The Gift

The cold December wind bit straight through Maggie's coat as she staggered down the narrow, muddy street. Her long black hair tangled around her face, hopelessly in knots. Cold sleet poured down her neck and back, somehow finding its way through her coat and sweater and tank top. Her flimsy boots had long ago succumbed to the mud and slush that engulfed them and her feet had gone numb with the unrelenting wet and cold.
"I can't go on like this forever, " she whispered to herself, tears burning her ice cold cheeks, "I don't see why no one will lend me anything. I'll pay it back some day, of course I will..." Her voice trailed off. How many times had she made that promise? How many times had she kept it? How much money can an inner-city maid really make? Not any inner-city maid, the well-off kind who do secretary and nanny work as well, but a floor-scrubber and window-washer for a family of twelve skinny, underfed kids who had lost their parents years ago and weren't really any better off than she herself?
Why wouldn't anyone hire her? Bitter tears stung her eyes as she stared at her hardened muscles and strong feet. Just because she hadn't finished high school didn't mean she wasn't fit for real work. All her poorer friends had found it. Amy was a hostess at the Black Dragon Inn. Beth was a janitor at the rich old church uptown. Ken was a valet at the hotel. Melissa was a waitress. But no one would have Maggie.
"I'm sorry , Ma'am, there aren't any openings now." It was the inevitable response every time Maggie applied for a job.She'd gotten used to it. Her maid job gave her enough money to keep three meals a day in her stomach. But it didn't sove the rent.
Even in the sorry place she stayed, rent was steep. She had watched her savings dwindle to nothing in the past two years. She'd taken out a loan with promises to pay back every penny plus interest, sure she'd find a good job, but ended up pawning her watch . Then her necklace and earrings. Then her sixteenth birthday ring that was her most cherished possession. Then she sold them all.
That didn't take care of the rent either. And no one would loan her anything now.
The chill wind was abruptly cut off as the door to the bank closed behind her. She stamped her wet feet on the doormat.
"Can I help you, Ma'am?" Maggie looked up at the soft voice. A spotlessly beautiful, spotlessly clean woman was behind the counter, her pink polished nails taping absentmindedly on a small pocket calculator. Her shiny blond hair rippled down her back, ending in a perfect curl. She wore a cashmere sweater and high heeled shoes. Silver earrings twinkled in her ears and pale purple eye shadow highlighted her deep blue eyes. Maggie bit her lip, embarrassed of the sharp contrast between her adn the rich and flawless woman before her.
"Yes, I'd like to take out a loan," Maggie blurted out.
"One moment, please," the woman answered coolly, and her high heels tapped and echoed as she walked into an adjoining room. Maggie hurd the low murmurs of voices as the woman consulted her boss.The door opened and a rich-looking man entered.
"You're Maggie Hawkins, aren't you?' his voice was brusque and businesslike and his staring eyes made Maggie flinch. She nodded, her heart sinking.
"I'm sorry to say no, Ma'am, but you see, when we loan money, we expect it back by the deadline," the cool sarcasm in his voice angered Maggie.
"Sir!" she exclaimed, "I do all I can! I don't sit around reading the fashion magazines and playing solitaire all day! I'm a working woman and I work a lot harder than most women do!"
" It's evident you work, " the banker returned, "But loans are loans, not gifts. If you want a gift, why don't you hang out a stocking and talk to Santa Claus about it?"
"I want a loan!" Maggie shrieked. "Please! I know I look ugly and skinny and like I don't have potential, but I do! If only I'd be given a decent chance! And as for Santa Claus and stockings, I'm surprised anyone still believes in Christmas if they're all as cold-hearted as you!" her words broke off into a stifled sob. Behind the banker, the cool young secretary applied lipstick passively.
The door slammed behind Maggie as she rushed sobbing onto the icy street again. Why was everyone so cruel? Didn't they realize that without money she'd be sleeping out here? And why must they taunt her with sarcasm adn the like when she'd tried her hardest to get a decent job? She'd tried bank after bank after bank, and even ordinary people, and obviously, her name had got around and word had circulated that Maggie Hawkins couldn't pay her bills. She'd tried the last bank in town. Beyond that, there was nothing. She staggered back to her apartment in the slum-like complex that had been optimistically named "Lakeside Gardens Estates." Estates of one room and one poorly-plumbed bathroom, in gardens of dead rye grass and weeds, next to a sewer that might once have been a lake. But even these fifth rate rooms were too high for Maggie's budget.
Wearily, she switched on the light that dangled precariously form the ceiling and rummaged in her cupboard to find something to eat. Pulling out a loaf of bread and some leftover pinto beans, she stuck her small lunch into the microwave adn sat down at the table. Why was life so horribly hard for her, when she worked so hard for it, when pink-nailed secretaries took it easy without doing anything?
The blaring beep of the ancient 1960's microwave jerked her out of her thoughts of despair. She sat down again, playing half-heartedly with her meal.Only when the meal was cleared away did she notice the envelope.
Curiosity got the better of her gloom, and she reached for the white , crisp envelope on her countertop. Tearing it open, she pulled out the folded paper inside and read:
Maggie Hawkins-
I understand you have been looking for a job. There is an opening in my store, Grant's Groceries on Main Street, as a cashier and maid and odd-jobs worker. Meet me tomorrow at ten if you are interested.
Interested? She was desperate! Of course she'd meet him! But how on earth did he know?
A small slip of paper fluttered out of the envelope. Maggie gasped when she saw the check-for this month's rent and next month's with some left over. Attached to the check was a yellow post-it note on which was written the words:"P.S. It's a gift." Sobbing with happiness now, Maggie pressed it to her heart.
Apparently some people did believe in Christmas after all.