A Scoop of Magic

She can't be serious.

Carla was not sure what her face looked like at the moment, but doubt and disbelief had to be present. She blinked at the other woman—at least, she figured she was a she. It was hard to tell sometimes, especially this late at night—on​ a back street that was lit by a single flashing bulb. 

Maybe she's nuts or just looking for a way to entertain herself.

Carla narrowed her eyes at the woman's lanky frame. The heavy overcoat she wore was several sizes too big, her wrist small enough that Carla was sure the fingers of her hand could encircle it without trouble. The ripped jeans that hung from the woman's flat hips were held in place by a frayed leather belt and a knit cap covered most of her stringy dark locks.

She looks like she just crawled out of a dumpster. Although if I'm being honest with myself, I probably look that way too. I probably smell that way. 

They all did. Everyone that crowded beneath the multi-lane overpass and huddled around the metal trash cans eventually shared the same look and odor. It didn't matter where you started or who you were before. At some point everyone began to look, smell, and even think the same about the basic routine of life. And this woman was no exception—except that she said she had a "gift." A magical gift was what she had said.

Actually, she said she had a magical gift to give me—​which is ridiculous. 

Carla stared at the other woman. Sure, it would be nice to think of this stranger as a fairy godmother sent from on-high to pull her from her life of wondering the streets, but that was not what this was. This was someone confused and lost just trying to find—or create—some hope for herself and someone else. Which was nice, except that was not real life. Real life did not include fairy godmothers.​

Real life takes all it can from you then spits you back out and laughs. It was how she had gotten here—Life—and all the wonderful mistakes that came along with it.​

Carla chewed her lower lip, debating how long to humor the poor thing or if she should just rip the adhesive off as quick as she could. Sometimes the truth sucked, but sometimes—okay, most of the time—it was still the best option.

"Listen," she began as she rubbed the back of her neck. The woman's dark eyes were barely visible in the dim light. "I don't mean to be rude, but..."

"You don't believe me."

"Uh, no, not really." Her hand fell to her side. "Look, I think it's great that you're trying to be nice and bring a little and light and life to this place, but I don't really want anything magical right now, so maybe you should give it to someone else." 

Actually, now that I think of it, you're probably on something magical, which means there are a few reasons why I shouldn't take it and you shouldn't share it. I mean you don't really seem high, but... 

"Uh, you know," she said as she scanned the woman's shadowed face and skin. "Maybe you should tell me about this gift you have. I mean, I'm not saying I want it—or will even take it—but maybe I should hear about it."

The woman shifted on her feet, her hands coming from her pockets empty. "What do you want to know?"

"Well, you said you had a gift for me."

"I said I have a gift to give you."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

The woman shook her head. "I can gift you something magical," she clarified, "but as to what it is, well, that will depend on you." 

Huh? Carla folded her arms and scrunched her nose. Am I talking circles or is she? Maybe she really is on something.

"What do you have that's valuable to you?" the woman asked.

"Excuse me?"

"What do you have that's worth something to you? It could physical or emotional. It just has to mean something to you."

Well, that's easy to answer, Carla mused, Nothing. I have absolutely nothing of value. I mean I'm pretty fond of the clothes I have on and tarp I sleep under. And I really like the lantern I found, except that the batteries are dead and it no longer works. Heck, I even like the pillow case I stuffed with old towels. But valuable?​ Really worth something to me? 

Hang on, am I seriously going to consider her question? 

Carla pressed her lips together. The other woman remained silent—patient—as if she could hear all the mental chatter taking place. Even though she could not identify all of the woman's facial features, Carla had the distinct impression that the woman's eyes were on her and no one else. It was like they had stepped into a secure room and were separated from all else by a barrier.

She shoved her hands in the pockets of her overcoat, trying not to let the unseen stare bother her. Two pairs of gloves were shoved into each outer pocket along with a stick of gum. Her inner pockets contained a box of matches, a lighter, a few half-dead pens and a... 

Carla padded the side of her coat, feeling something firm bounce against her chest. She open her coat and fished around until she grasped the metal object. It was her spoon.

She stared at the worn surface; its shine too dull to catch in the light. The pattern on the handle had long ago disappeared and scratches marred its once smooth surface. But it was still functional and it was hers.

Her eyes moved to the woman's. I don't want to lose my spoon, but... 

"That's nice," the woman said. "And that'll work if you want to give it up."

"No," Carla said with emphasis, "I don't want to give it up. It's my spoon and has been my spoon for a long time. How else am I supposed to eat anything? Use my ever-dirty hands?"

The woman shrugged. "I won't take it from you. It's only if you want to give it up."

"I thought you were supposed to be giving me something."

"If you are willing to give up first."

Carla huffed. "I don't remember that being a part of your introduction." She pressed her lips into a thin line as her fingers twirled the utensil. Deep down she knew she was being silly. The woman was probably just trying to talk her way into getting things from other people without having to go look for them. Watch, she won't even have magical powers. 

Carla shook her head. What am I thinking? There are no magical powers—none. ​It's just not possible. 

"Could I see that?"

Carla's fingers curled around the handle that was warming within her grip. "Why does it have to be my spoon? Can't it be something else?"

