The young woman was sitting in the waiting room, a stack of files on her lap. She was going over them with a fine-tooth comb and occasionally checking the clock to see how much time had passed since she'd arrived at work that morning.
She looked up as he entered the office. "Hi," she said. "I didn't know you were coming."
"Just got here myself." He pulled out a chair across from hers and sat down, taking a seat. "How's it going?"
"Not bad. I'm almost finished with this pile here."
He took one of the folders off her stack and flipped through it. It was filled with notes and pictures.
"What are these?" he asked.
"A lot of requests for help," she replied. "People who've been hurt or abused by their partners, mostly.
And some people just looking for someone they can trust to talk to about what's happening in their life."
Source
He nodded thoughtfully and then looked back at the file. "So how long have you been doing this job?"
"About six months now."
"And do you like it? This helping people thing?"
"It's okay... I mean, I guess." The girl sighed and leaned forward. "But sometimes it's hard to tell if anyone needs my help when they come in here. Sometimes people just want someone to listen. To understand where they're coming from."
"Maybe so," he said. "Or maybe there's something else behind it all."
She cocked an eyebrow. "You think that's why they come here?"
"I don't know. But I've seen plenty of people come into this building who seem perfectly happy with what they've got."
She snorted. "Yeah, right. You haven't met enough assholes yet, have you?"
"No, no. You've got me wrong."
"Well, whatever. Just try not to get your hopes up too high. Most of these people aren't really in any sort of trouble. They just want to complain about their lives. Sooner or later, they'll realize nobody cares. Then they'll leave."
"And then what happens?"
"Then we have to start all over again, trying to find more people who need our help."
"Are you sure about this?" he asked. "This is kind of a big step."
She shrugged. "I'm only doing it because my dad wants me to. I don't even want to be here."
"Why not?"
She made a face. "I guess I just don't feel like I belong here."
"That's understandable."
"I mean, sure, I've always wanted to help people. It's just that I never really felt like I could make a difference. Now I'm working here, though, and I still don't know how much I can do. Maybe I should have gotten another job instead. One where I wouldn't have to deal with all these people who don't care about anything."
His words hung in the air between them like clouds drifting past. The girl stared at him, her eyes wide. For a moment, she looked like she might cry. But then she shook her head and smiled.
"Don't worry," she said. "It's nothing that can't be fixed. We just need to go out and find more people who do care about things. Then we can save the world—one person at a time!"
