Back when I was thin(ner) and beautiful, I worked as a Volunteer In Service to America (VISTA) worker in rural Oklahoma. This was an effort to pay back to my country the gift of a college education that was partially funded by Uncle Sam. I was there for almost two years, and to say that it was the greatest personal growth experience besides having children would be a shameful understatement.

I was assigned a small town in Lincoln County which had a large poverty population. My job originally was to coordinate needs with the available resources. It came to be a far bigger challenge than just the handing out of free vegetable seeds that I had been lead to believe. This was in the mid-70's and there was a distinct line of racial demarcation which at first I could not see. I was a liberal, way liberal. I drove a '65 VW named "Porky" and went nowhere that my dogs Rags couldn't go. I was against the Vietnam War, that being one of the great chasms of my father's and my relationship. The country was trying to put a band aid over that wound, but there were other internal injuries that were unseen.

I was a single female living in a small rent house outside of town, directly on the highway. The people of this small town called my "The Government Lady." I was about 22 years old and, looking back on those times with the perspective of age, I was about as dumb as a person could be. I didn't know the nuances of the local politics, the power of the local police departments, and to be afraid didn't even enter my mind. I didn't have a phone. I didn't have much money. I didn't have a clue that being in this place would forever change my life.

Rags heard her before she came banging on my door that night. The banging was loud, insistent, and driven by fear. I opened the door to find Donna, a young woman I had met while giving out information on extension classes. Well, at least I thought I recognized her. Her face was pulverized. I looked over her shoulder to the highway for the scene of the accident, the source of all this damage, and saw nothing but darkness and the blacktop. It was quiet except for her gasping breath. "Turn off all the lights," she said. "Maybe he won't think to look here. He? Who is he? Darryl was his name.

She related that she had spent too much on candy for Halloween trick or treaters. He found the receipt and had become enraged. She tried to fend of the blows, but he was too strong. He worked at the grain elevator, you know. He punched her face until she went limp and he left for the bar on the interstate. She knew that going to the sheriff would result in the same admonitions as last time. Don't spend money even if you earnred it: keep a cleaner house; quit attracting attention to yourself by wearing make-up; for god's sake, don't make him mad.

We sat on the floor with our backs to the front door in the dark. She explained how her parents never hit her as punishment. She was the homecoming queen Darryl was the charming high school football player. They married. It was going to be a good life. She was working in a small day care and she wanted to go to college. He said no; there wasn't enough money. I washed her face and she talked and talked with Rags curled up on her other side. I wasn't a doctor, but I knew she would need stitches and would be surprised if she didn't need plastic surgery. She wasn't a beauty queen anymore.

Rags heard him before I did. "Hey, Government Lady, send my wife out here." The sound of his voice sent her rigid. We were right behind the front door, but he sounded far away. We had the advantage of the darkness. I could see his silhouette at the edge of the road. He carried a gun. No, maybe it was just a stick. I had a wet washrag in my hand as a weapon.

Again, "Hey Government Lady, I want my wife." We didn't respond. Rags made this deep growing sound, low and mean. OK, take stock. You have an injured woman, no phone, no neighbors, and a sheepdog. For a split second, I thought of sending the woman out. She stood up to go, and I pulled her back down hissing, "Not in my lifetime." I didn't see the irony until later...

She whispered that he was always focused, got what he wanted, and would not take no for an answer. It sounded to me like we were from the same gene pool. "Darryl, you don't want to make this any worse." I yelled that I was a federal employee, here at the request of Congress; I was protected under federal law, and whatever he did that involved me would be like getting involved with the FBI. I tried to sound convincing, hard, and sure of myself.

He laughed. "Send my wife out, NOW!" he shouted. I heard leaves rustle under his steps, closer and closer. She was becoming hysterical. I had to clamp my hands over her mouth to keep her from screaming. I wanted desperately to join her.

Until Rags stood up and ran to the back door screen, I had forgotten all about here. She nosed the door open and was gone. Good girl, I thought, run the one-mile to town and stop someone and explain the situation. I'm sure they will understand and send in the troops. She didn't run anywhere except to the front yard where she sunk her teeth into Darryl's pride. There he was, for lack for a better word, holing, Rags hanging from the front of this jeans. Darryl didn't laugh again for a long time.

When the dust settled, Darryl went to jail after he got out of the hospital. Donna went home to her parents and filed for a divorce, enrolled in early childhood education classes at OU, and ended up marrying the highway patrolman who had seen the strange sight of a screaming man running down the road with what the officer thought was a stuffed animal tied to his belt buckle. Both Donna and Darryl required stitches and plastic surgery.

I, on the other hand, took stock and wondered if I was really what this placed needed. I thought deeply about Donna's face and what it took for it to get that way. I decided to stay. I didn't teach near as much as what I learned. I suppose that is the special nature of giving.