Hopeless or Helpless: Poverty and Hunger

She sits under the stairs, against the building, scrunched as far away back from the sidewalk as she can get. Dark brown hair that could be pretty, green eyes that could sparkle, probably an English complexion underneath that sad, dry face. Twenty-five, 18, who knows. She looks 50. The filthy clothes are a dead give away she's been like this for awhile.

"What would you like?" Christine asked her. "A burger with everything from In n Out? Fries and a shake?" 

"That's a stupid question," Christine's friend said in her ear. "Just get her some food, anything."

"I need money," the girl grunted. "You've got some." She stared at the sidewalk, clasped her hands so tightly together that dirty nails must have been piercing her palms. "Leave me alone," she said. Squatting further back into the corner of the stairs and wall, it became evident she wore no panties.  

"OMG," Christine's friend said. "We'll be late for yoga class. Let's go." She grabbed Christine by the arm and hauled her up the stairs. "Don't look down, we'll bring food later," she said.

"There's time before class starts," Christine said. 

In n Out wasn't open, but in the same mall a coffee shop was. Christine picked out an apple fritter, container of whole milk, banana, and huge blueberry muffin.  Packed in a clean, white paper bag, the food fit perfectly in Christine's Coach tote bag along with her jeans, tee shirt and sandals for later in the day.

The girl had moved around the corner from the stairs and faced the back of the parking lot when Christine arrived. "Eat this. You'll feel better," Christine said, pulling the bag from her tote and holding it out to her. "Please, take it. I eat a banana every day."

"NO," the girl replied. Her teeth chattered, her body began to shake, her eyes sunk deep into their sockets, and she slumped sideways. 

Christine sat the white bag beside the girl. Then she wrote on the side of the white bag: "If you will go upstairs to the yoga studio, the owner will give you a coupon for the In n Out burger."

Late for class, Christine tossed her mat in the only available space, tightly scrunched beside the wall. It was claustrophobic, but as the meditation came to an end, she thought of the girl. 

And hour and a half later when class was over, Christine skipped down the same stairs with her friend. They looked all around the building but the girl and the white paper bag were gone. Christine shoved the Coach tote bag in the trunk with her yoga mat. 'I'm going home," she said to her friend. "What do you do for someone like that except give them some food?" 

And that's the truth. To some extent.

Sandals

Christine had trouble getting out of bed this morning. Finally, in order to get to her appointment on time, she threw on the same jeans she had worn yesterday and the day before, splashed her face (with cold water, no time to wait for it to warm up), mushed her hair around, and got there in the nick of time. 

Usually the waiting room is empty, but today, a young woman was down on her hands and knees scrubbing a spot on the wool rug. "I spilled my water, 36 ounces," she said.

"Water won't hurt the carpet," Christine responded. "If you blot it instead of rubbing, it will lift up the water." Everyone knows that, she thought to herself. "That's quite a heap of paper towels you've used. Where did you get so many?" she asked.

The woman couldn't have been over 30, she was slender with long-modelesque bones, flawless skin tanned to a golden brown, deep brown eyes, and with the braided sun-bleached hair - well, she was downright gorgeous. Her black and white tank top was really sexy and cool. Her black yoga pants showed off her curves. Frankly, she had a butt that would look perfect in any jeans.

"I'm so depressed and my bones ache, but I have to clean this," she said.

Now, Christine felt sorry for the woman. "Look, it's only water. The maintenance people can take it from here. Hey, you don't want some janitor to lose his job because he didn't have anything to do today."

The woman looked up. "Oh, it's okay." She didn't mean the water spill. The stack of used paper towels had to be over 2 feet high and a foot across. She stood up. "My vision is blurred. How does it look to you?" she asked.

The doctor opened the door at that point and looked at Christine, ready to speak, then he saw the young woman. He thinks she's hot, Christine thought. He gestured at Christine to come in.

"I think the two of us should have an appointment together," Christine said. "She has blurred vision like I do, and since she's here too, I don't mind." Now this was a stupid thing to say, but Christine meant well. 

"I love your sandals," the young woman said. "The zebra stripes remind me of my last safari. Horses in black and white. You have lovely golden toes, too."

"Come in, Christine," the doctor said. Once inside the door, he whispered. "She's homeless, has been living in the building, using the bathroom and stealing food from open offices."

Christine whispered back. "You've told me about her before! She's the one you got out of jail!"

"The lady's room key is in here now, if you want to use it," he said, pointing to it on the wall. 

Christine starred at the door. "She's gorgeous. How does a homeless person look like that?"

"I don't know," he said. "I've wondered the same thing."

"I guess living in Los Angeles, anything is possible," Christine said.

And that's the truth. To some extent.