(Copyright © 1999 T Bruce Tober)
"I'm sorry" Billie said as she tried to move on.
The woman confronted her, "you're sorry? You with your expensive clothes, but I'm the one with no place to stay tonight. I may not go hungry," she said in an obvious reference to the cookies, "but. ... What can I do? What would you do in my place?"
"I don't know. I can't help you. I'm out of work myself."
They were even. They both felt guilty now.
She finally made her break and strode off. I wish I could, she thought.
Minutes later, her grandfather's words rang in Billie's head, There but for the grace. ...
As she crossed the street, the rain began. It was a typically New York drenching, cold, onslaught. One for which she wasn't prepared.
She turned the corner, stopping abruptly with the rain continuing to pummel her face. She remembered a church-run, free, shelter-soup-kitchen in the area, where the woman could get some rest and a meal.
"Screw it. Dr Jacobs will still be there if I'm a few minutes late."
She ran back to where the woman had been. She turned the corner towards the pizza shop where their encounter had taken place. The woman was gone. She looked in the pizzeria window without luck and then up and down the adjacent streets. The woman was gone.
"Damn it!" A few minutes later she gave up, "Oh well, maybe someone else was able to help her."
The more she stared at the picture, the more certain she was the person in the picture was the bag lady.
But, there was nothing she could do. She had her own problems. Dr Jacobs tentatively confirmed her gynecologist's diagnosis.
"I want to see you on Friday, I should have the test results by then. Meanwhile, I want you to go home and try not to worry," he'd told her.
Meanwhile there was nothing for her to do but sit at home and drive herself crazy with worry.
She wished she'd told her friends so she wouldn't have to fret alone.
She was glad she hadn't told them so she wouldn't seem to be playing on their waning sympathies.
She was especially glad of the latter when she returned to the flat later that morning. She was halfway up the hall when she saw the large shopping bag filled with what was left of her clothing and other possessions sitting outside the door to the apartment.
She slunk up to the doorway, picked up the bag and left quietly. The note attached to the bag simply said, "Sorry." There was no need to knock at the door. No need to question them. No need to embarrass them. Or herself.
They'd been unable to bring themselves to tell her directly.
Her time had run out. They'd had enough.
She phoned Dr. Jacobs' office to say she wouldn't be keeping her appointment. No explanation was asked for. None was given. She wondered why she'd bothered, regretted having wasted the quarter.
She walked for hours, contemplating her next move. She had to have a place to stay. Her friends had found and kept the envelope with what little money Billie still had tucked away. She'd long ago given up phoning other former co-workers and begging to stay with them. All such efforts were without joy.
Finally, physically and emotionally exhausted, she bought a cup of coffee at Dunkin' Donuts. She sat there nearly an hour, nursing her drink. I guess the time's come. I've known it would eventually. Looks like I'm going to have to rough it. She was broke. Flat out. Just 73 cents to her name.
She was hungry and tired. She looked through one restaurant window after another, wishing she had a couple of bucks to buy lunch. She wondered where the hell she'd sleep that night.
She decided she'd better get started. If she were going to survive -- and she was a survivor -- she'd have to start now.
She'd psyched herself during the past few hours for the chore at hand, "Lady, can you spare some change?"
Little success during the first few hours. Just a few coins here and there. Eventually a woman handed her a small bag bearing the David's Cookies logo. Inside were several large, dark, double chocolate fudge cookies.
Half an hour later, and a few cents more in her pocket, a young, rather distraught-looking woman handed Billie a handful of change. The woman obviously noticed the cookies. "Would you like one?" Billie asked.
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Editor's Note: Want to know more about the socio-political implications of poverty?
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Cold New World by William Finnegan
Pedagogy of the Heart by Paulo Freire
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