I know it’s kind of crazy, especially with gas prices being so high, but sometimes I intentionally take the long road home. I guess I just like to observe the life around me. Sometimes I’ll take Transmountain home or Montana Street. It’s just really interesting to watch how people interact with each other and with nature.
Sometimes you’ll see people riding bicycles with varying degrees of skill. Some people will run, others will walk---if it’s late on a Friday night, they’ll stumble from one “Watering hole” to the next.
On several occasions though I’ve watched as one particular woman uses a payphone on the corner of Cotton and Montana. She’s an older woman; however I think she’s probably younger than she looks. The blistering summer heat and bone chilling winter winds can do that to a person. Every line on her weathered face and tanned skin has a story to tell…an accompanying worry. But I think indifference and judgment are more damaging than the natural elements.
She is what many would describe as homeless.
She is not homeless. She is neglected. She is forgotten. Her value is dismissed. She is a human being.
She feels. She thinks. She needs exactly what every other person needs.
She needs so much more than bread and water.
She is entitled to respect. She deserves concern.
But most of all, she needs our love…not our judgment.
There is a fine line between the working class and the unemployed. Sometimes it’s a white line on a mirror. But more often than not, the line separating those who live underneath a roof from those under a bridge is invisible. It is within our minds and in the churning tides of fortune. Underneath the tough, weathered skin beats a heart not so unlike our own.
Every time I pass this intersection, my hermana’s bent and broken form leans against the telephone booth. Her head is stooped and face obscured by a worn hat and bag laden arm—avoiding the piercing glances of those around her. Her free hand clutches the receiver as she makes her calls.
But who is answering?
From what I see---no one. Including myself.
Calling all angels.
Both walking and flying. She’s calling all you angels.
Don’t leave her there crying.
Calling all angels.
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