“A work visa that allows you to legally stay here in Canada,” she answered. “The wage isn’t much; I can’t afford to pay anyone more than the standard hourly wage. But the sponsorship will allow you to save your wages and apply for an apartment. Without a work visa, many landlords won’t rent to immigrants.”
“That’s very generous of you,” Michael said. There was a suspicious discernment behind the surface level of appreciation that he was showing. “Why would you want to offer us a sponsorship though? Surely, there are Canadian citizens who need jobs too and would be able to come and work for your shelter.”
“True,” she said thoughtfully. “I’m sure there are. But I am kind of an ‘in the moment’ girl. If I see people that need help, then that is my focus for the moment. Right now, it looks like you three could use some help. Like I said, I can’t offer you much, but I think I can offer you what you need to get by and to get a residence here. I won’t force you. It’s simply an offer of help if you’d like to take it.”
I saw Adam look around the train station at his murals on the wall. His mouth frowned but I didn’t think it had anything to do with leaving the train station. I was betting that it had to do with the thought of being sent back to America and being once again resigned to a life of running, hiding, and looking over our shoulders. He just wanted to make art and live peacefully. I could tell. I wanted to live peacefully too, and I didn’t want to have to leave Canada.
“I think it sounds like a good arrangement,” Michael said as he turned to look at Adam and I and seek our approval before accepting the woman’s offer. “But I’m not going to do anything that the two of you are uncomfortable with.”
“Sounds good to me,” Adam said. “I’d like to have an apartment here and be legal.”
“Me too,” I said. “I’m comfortable with whatever is going to allow us to stay here in Canada without the fear of being sent back.”
“Looks like it’s settled then,” Michael said, turning back to face the woman. “We accept.”
As we walked back with the woman toward the shelter, carrying the few belongings that we wanted to keep, I couldn’t help but think about how much she reminded me of my mother. Not just because of her work at the shelter, or her obvious inclination to helping people, but there was also just something about the way that she spoke with such patience and kindness, and the way that she carried herself with such purpose, that reminded me of my own mom. Maybe that was why I was able to trust her even a little bit after having been screwed over by so many people in the past.
When we arrived at the shelter that she owned, it was simple and quaint, but also had a minimalist charm about it. There was just the right amount of everything in each room, no clutter, and the space was used effectively enough to make it not seem at all crowded even though I could see at least a dozen other people here.
“I’ll look to make sure I have two rooms for you,” she said as she started to walk toward one of the hallways. “You two guys won’t mind sharing a room, will you?”
“Actually,” I said. “Just one room please. We’ll all share.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Positive.”
“Okay,” she smiled at me. “Whatever makes you feel most comfortable while you’re here.”
She led us to a bedroom at the end of the hall and we followed her inside.
“There’s a closet for your things, and extra blankets are on the top shelf inside. There’s a bathroom at the end of the hall, and the kitchen and common area are in the other direction from where we came in. If you need toiletries, medicines, and changes of clothes, you’ll find them in the armoire just across the hall. Food and drinks are in the kitchen, so help yourself.”
“What jobs do you want us to do here?” Adam asked.
“What can you do?”
“Well, I can paint. I was doing mural paintings for money on the streets,” Adam answered. “I’m not sure if you really have a need for that, but I can do regular painting too, if you need the walls or exterior painted.”
“That sounds so boring after I saw the beautiful mural at the train station,” she smiled. “Did you paint that?”
Adam nodded. “Yeah.”
“Well then I would love it if you could create some pieces of beauty on the walls here please.”
“Which walls?” he asked.
“All of them.”
Adam’s eyes lit up when he thought about being able to make a legitimate living off his painting skills.
“And what about you?” she asked as she turned to Michael. “Do you have a special talent too?”
“No,” he chuckled as he shook his head. “I’ve just been tutoring college kids in English since we got here.”
“A scholar?” she asked with heightened interest. “I know someone at the university that might be able to give you a full-time position down the road. For now, if you’d be interested, I know that a few of my clients here at the shelter could use some brushing up on their academic skills.”
“You’d pay me to do that?” he asked as if it surprised him.
“Of course.”
“What would you like to do?” she asked, looking straight at me.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “What other things do you need here?”
“Hmm,” she said as she put her finger to her chin and made a pensive face. “Well, there are a lot of children here at times. Many of my clients are working families that just can’t make enough to afford a stable place to live. The children that come here are frequently bored, and although their basic essential needs are getting met, the needs of their minds are not. It would be wonderful to have someone that could engage with them, show them things that are still yet beautiful in the world even though they may have already started to lose a little hope. I would do it myself, but I am already spread too thin with running the shelter and trying to make it out on outreach rounds. But you seem like you might have the perfect demeanor for it.”
“What kinds of things would you like me to do with the children?” I asked.
“Oh, anything that might pique their imagination and curiosity really. Things that might make them think and cultivate compassion. Maybe you could start a garden and show them how to take care of the flowers? Or play some boardgames or puzzles with them? Does any of that sound like something you could do?”
I found myself speechless as I looked back into the eyes of this stranger. This woman had found us, offered us the actual tools that we needed in order to build a life here, and was asking me to do the same things that I have loved to do since I was a child. It was almost as if it was too perfect, too specifically handcrafted for us.
“Yes,” I said, nearly tearing up at the prospect of finding a place like this. Here we were on the receiving end of something that we had tried to build back in Charlotte in my mother’s memory. Man, how the tables have turned.
16
