In one case I had a long talk over coffee in a small diner with a fifteen-year-old who was sold by her mother to a pimp when she was four.
That was the only life she’d ever known, but she started reading books on her phone and she discovered that there was something else that she could do with her life.
She was saving up money and getting through the hard days without drugs all in an effort to start a new life.
Streetwalkers are of course very different from upscale escorts. I do a quick search on Google on my phone and find a few escort companies that are hiring.
Still, I hesitate.
The money isn't anywhere near enough, and to tell you the truth, I'm afraid. Who wouldn't be?
I have never been part of that life. Going to bars, picking up guys, and even meeting a stranger at Redemption is nothing like this.
This requires performance. This requires me to be at someone else's beck and call, rather than my own.
And at most, it will be five hundred dollars, maybe a thousand, both a very long distance away from seventy-five thousand.
I take a deep breath and dial the number for the Danick Clinic. After going through almost the entire menu, I am finally put through to an operator, a real live person.
The wind dies down and I huddle next to a wall to make sure that she can hear me as clearly as possible.
"Ma'am, I'm calling to talk to someone about my mother's case,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady even though I feel my eyes filling up with tears. “I'm in the process of coming up with the money. Her doctors have recommended her for it and she has been approved.”
I should probably be doing this in the car, or at least in a building, but I sometimes find it easier to make unpleasant calls while on a walk or occupying myself with something else so I can take my mind off the task at hand.
"What is your account number?” the woman asks. Her voice is quick and short but not entirely discourteous. I pull a paper out of my pocket and read it slowly. It's more than twelve numbers long.
“I was just wondering if there's a grant, or maybe some sort of financial aid that I can apply for,” I ask and hold my breath.
“Elizabeth Archer," she says. "Is that your mother's name?"
“Uh-huh,” I mumble.
“It seems like the whole bill has already been paid,” she says.
"What do you mean?” I ask after a moment of stunned silence.
"You paid the whole amount. There's no balance due. $250,000 was transferred, and we will be sending out the information about where to stay and all of the procedures very soon.”
I clear my throat, still not fully understanding or trusting that I have heard what she just said.
"Wait. I'm sorry. Did you say that the full amount for the treatment was already paid?"
"That's what I see here."
“Uh-huh.” I nod, wondering if it's some sort of glitch and I should just go ahead and pretend that I'm aware of it.
But my curiosity gets the best of me.
"Does it say who paid it?" I ask.
"No, it doesn't. Anonymous. But I guess it was paid by one of the feelers that you put out. You know, GoFundMe or local news. It is not that uncommon to receive these kinds of donations from wealthy individuals.”
I stand here in stunned silence.
“I actually have a number of people on the line, so do you have any other questions?" she asks, rushing me off.
”No, not at all."
"Okay. Check your email and all the information will be there soon."
Before I can say goodbye, she hangs up.
I stare at my phone and a breeze picks up, tossing my hair into my field of vision.
Paid?
How could the whole amount be paid?
By whom?
My mind goes in circles.
So, it's not a computer glitch, and it was definitely done by an anonymous gift.
But the thing is that I never went to the news or set up the GoFundMe page.
I was going to do that later on today after making this call.
I put the phone in my pocket and start putting one foot slowly in front of the other.
"Someone paid her whole bill," I say out loud, trying to convince myself that this is actually true. “Someone paid her whole bill.”
I pace around, staring at my phone, trying to convince myself whether I actually heard what I think I heard.
No more money owed?
Some sponsor had paid the whole bill? Why? Who would do this?
I try to think of everyone I know who has any money whatsoever, and no names come up.
I pace around, feeling nervous and suddenly consider the very real possibility that it might be a joke.
I check the phone number.
Yes, that's correct.
I call again and get the same menu. Before I get to the operator, I hang up. I don't know what to do now.
I decide to head back to the car to get my laptop. Mom is still at the clinic, and I always have my laptop with me in my bag in the car.
I need to find out what really happened. That couldn't have been a prank, but what other possible explanation is there?
Who even knows about the situation? I grab my phone and log into their laborious and complicated system.
It reminds me of the internet from twenty years ago when they probably had the site set up and haven't changed a thing.
Finally, after clicking on the desktop version and zooming in on pages and pages of text, I find the right place to click and scroll over to the financial information dropdown menu.
I click on the first tab, and that's where I see it.
Invoice paid.
Amount due: $0.00.
I stare at the number on the screen.
Someone has paid the entire amount. My mom can get treatment.
Tears start to roll down my cheeks as this thought finally registers in my head.
"What's wrong? What happened?" Mom asks, rushing into the car, after probably seeing me crying from across the parking lot.
"Nothing. I'm so happy. What did the doctor say?" I ask.
"No news. All the signs are the same. Stable. At least things aren't getting worse."
“No. No, they're not," I say, wiping my tears. "They're getting a lot better."
“How so?”
"The money that we owe the Danick Clinic, it has been paid."
"What are you talking about?" She sits up, turns her body toward me, grasping on to her purse like a woman riding on the bus.
"I just called. I was going to ask for an extension or some sort of financial aid application, but the woman on the other end told me that everything has been paid."
“No. How would that even be possible?” she asks.
"That's what I thought, so I checked." I show her my phone and she stares at the amount.
"This must be a mistake. I don't know who would have done this."
"She said an anonymous donor who didn't want to be identified."
"We can't accept this gift."
"Of course we can. It's already done."
"Well, what if there are some strings attached?"
"It doesn't matter. Your life is worth more. Besides, the donation was anonymous. It's not like I would ever know or you would ever know who it came from."
She shakes her head in disbelief and then swallows hard, as a big lump forms in the back of her throat.