Small Town to Big City

Throughout the weekend, my mind stayed on some of the people and instances I had encountered while volunteering with the homeless on Friday morning.   

I thought of the lady with the long black coat and silk scarf, who loved chocolate donuts. She was nice, polite and soft-spoken. Based on her appearance and manners, I would have never guessed she was homeless.

The second lady to steal my heart wore bright green pants, a pink sparkly shirt and a pink hat with her hair tucked under. As I handed out donuts, she kept asking for more. At the end, she asked for the last three and the box. I came up to her a little later and playfully asked if she had eaten the rest of her donuts, yet. She used her finger to beckon me closer. Once we were near enough, she whispered, “You see, I sleep on the streets,” in a heavy, unrecognizable accent. “When nighttime comes, I am so hungry. It is time to munch, munch, munch you see? So I save them for later.”

Everyone stood in line that morning except for the lady I connected with most, who sat under a tree with her twelve-year old dog, Hurricane. We talked about dogs for awhile, and she mentioned her son in California. She told me I looked like the lady in the raisin commercials, and I told her I wasn’t sure I’d seen them. She thanked me for volunteering, just as the majority of people there had.  As we talked, Hurricane sniffed around her lap. The lady told me, “He’s always hungry!”She said he had eaten twice before they left, but asked if I could get him a bowl of water. Hurricane eventually laid down and started shaking. She said, “He’s always cold!” As I talked to her about his fur, my eyes led me from Hurricane, to his owner’s feet. At first glance, she simply looked like a lady who didn’t bother with hair dye. She wore gray hair, sparkly glasses and a long black coat. When you looked at the filthy skin in between the sandal straps on her feet though, a little more became clear.

After meeting the ladies, while handing out lunches, problems in line caused one man to start yelling and cussing at another. The yeller seemed to be in his early twenties, and his target was a smaller man much older than him, with a full beard and mustache. The young man pushed the old man, and I have never in my life seen fear such as I did in that quiet old man’s eyes after he was pushed. 

Also while handing out lunches, Hurricane got caught in the second lady’s donut box. One man started laughing obnoxiously and telling the donutless lady crude comments of other things Hurricane could eat. Although she gleered back as if the man’s English had been clear, I hoped she didn’t understand the things he had said.

After saying goodbye, I headed down the sidewalk and heard, “Wait!” Turning around, I saw the lady under the tree staring. “What’s your dogs name again?” She asked. I answered what seemed to be a desperate attempt at further conversation, and not long after, we said goodbye again.

Not far up the sidewalk, I saw the first lady, in her nice black coat and silk scarf, walking away. She limped a bit, keeping both arms evenly stretched out and weighed down by plastic bags. I pondered asking if I could help carry her things, but realized I couldn’t follow her forever. I thought about catching up to talk with her or asking if I could buy her a coffee, but I had no change in my pockets. I realized there had to be a time for me to break these connections and move on back to my own life. I said a prayer, and taking one last look at the lady, I guiltily crossed the street.

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