Sunday, February 04, 2007


Waiting for the Bus

“I wonder where the bus is?” she said.

“It’ll be here soon.”

“I’m wearing four layers and mittens and I’m cold. Aren’t you cold?”

“I’m okay.”

“Do you know where I can turn in an ID card? My friend found it and it has a UPASS sticker on it, so he gave it to me and asked me to use it. I don’t want to use it you know. Maybe this person needs it.”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure she’s got a new card by now. It won’t hurt anyone if you use it.”

“But I don’t want to use something that doesn’t belong to me you know. It’s not right. Can I turn it in at Oodegard Library?”

“If you know where that is, I’m sure you can.”

“I’ve been to Oodegard. My friend and I sneaked in after hours. You actually aren’t supposed to do that, you have to have an ID to do it. But we needed a place to stay for the night. So we stayed there and slept on the floor once it became empty. It got really hot though. Never did it again. Have you been to Oodegard?”

“Yes, but never at night”

“I’m tired and sleepy and cold. I just want a place to sleep. Look at those people; I’m sure they have a place to go to at night. You probably have a place to go to at night.”

I smile politely and I say in my head “I do.”

“I’m sorry. Am I annoying you? I’m just upset. I must sound like I’m just rambling on and on.”

“It’s alright. I understand. It is cold. It is late. You probably don’t want to be at a bus stop right now.”

I thought…..”one talks when one cannot be at peace within themselves”

“Yeah. I’m 21 by the way and I’m homeless. They drew me out of the shelter you know. Now I have to go to down town. But it’s late and I should be in bed right now. That kid should be sleeping!! What are his parents thinking by taking him out at night?!”

It was 9:45 pm.

“Have you ever been in a shelter?”

I shake my head.

“You’ve never been homeless? Ever volunteered at one?”

Shake. “I’m not from here and haven’t been here long enough to do that.”

“Where are you from?”

India

“Don’t women have to cover their faces there?”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. But women in rural areas, villages, often do. I don’t. Is there a homeless shelter around here? Where are you coming from?”

“There is one at the Episcopal Church. But they have so many people come in that they have a draw for who wont be allowed to stay for the night. It’s a nice place and I like it. But they kicked me out. It’s happened 3 times this month. Now I have to go down town to this special women’s shelter. I know they will take me but it’s so late.”

“My friend complains about being homeless all the time. I don’t like that. If you don’t like it then do something about it. Don’t just sit there and complain.”

The bus comes along we get on it. I sit next to someone so that I don’t have to talk to her. I didn’t ask her if she was trying to do something about being homeless…or did she just rely on social security money and homeless shelters to get her by. It seemed to me that she was much too disturbed and I would not be much help.

21 and homeless. I couldn’t see dreams in her eyes….only needs….the need to be warm and sleep.

She was fed, clothed, and sheltered for the night, fulfilled at the very basic level maybe…but left with a mind starved of the will to fight. Bereft of desire to be more. Maybe one needs to be only a little more than human to be happy.

What a pity! If I had access to a library; provided I had eaten and was rested and not on drugs, would I not be fascinated by atleast one of those books?

At 21, most of us with an education were in college and looked forward to doing something with a newly acquired degree. I wonder what sapped her of the drive to live a fulfilling life. And I don’t mean that she should have a bottomless bank account and a mansion in Mercer Island.

The fact is that this is her life. She gets one chance to live it. Does she really want to spend it on the street waiting for a bus to pick her up?

“But if you in your pain call birth an affliction and the support of the flesh a curse written upon your brow, then I answer that naught but the sweat of your brow shall wash away that which is written.”

---Megha

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