Cheetos.
It was from a hidden bag in mom's child backpack that the cutest little 18 month old homeless girl I have ever seen was munching on Cheetos. Her little fingers orange from the fluorescent chips that she had such a craving for.
You see. Her father wasn't feeling so well, so he had an ambulance called. I pulled up to see a large man sitting under all the flashing lights and gauges on the side of an old fire engine, graffitied with some macho nickname with the writing enveloped by flames. He was anxious. Very, VERY anxious. His chest hurt. He couldn't sit still and was one flinch away from freaking out. He was having an anxiety attack. Although he thought he was dying.
And behind us all, in the dark, seated in a stroller that no soccer mom today would dare think about pushing down the manicured walking path near her new, tri-level home, was a little girl. She was bundled up, even though it wasn't that cold outside. Her, and her mother, stood patiently as the Emergency crews ignored them both.
Dad was upset because they were getting kicked out of their motel room tomorrow. They were living, and soon to be removed from, one of those seedy motels where aluminum foil squares litter the ground (crack) and hookers stagger back to after a long, long evening doing what they do best. This was their life. Homeless.
So I packed Dad, and the entire family, into the back of the ambulance. I knew he wasn't sick, and so did he. What needed fixin here was where they planned on resting their weary bodies after walking up and down the avenue trying to sell homemade jewelry. And all the while, that little girl ate cheeto after cheeto.
Smiling, trying to lick her boot, pointing at the glowing lights in the back of the ambulance. Not once did she speak. Could she speak? I don't know. But, for those few moments she didn't need to. She was content. She was happy. She was warm, and she was with her family. Cheeto after cheeto she smiled. Cheeto after cheeto made me sadder and sadder.
Seldomly do I feel bad for people. I don't cry for them. Normally, I blame them. They made those decisions, they can fix it if they want. But this little girl didn't ask for this. Her dad so stressed that his family will be sleeping on the streets tomorrow that he ends up in an ambulance. Mom, scared and quiet, but happy that they are all together and at this moment in time--safe. And the little girl. Happy as could be eating her cheetos.
I hope they don't get kicked out tomorrow.
You see. Her father wasn't feeling so well, so he had an ambulance called. I pulled up to see a large man sitting under all the flashing lights and gauges on the side of an old fire engine, graffitied with some macho nickname with the writing enveloped by flames. He was anxious. Very, VERY anxious. His chest hurt. He couldn't sit still and was one flinch away from freaking out. He was having an anxiety attack. Although he thought he was dying.
And behind us all, in the dark, seated in a stroller that no soccer mom today would dare think about pushing down the manicured walking path near her new, tri-level home, was a little girl. She was bundled up, even though it wasn't that cold outside. Her, and her mother, stood patiently as the Emergency crews ignored them both.
Dad was upset because they were getting kicked out of their motel room tomorrow. They were living, and soon to be removed from, one of those seedy motels where aluminum foil squares litter the ground (crack) and hookers stagger back to after a long, long evening doing what they do best. This was their life. Homeless.
So I packed Dad, and the entire family, into the back of the ambulance. I knew he wasn't sick, and so did he. What needed fixin here was where they planned on resting their weary bodies after walking up and down the avenue trying to sell homemade jewelry. And all the while, that little girl ate cheeto after cheeto.
Smiling, trying to lick her boot, pointing at the glowing lights in the back of the ambulance. Not once did she speak. Could she speak? I don't know. But, for those few moments she didn't need to. She was content. She was happy. She was warm, and she was with her family. Cheeto after cheeto she smiled. Cheeto after cheeto made me sadder and sadder.
Seldomly do I feel bad for people. I don't cry for them. Normally, I blame them. They made those decisions, they can fix it if they want. But this little girl didn't ask for this. Her dad so stressed that his family will be sleeping on the streets tomorrow that he ends up in an ambulance. Mom, scared and quiet, but happy that they are all together and at this moment in time--safe. And the little girl. Happy as could be eating her cheetos.
I hope they don't get kicked out tomorrow.
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