Version 3

Walking up to the store was terrifying. I slowed my steps and tried to think of every sad thing I’d ever experienced to calm the jitters threatening to give me away. It was your average grocery store, the exit and entrance doors only separated by a few feet of concrete wall. There was just enough room for two garbage cans and one medium size girl, cross-legged with a cardboard sign and empty cool whip container for contributions.


The sign read “Hungry and Cold.” My object in this experiment was never to trick anyone, although I realized that would be necessary, but I would do my best not to lie. I’d always wondered about giving money to people begging. I mean, nobody wants to be a sucker. But nobody wants to be heartless either, or at least I don’t. So I decided to give begging a try.


The cement was colder than I had anticipated and I huddled in on myself to keep out the cold. I let my body hang and  pretended to sleep as I listened to each sound. In danger and darkness every rustle and every footfall are suspicious, representing some living thing that sees you, considers you, and then does something to you, whether to ignore, judge, pity or pardon. I've never felt so exposed in my whole life. I didn't dare lift my head, desperate not to make eye contact with a passerby.


I was wondering if I was going to get any contributions at all when I heard the first jangle of coins clash in the bottom of my plastic bowl. I whispered ‘thank you’, following the trail of my patron’s footsteps in my mind. It was no more than a dollar, but I felt a strange swelling of gratitude. As more people passed by I willed each to stop, pause, and make the same decision. I wanted them to recognize that I wasn't just another garbage can sitting there. I was alive. It wasn't money they were giving me, it was an acknowledgement that I mattered.


I felt someone shake me by the shoulder lightly and a jolt of fear ran through me. All I saw were her brown boots as she pressed a crumbled five-dollar bill into my palm with a warmth that made me genuinely want to cry.


Will I give in the future? Yes. Not because I can empathize now and not because I feel like the hard work of begging deserves it. I just can’t afford to forget that anyone is a human being. That would hurt me more than it could ever hurt them. I want to be the girl in the brown boots, no matter what a beggar chooses to do with that crumpled five.