A friend had arranged an after-church brunch with her fiance so we could get to know him.  I said I’d go, then brought food in a tupperware, with plans to scarf it down beforehand and just order a coffee.

After church, I got into a great conversation with this cool guy who I rarely seem to talk to in person, but who always makes me laugh.  We talked about Montana, and my south-bound road trip fantasy, and living far from family. It was so enjoyable I forgot to eat my pre-brunch lunch, and they were all waiting for me to get a table, and there wasn’t time.

I opened the menu to see the only thing offered on Sundays was an $18.95 prix fixe, except for a few sides.

I about hyperventilated.  I can’t afford $18.95.  My best option is $2.50 plain bagel (I wasn’t going to splurge the extra $1.50 for cream cheese) but the truth is, I’m starving, because I didn’t eat my tupperware food, or get any sleep last night because I was (as a volunteer) putting on a concert. And I’m going to look so awkward eating a plain bagel while everyone else eats the multi-course prix fixe.

The guy next to me, a long time church friend, notices my apprehension and immediately offers to pay for my meal.

I immediately start crying.

I’m so embarrassed.  

So embarrassed that I don’t have $18.95, that I’m in this place where I don’t have any savings to live off while I find a new job, where my only income are the unemployment checks that have barely started to trickle in.  Embarrassed that no one wants me, that I have applied to dozens of jobs over the last year and not had a single interview. Embarrassed that going to brunch with friends is so stressful. Embarrassed that if I am going to eat lunch here, I have to accept his gift.  And embarrassed that I’m so fucking grateful that I’m crying in this restaurant because my friend is buying my lunch.

I didn’t know how much I’d come to associate value, worth, moral goodness with financial stability and success.  I am repulsed by that notion, but the truth is, now that I have no money, I’m ashamed of myself.  I feel like a failure, like I’ve blown something, done something fundamentally wrong, and I don’t want anyone to know how hard it is, because I don’t want anyone to see me the way I sometimes see myself. I have new empathy for people for whom this struggle is not new and temporary. I repent of my past sub-conscious judgments.

I dab at my eyes so the mascara doesn’t run and I try to make a joke but the truth is, I am grateful, I am so grateful that he perceived my apprehension and offered to treat me so casually, that he didn’t make a thing of it, that he meant it.  And I’m grateful that I get to eat eggs benedict and a beer and a coffee and a salad, and not a plain bagel, because this friend stepped in and didn’t make me feel like a failure, but just like a friend he could help out this time.

If you’re reading this, as you sometimes do, thank you. You gave me a lot more than a meal.