Taco Belle

She upgraded her sign.

It’s a bright white sign of that corrugated plastic material that looks like cardboard, but is not.

On it is her life story, as clearly as she can articulate it in her five year old scrawl.

I have watched her.  I recognize her.  Each face is always unique to me.

Hers spoke her heart without trying to parse those words from her sign.

I found myself watching that face.

They came into the salon: the two men selling cakes.  I bought one, and asked that they take it to her.  I gave them her location and a picture of her that I had taken one day as I drove by.  That was the first time I felt moved for her.  It would hardly be the last.

I started keeping the dollars in the cup holder so that I wouldn’t have to fumble for it in case I caught the light.  I wanted to be sure that if I had something to give her that day when I saw her, that I didn’t miss my chance.

“She needs a hat”, I typed to the man who broke my heart.

“I just realized: she needs a hat.  I’m going to ask her if she wants one.”; I continued in my characteristic serial texting fashion to the empty airwave.

It is complicated, my feelings and actions toward the homeless – but then, when am I not complicated…(?)

I don’t like to give money, I’m not usually equipped to provide a material need, and I’m of the mindset that it isn’t always the best thing.  I know for me, I would not just accept and eat any random food given to me: at all.  I had been thinking about how to meet a real need for her.  She is in the sun – and needs a hat.  But I can't just assume that she wants one.  She needs to control what choices she has and I know this.

Then about a week later – I had placed a spare hat in the car to give to her in case she responded to my question with a "yes" – I saw her again: with a big floppy hat on her head!

I was so excited.  I smiled and waved to her, and started thinking some more about what else she needs.  It’s a tricky balance.  She needs just enough to get by, but not enough to make her a target.

About a week later, she was out as usual, and had her hat on.  She doesn't walk well; and I saw her all the way up at the light starting to waddle her way down the line of indifferent cars with their disengaged occupants.  I had a ten for her that day.  I know the traffic signals as well as anyone in highway engineering and knew I had about one minute.

That was when I left my car.

I got out and ran up to her as her face lit up.  We have been waving to each other for months now. She unleashed the torrent.

She loved my boots.  She loves her hat.  Her name is Taco.  

I can see that she recently got a new pair of shoes also.  She notices me notice and shows them off like a proud 6 year old showing off her new outfit for the first day of school.  I can’t help but smile. She wears a size 9 shoe.

I can see her worries in every line on her face and some days she is near tears. I also see her happiness in the smile that often graces her features despite the obvious troubles. 

She is a complicated person.  She is as simple as the Sunshine.

She can use a little help.

I’m working on it.