"Only if it's as valuable to you. Otherwise it won't work."

Of course.

"I can offer my gift to someone else."

Yeah, maybe you should do that. Go bother someone else and leave me alone.

As if she had said the words out loud, the woman turned and walked away.

"Wait," Carla called as she trailed after her. "I said, wait!" She grabbed the woman by the arm and spun her around. In the lamplight Carla caught a glimpse of a worn but kind face. Then the woman turned until her face was once more in shadow. 

"Here." Carla handed her the spoon. "Do whatever you need to."

The woman held the spoon as if it would break, her fingers sliding along its surfaces as if mapping each curve. 

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"No, but I guess if you have to give me something and I have to give you something to get it then... then I guess you can take it." Carla shoved her fists into her pockets. I hope I'm not making a mistake. It'll take a while before I find another one like that. She waited as the woman ran her fingers over the bowled end once more then held it out.

Carla stared at it. "Don't you need it for whatever you're going to do?"

"It's done. And now I return it to you."

"Okay?" She took the spoon. Now what?

"Perhaps you should ask this gentleman to share his meal." The woman waved at a man walking by them. His head was down and shoulders hunched. A knit cap covered his matted hair and shaded his eyes. In his hands was clasped a steaming mug that smelled of beef and potatoes.

Carla's mouth watered, but she knew who this was and he was not one to share anything.

"Yeah," she said shaking her head, "I don't think that's a good idea. He's really not the nicest person around."

The woman seemed not to hear for she was already on her way to man's side. "Excuse me, sir?"

Oh, she's going to get herself killed. Carla caught up to her as the man turned around. 

"Would you be kind enough to share some of your stew?" the woman asked. Her tone was pleasant—and she appeared harmless—but Carla felt her shoulders rise as the man glanced between them. Please, don't make a scene. Please, don't make a scene.

"You know, you can get your own," the man began. He gestured with his chin back the way he came. "The kitchen was still open when I left."

Carla bit her lip. I am totally missing the free food! She glanced behind her at the dark underpass. Across the street and down the next block was a church that held a weekly soup kitchen. It'll be gone by the time I get there. Her eyes returned to the man. And he probably knows that. 

The woman did not avert her gaze. "But by the time we get there," she said softly, "there won't be any left. Couldn't you just spare a bite or two? 

Carla felt her mouth go dry as they waited for the man's response. There really was no need for him to share anything. Out here, everyone had to look out for themselves.

The man's eyes moved from Carla before they returned to the woman. "Sure, why not. Just don't take too much."

"Seriously?" Carla forced her mouth to close.

The man's gaze held no mirth or amusement, but there was no anger or resentment either. It was just the man and for the first time Carla viewed him that way—not as another unfortunate just trying to get by—but as a person with his own history and story.

Without question, the woman snagged Carla's spoon and took a scoop from the mug the man held out. 

"Mmmm, that's good," she said with satisfaction.

"Yeah," the man agreed. "Go on and take another bite."

Again, Carla felt her jaw loosen. There's no way this is the same person that got in my face for crossing his unmarked property line.

The woman handed Carla the spoon. "That sure is good," she said.

The man eyed the cup full of warm stew. "You barely took anything." He held the mug out to Carla. "Go ahead."

Carla nodded her thanks and took a spoonful from the cup. It was warm and savory and made her belly long for more. "Mmmm." It was good.

"Take another scoop," the man said after she swallowed.

"Really?"

He nodded and Carla reached for a second and then—at his prompting—third and fourth bite. The broth made her throat warm and she closed her eyes with satisfaction.

"Hey, what are the two of you trying to pull here?" 

Uh-oh. Carla's eyes opened. And here I thought we were starting to get along.

The man stared at his mug of stew then tipped it toward her.

Carla blinked at it, but no words came to her, for it was still as full as when he had first walked by. That's not possible. We had to have eaten over half of the cup and yet it's still full. Her eyes darted to the other woman.

"Thank you for sharing with us," the woman said then spun on her heels and left.

Carla gaped. "Uh, yeah." She stole a glance at the man. "Ditto." She turned and followed the departing form. 

"Hey," she said as she caught the woman's arm. "Did you do that? I mean, did you make that happen or did you do something to my spoon so that would happen?"

The woman's smile was half-hidden in shadow. "You gave so I could give. Now your spoon will not take what it is given to it."

"Wow... wait... so does that mean I can use it again?"

The woman nodded. "And again, and again, and again."

"So, just to clarify. As long as something is given to me, I can eat as much as I want and it won't actually take any from the one offering it?"

Again, the woman nodded. "Just be sure to share what you have been given. The worst thing you can do is horde something you are meant to share."

Carla gazed at the spoon she held with awe. The once normal object that had been her means to feed herself, had now become something that would feed her.

I'll never go hungry again. As long as someone gives me something to eat there will always be food to go around. I could even use it to feed others. It might even be able to be used as a serving spoon so that even more could be fed.

Carla's head swam with ideas as she raised her focus—but the woman was gone. As oddly as she had shown up, she had left.

Behind her was her gift—a magical gift—that could be used to change many lives, including her own.