Street Findings

When we see a destitute man hunched over a shopping cart or a stained woman in rags with just the top veneers of shoes upon callused feet, do we feel a sympathetic sense of indignation? Do we feel compassion? If they did have shoes, do we dare stand within them?
One day last June I was waiting in a friend's car while she ran into a near by shop. Some movement from across the street caught my eye that seemed somehow off key relative to the music of the city. I studied the image of the moving papers and plastic bags. A cough of exhaust from passing bus unveiled a vague distorted shape of a woman within pandemonium of old newspapers, torn magazines and various other paper droppings. Near by, stood a granny pull-cart filled with still more bags. This woman, shaped by the debris of her city, appeared to be organizing and reorganizing various discarded paper cups, plastic bottles and aluminum soda cans with genteel precision of a collector of fine crystal. Every so often, she would abruptly take out shinny gold tube of blood-red lipstick and frantically circle and re-circle her worn lips; rebelliously crossing their chafed boundaries.
I felt a sudden rush of self-consciousness wash over me. Why was I so entranced by her every demented move? What did she represent? She reorganized her bags once more. This time putting them at the base of a near by telephone poll. Nothing could have prepared me for what happened next. My mind saw her in slow motion against the bustling city. With the grace of a ballerina, she stood fully erect; chin tilted upward and ever so slightly arching her back. She lifted the crochet hat from her head. Her long red hair cascaded down ward around her shoulders; all except for a few maverick strands that flew up with the city's breath. She smiled contentedly and closed her eyes as we both inhaled deeply. I could no longer tell where she ended and I began. She was a Goddess, as lovely as any fair maiden awaiting her suitor…unassuming.
Meanwhile, people obliviously walked by this grand lady as they talked on cellular phones, puffed on cigarettes, pushed baby strollers, pulled on dog leashes never coming close to eye contact with this woman. But for reasons unknown to me, I had to see her eyes! Why? I told myself it was I didn't want to be a hypocrite as to condemn others for what I would not do myself from my opera seats here in the balcony of a '92 Honda Civic. But it was more the perplexing mystery that emanated from this untamed shrew of Wilshire Blvd.
I watched myself open the car door. I got out and stood looking at her arranging her precious cargo. At once, nothing else existed but her and I ….all sounds distant, movement suspended. My heart betrayed my anticipation of the impending challenge….beating against my chest as a trapped wild bird. I became numb to the city I was unaware of cars crossing my path as I jaywalked across the boulevard. I took a five-dollar from the rear pocket of my blue jeans and seated myself on her bus bench. I was now part of the scene instead of the voyeur. As I sat next to her, I somehow knew that words had no place here. As powerful as my curiosity was, I also felt fear. I was afraid that if she were to look into my eyes I would not be able to control how deeply she would see. What would she see?
I pantomimed as I took her hand and placed the bill very deliberately into it. She faced my direction. With the hand that received my offering she replaced it into the hand that offered it as if she had done it five times a day; everyday. I look at her face to show her my insistence, when I saw those eyes! They were cool, not cold but cool, like watery mirrored circles reflecting all my motivations back at me. She smiled as if to signify that she was in no need. She was regal; not cold but regal. She was also blind. Yet, her eyes were brilliant and revealing. She was not burdened with visions of the city; of this reality. She would forever the young maiden running gleefully from castle to castle over the countryside carefully holding up the hem of her gown to make way for the rebelliously barefeet. With closed eyes, I could see her in the distance with a tall pointed hat with chiffon spilling from its tiptop. How I envied her.