Lexy escaped her office on the twenty-first floor and quickly locked its heavy oak door. She raced to the elevator, but it had just headed to main floor without her. Staring at her watch, she cursed the telephone call that had kept her past quitting time and—even more so—the day that had introduced her to devastating news.

After pounding the down button several times, she at last entered the pine-scented elevator. Who’s idea was that awful air freshener anyway? With growing frustration, she watched the minute hand of her Timex turn several times as the elevator made its way down, stopping an unbelievable sixteen times before settling on the main floor.

Pushing through a crowd of harried colleagues, all eager to get home, she heard the raspy voice of her assistant Nancy, “Hey, Lex - heard the news about your tests. I just can’t get over the shock. Twenty-eight.” She shook her brown mop of curls. “Twenty-eight, Lex, you’re way too young to have cancer.”

“Gotta catch the bus.” Lexy shrugged her off, not wanting to talk about the worst day of her life. “I’m already late - stuck on the phone. Catch you later.”

High heels rapidly clicked their way to the bus stop just as the bus pulled away and turned the corner. In a torrent, tears attacked carefully applied layers of makeup. Lexy fell onto the bench to wait for the next bus: it would be at least fifteen minutes. Searching her purse, she roused a crumpled tissue and pocket mirror and began to dab at her tear-stained skin.

As a soft wind danced through her long blond hair, it brought with it a stench not unlike the trashcan beneath her sink. (She had been meaning to empty it for two days. It wasn’t easy to keep it all together since her husband left her for that stupid redhead two weeks ago.)

Then she saw him: the man with the overflowing beard and thinning backpack, making his way to the bench. Holes laced his faded khakis; sweat and grime caked his white undershirt. When would this day end? Now she was sitting beside a repulsive man without a home, a man who was about to beg this classy chick with laptop, cell phone, and designer clothes for a slice of her paycheck.

While dreading the next twelve-point-five minutes, Lexy heard—and saw—the well-worn cliché pass his chapped lips, red from the sun and wind.

“A penny for your thoughts,” the man almost whispered as he set a coin between them. There was something in his voice that was almost gentle, almost—well—warm.

Confused by a stereotype gone bad, Lexy stared. What on earth did this man want? Oh, of course it was cash. The begging speech would start any minute. The guilt trip. The “I have nothing, so feel sorry for me” plea. But it was different. Something was different. No… they were all the same. Homeless, can’t take care of themselves, but think that they have the world’s solution in their hands. What did he know?

“A penny for your thoughts,” he repeated, pushing the coin closer to a tear-stained, wind-swept, on-the-edge-of-despair woman who was quickly losing her grip on life.

Still staring, Lexy let down her guard—a little. “I just had a bad day, okay. That’s all. I’ll be fine.”

“Didn’t ask if you’d be fine, Miss. Just wanted to know your thoughts. Seems like there’s a storm brewing in that head o’ yours.”

Lexy sighed. What difference would it make? Vent a little. It might do her some good. “Everything’s wrong, okay? You wouldn’t understand. My husband left me. I just found out I have cancer. A client kept me late, a stupid client who likes to make everything difficult. Then, the elevator—of all days—the stupid elevator took forever, and I missed my bus. And I have enough to do tonight without losing fifteen minutes. I’ve just had a bad day. Forget it.”

“I’m really sorry...” the chapped lips started.

“Yah, well, forget it.” Lexy glanced at her watch again. Seven minutes to go.

After a long pause, the lips continued, “Miss, if you don’t mind… I mean, maybe I just don’t understand. But I—I look at people like you and I think, man, they got everything—great clothes, computer, phone, money to take a bus…and me, I got nothing…”

“Great, here comes the ‘give me money’ spiel…” Lexy murmured.

“…and I get real mad. But, you know, you people get real mad when you see me too. A lazy bum. Can’t get his own life together. Get a job, mister. Get off the crack. But, I ain’t on no crack. I just didn’t get no great chances like you.”

Lexy stared, eyes squinting, jaw dropped. Who the heck was this man anyway? What right did he have to… She looked away. Forget him. Only three more minutes. Just look at the clock and count down three more minutes; then the bus will come.

“I don’t even know my own parents. They threw me to the streets when I was a kid. Miss, I feel real bad for you. I do. But I learned that life is about taking chances. It’s about making the most of what you have even if it’s a load o’ crap. I ain’t stayin’ on this street forever. I’m gonna go make me a name. And I’m gonna do whatever it takes to get there.

“You got a rough life right now, and I bet you thinkin’ that you been wrong—money ain’t everythin’. Well, I tell you, money ain’t nothing. It’s the moments. You make the moments. You keep the moments.”

As he talked, Lexy looked up from the Timex and glanced around. There was a woman holding a toddler’s hand. A young man rubbing the chin of a tiny dog. Little yellow flowers sprouting between cracks in the pavement. Things she had never noticed before.

Homeless man stopped and nodded ahead, “That your bus, Miss?”

Stammering, Lexy clutched her possessions, jumped to her heels, and climbed up the steps. At the top, she stopped and turned around, realizing that a homeless man had just rearranged her priorities. “What’s your name?” she called—to the empty bench. Then she saw him—the non-beggar—backpack slung over his shoulder, heading into the library to make something of himself.

In silence, Lexy fell into her bus seat. For years she had sliced her life into perfectly timed segments, counting down the time to the business meeting, the bus ride, the evening event. Every minute had been worth something, but it had always been about things and about stress.

She unclasped her watch and dropped it into her purse. Who cared what time it was? Life was no longer about counting down the minutes—it was all about making the moments count, about noticing the little things, about happiness and sheer contentment. Divorce and cancer treatments aside, there was a life to be lived. And, by gosh, Lexy was going to live it.

By Tammy Wood - Copyright Tammy Wood © 2004.