woman, who had her life in three bags, was about to walk 30 miles to say goodbye to a dear friend. She still wore grace and dignity like a second skin. I wanted to ask her her secret. How she did it, got up every morning to so little with a smile? But how does one ask such a thing? Joyce was a strong and brave woman and I found myself envying her fortitude.

We finally made it to her stop: a bench in front of a library just a few miles from an old friend who worked at the library. Another sole in the chain willing to help, an old widower had agreed to let Joyce stay a spell with him. Maybe a romance, I wanted to dream. For Joyce. For me…

Once I’d removed her bags from my car, I already missed this woman. At the curbside, I instinctively reached into my wallet, handing her $35., which was all I had. She looked at me as her rich, watery brown eyes betrayed her when a lone tear ran down her cheek. Refusing to brush it away, she reached out to shake my hand, a gesture of gratitude. 

Instead, I felt compelled to embrace her. As we hugged, I whispered in her ear, "Thank you."

I left Joyce on the bench that day, surrounded by everything she owned in the world, and she seemed content to just be, just live. I slowly drove off and she waved, wearing that same contagious smile from ear to ear. Joyce possessed a shining in her eyes that I envied but I knew was only hard-earned. 

On my journey back, I heard myself say, “I may be fired, Joyce. But, I don’t care. I learned a lesson in gratitude this afternoon, even the highest paying job couldn’t teach me. You are beautiful, and the world needs more people like you.”

Back on the job, no one seemed to care I was missing over an hour. I kept the story of my little adventure to myself, even when a coworker asked what I was so happy about. This was mine to hold onto. Inspired I returned to work.

“Yo, Ry, some guy’s wiper-blade is slightly bent in his $100,000 G-wagon and it smudges when it rains.

“I got it.” I replied; laughing on the inside at how absurd that sounded after what had just happened. I know had the Joyce smile forever imbedded in my daily world. I’ll always be grateful for those moments I spent with her, however fleeting it was. Thank you, Joyce!