We sat in her living room sipping coffee that she had put on just before leaving to pick me up. I shared with her the fact that I had been working in Batavia and needed to find a place to live. I danced around the fact that I didn’t have a place because I had been sitting in jail for four months. She didn’t pry or ask for details. I told her that I was waiting for a paycheck and until I got one, I couldn’t begin to pay rent. I offered to continue staying at my friend’s house until I got paid.

“Don’t you want to see the room?”

“I don’t really need to, but sure.”

We walked upstairs to a room that was currently being used for storage. There was a pullout couch, a dresser and several boxes.

“My son often stores things in here. He comes home from college for the holidays and my daughter and her husband come once or twice a year. This is actually an apartment up here, but the kitchen is old and jammed with years of accumulation.”

I looked down the hall toward the kitchen. She was right. It was filled floor to ceiling and all the way to the door with stuff!

“How much do you want per week?” I asked. “I’ll save up a couple of weeks in advance and call you when I’m ready to move in.”

“If you can clean up this room and move everything but the furniture, which will be yours to use, to the attic, I’ll call that rent for the week and you can move in anytime.”

I couldn’t believe it. Is this woman really this nice? She has no idea that I just got out of jail, had a significant drug habit at one time and could be a thief or worse. Is she nuts?

“I’ll have to get my things.”

“Is there a lot? If it can all fit in the car we could go right now.”

“It will fit.”

We arrived back at my friend’s house. Once inside, I wrote a quick note and left it on the counter telling them that I had found a place to stay and that I would call later with the details. I gathered my things into one plastic shopping bag and headed back out to the car.

“That’s it?!” She said. Then seeing my face sink as my dignity took its daily hit, she said with a smile, “Gandhi traveled light and changed the world I think. Ok, let’s get you home.”

I settled in and Joanne and I got along fine. I was busy between my factory job, reporting to probation 3 times per week and spending 2 evenings a week at my required outpatient drug rehab … all on foot. Joanne would comment that I was always off doing something and I had such nagging guilt that she had no idea really who she had living in her house. I wondered if she’d throw me out if she knew.

My temporary job ended and the agency didn’t have another one for me yet. I wouldn’t be able to pay my rent. I couldn’t ask Joanne for any more generosity, especially since I had not ever told her about my situation. Now was the time to just throw it all out there and move on. Sick to my stomach I went down the stairs to the living room where she was sitting and asked if we could talk. She invited me to sit down and I “spilled it.”

“Joanne, you’ve been so nice and I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you, but my job ended and I’m going to have to leave because I can’t pay you.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but I stopped her. “There’s more,” I said.

“I’m not working as a hairstylist anymore because my license was revoked. My license was revoked because I was convicted on a felony narcotics charge and my life is in such disarray right now because I just got out of jail. I’m so sorry that I didn’t tell you this at the start, but how do you tell someone something like this? I needed a place to live so I could get my life back on track and I didn’t think you would have me here if you knew. You’ve been so nice and I felt so guilty … I guess my guilt is bigger than my fear at this point.” It all came rolling out and Joanne listened patiently. I expected that I’d be packing my things. I expected that she would be angry. It seemed like the silence lasted forever when I finally finished.

“Oh my,” she said. “You do have a mess on your hands. I guess we’ll start by finding a way to get your cosmetology license back. I personally think that you should go to college.”

What?! College! Did she hear anything I said? Does she drink? Maybe that’s what it is.

“Joanne, I’ve just been laid off. I can’t pay you.”

“Oh, that. Tell you what,” she said. “I have a bunch of things to be done around here. I can’t do it and I’ll have to pay someone. Interested?”

For the next couple of months I paid my rent by washing windows, doing yard work among a host of other things. Joanne was constantly “hiring” me to do this or that and it all just happened to be worth exactly what I was paying in rent. During that time, we wrote letters to the State and eventually, my license was reinstated. I was ecstatic and couldn’t wait to be working again at a job that I liked. Then I sunk a little.

I didn’t have any clothes other than the “factory attire” that wasn’t exactly what I’d want to wear to an interview. I didn’t mention this to Joanne, but she mentioned it to me.

“You need some interview clothes.”

I was grateful as I thought she had another household job for me.
“Do you have a driver’s license?”

“I do.”

“Good. Here are my car keys and my credit card. Go and get yourself a couple of outfits.”

She handed the keys and the credit card to me. I was speechless. Finally, I resisted, but that was useless. Off I went, driving like a 90 year old because I was so afraid that I’d damage her car. In the store, I searched for sales and clearance to keep the cost down and left with two outfits that could be four with some mixing and matching. Why is she doing all of this? It was my almost daily question.

I got a job as a hairstylist and thought that I was finally putting my life together. To me, I was there and felt that I would be content now. I was paying my rent and even catching up on my old bills. Joanne had other ideas. She brought up the subject of college so much that I began avoiding her. She was persistent and finally I registered for some classes. Eventually, I got my own apartment close by and moved out of her house. I felt good about it and was proud to invite her to dinner for a change. Every step of the way, she pushed me, encouraged me and supported me.

I graduated from nursing school a couple of years later and I’ve been a nurse since. Getting a nursing license with a narcotics felony was another story in itself, but I got it. That was almost 10 years ago. It’s all behind me now, but Joanne is still there. She retired from teaching and now has grandchildren who keep her busy. I continued in school and eventually bought a house. We’re always in touch though distantly as we’re both busy. I think of her at some point almost every day.

I later asked Joanne why she had done so much for me. She reminded me of that first phone call. “Something just told me to help you. I had no idea what was in store, but something told me. I think it was an angel.”

She believed in me. For the sake of just being nice and giving someone a chance, Joanne walked with me until we found the door that would lead back to life again. I often wonder what my life would have been like if it weren’t for the lady at the factory, my friend and her parents, Barb at her clothing store. Where would my life be if not for Joanne?

For all of this kindness, a mark of love has been left on my soul forever.