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What’s Her Story?
Nov. 21st, 2013 11:23 amIn our area, near downtown Santa Ana, I can’t say that it is all that unusual to see homeless people here and there. In a way, it makes sense. The government seat of the County is in our city, and in the public mall right in between all the buildings, several of them set up camp. I really do feel bad about a lot of these people. I don’t believe that anybody chooses this wretched life. The fact is, many of these people are just broken beyond fixing. Several have severe mental illness, as exhibited by their behavior. Many of them shout out at things that don’t exist, preach to the heavens, etc. Even if they had the proper medication, I just don’t know if it would help. And yesterday, I witnessed another one that really stood out in my mind.
I met a friend for lunch at one of my local favorite spots. Near the house, I am fortunate to be able to order the BEST Pastrami-on-rye and onion rings on the planet! But out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a woman approach the entrance of the restaurant. She was pushing a stroller that was completely buried in a mountain of random stuff – clearly items-of-street-survival, along with a relatively new and nice-looking handbag. Her hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in ages – wild, gray, crazy, and electrified-looking. Her face was dirty, withered, and very leather-like in its appearance. And her clothing was dirty, bedraggled, and frayed. Also, most striking, it appeared as if she was holding a baby. Huh? A baby?! But she had to be easily in her 60’s or 70’s!
Walking into the restaurant doorway, she shouted out to the waitresses, asking to have a menu. Looking around at the patrons, I could see the uncomfortable looks on everyone’s faces – including those of the waitresses who clearly didn’t want a scene. Professionally, one of the waitresses who had been there for a while, grabbed a menu and told her to just take a seat at one of the tables outside and she would be right out. The woman smiled, goo-gahed at her baby, and went outside to the little table near the door. Looking out the window, I took note of the woman. She seemed very attentive of her baby. But something was very off. The “baby” (which I put in quotes for a reason), didn’t move. It was so bundled up, I couldn’t even tell what was going on. Was it really a baby? Was it alive? Was it a pet? Was it an animal? What was it? The woman was too old to actually have a baby of her own, so what was going on?
Just then, I noticed the waitress come out of the kitchen with a hot bowl of soup. The woman didn’t order, but she didn’t seem to care. She smiled a craggy smile at the waitress and enjoyed the hot soup. She seemed perfectly content with her lunch, and with her “Baby”. But as I looked at the scene, I had more questions pop into my head than answers.
What was the deal with the “baby”?
Was she a regular here?
What is the cause of her illness?
Why did she have such an array of old crappy stuff, but a relatively new designer(ish) purse?
We left the restaurant shortly after, and I noticed that the woman had finished her soup, and now turned her full attention to the “baby” that she coohed and goohed while holding up above her. Again, the “baby” didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, and didn’t respond. And in all of the layers of bundling, I couldn’t tell what it was.
And something tells me, I don’t really want to know.
I met a friend for lunch at one of my local favorite spots. Near the house, I am fortunate to be able to order the BEST Pastrami-on-rye and onion rings on the planet! But out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a woman approach the entrance of the restaurant. She was pushing a stroller that was completely buried in a mountain of random stuff – clearly items-of-street-survival, along with a relatively new and nice-looking handbag. Her hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in ages – wild, gray, crazy, and electrified-looking. Her face was dirty, withered, and very leather-like in its appearance. And her clothing was dirty, bedraggled, and frayed. Also, most striking, it appeared as if she was holding a baby. Huh? A baby?! But she had to be easily in her 60’s or 70’s!
Walking into the restaurant doorway, she shouted out to the waitresses, asking to have a menu. Looking around at the patrons, I could see the uncomfortable looks on everyone’s faces – including those of the waitresses who clearly didn’t want a scene. Professionally, one of the waitresses who had been there for a while, grabbed a menu and told her to just take a seat at one of the tables outside and she would be right out. The woman smiled, goo-gahed at her baby, and went outside to the little table near the door. Looking out the window, I took note of the woman. She seemed very attentive of her baby. But something was very off. The “baby” (which I put in quotes for a reason), didn’t move. It was so bundled up, I couldn’t even tell what was going on. Was it really a baby? Was it alive? Was it a pet? Was it an animal? What was it? The woman was too old to actually have a baby of her own, so what was going on?
Just then, I noticed the waitress come out of the kitchen with a hot bowl of soup. The woman didn’t order, but she didn’t seem to care. She smiled a craggy smile at the waitress and enjoyed the hot soup. She seemed perfectly content with her lunch, and with her “Baby”. But as I looked at the scene, I had more questions pop into my head than answers.
What was the deal with the “baby”?
Was she a regular here?
What is the cause of her illness?
Why did she have such an array of old crappy stuff, but a relatively new designer(ish) purse?
We left the restaurant shortly after, and I noticed that the woman had finished her soup, and now turned her full attention to the “baby” that she coohed and goohed while holding up above her. Again, the “baby” didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, and didn’t respond. And in all of the layers of bundling, I couldn’t tell what it was.
And something tells me, I don’t really want to know.
