I frequently study the faces of the homeless, wondering if they are bipolar or schizophrenic, maybe an American Hero suffering from post traumatic stress disorder. I look in to their eye's and think, could that be me? Last Friday, I saw a woman that hit so close to home she is in bones now.
I will never know who she was or what she was all about, but my heart sunk and crushed when I saw her. It was 6:00 am and I was sitting in my car at one of those coffee drive-thru's. There were only a few cars on the street town. We have a few homeless elderly men who roam from park to park, but that is about it. This woman did not look homeless, well not really.
I saw her about a block down, at the end of the street mall, walking down the side walk briskly. She had a small suitcase on wheels trailing behind her. Her hair was sort of styled and highlighted, so that made me think she was not homeless. She was a bit disheveled. As she got closer I saw she had on jeans that were so baggy they were falling off, her rear end was showing a bit. She was about forty, and by the looks of her I just don't think that was intentional.
I watched her walk past the street mall, turn around and back again. Was she confused, lost, upset, homeless, running away, domestic dispute. She would stop, look around a bit and then head determinedly the other direction.
Or was she having some sort of bipolar episode and backed up and hit the high road, leaving her family behind.
The town was still. She was out of place. I wanted to help. I did not. She still resonates with me.