kittypaws
07-10-2010, 01:26 AM
I was at the Columbia Central Library for a volunteer meeting for Animal Advocates of Howard County to discuss our upcoming fundraiser for homeless animals. The meeting ended about 9:10 and I was helping to pack up the displays and what not’s. The library was closed and there were a handful of us there. I took my stuff to the car then went to go in to get the display boards.
When I had come out the first time I noticed a lady sitting on the newspaper stand boxes up against the wall under the shelter from the falling drizzle. As I approached the door she said:”You look like an outdoors girl who has horses”.
I turned, smiled and said: “I am an outdoors person but no horses, just a big dog”.
I reached for the door and found it locked. The rest of the ladies were headed out and gave me access, I went and got the display boards and as Dorothy held the door for me I walked thru and took the displays to Laurie’s car. Everyone was out of the building now and loading their cars. I started to walk to mine and wondered if the lady sitting against the wall was waiting for a ride. I turned half way to my car and walked back to her.
“Good evening, Mam”, I said approaching her, “are you waiting for a ride or do you need a ride?”
“I’m homeless” was her reply.
This stopped me dead in my tracks. “I’m sorry I didn’t know.”
“Well I can thank my husband and brother for it.” she replied, taking the small white note pad she had in her hand and folding it around the pen she had been writing with.
I was at a lost for words. My curiosity took over; “Well if you don’t mind me asking, where do you stay?” I shifted my weight.
“Well, tonight I will stay here because there is shelter, sometimes I sleep over on the other side on the bench.” And with a wave of her hand upwards she said, “And sometimes I sleep under the stars.”
“Wow” was my educated response.
“You would not believe how many homeless people there are right here in Columbia. There is this young black gentleman,” she lightly chuckled and slightly tilted her head back. “He says he is in love with me. He is in worse shape, he has been in prison, shot and was in a coma, so you know he is not all there, says he been convicted of robbery and attempted murder.”
“Is he homeless too?”
“Yes, he usually sleeps at the bus stop or over on the other side. See that entrance on the other side?” She said pointing thru the lit, locked lobby of the library. “There is a man that will sleep there tonight. He was an electrical engineer of 25 years who lost his job, home and family, there are a lot of us here”.
“Why don’t you go to a Grassroots, or a shelter?”
“Grassroots started out as a home for those who tried to commit suicide. They take the homeless, but they only take single woman with a child or single men. They only have two beds allocated for people over fifty-five. No room and they are not all they are made out to be.”
“Why don’t you write about this? Make the community aware of this situation”.
“I was to meet with a committee that was assigned to educate the people of Columbian about the serious problem here but they got disbanded before it even started”.
She went on through the politics, her daily activity of going to the mall in the morning, the library to go online in the afternoon, the inadequate facilities, the miss- spent funds that should have provided housing, the poor and disgusting education that most of the children have.
“These are not children who come to this library, it is a zoo for uncontrolled animals.” she said at one point.
She talked about her background, her father, the economy, the ill prepared troops that were sent into Iraq, and even how the price of gold has fallen. All the time looking very proper, speaking knowledgeably and apparently highly educated and looking me straight in the eye.
She looked to be in her late fifties plus, short silver grey hair combed back, her eyebrows marked on, wire rim glasses, a touch of make up, slacks, mid-length jacket and a blue and pink floral scarf tired around her neck bunched up under the chin and falling down across a white pull over shirt. She had a red, white and blue umbrella sitting open on the ground in front of her and two carry on type bags between her and the glass wall to the library.
“And you wonder why I don’t write about this? I have so much to say and you can see how worked up I become.”
“I’m sorry”. I extended my hand to her and said: “My name is Kitty.”
She stood and shook mine and said “Ann.”
I had been there talking with her for over forty five minutes, with not another soul around; and had this urge to ask her to come home with me, I had an extra sofa. I so wanted to help! The words almost came out of my mouth, on the tip of my tongue then I stopped.
“Is there anything I can do to help? I don’t have any extra room” I lied “but I do have a couple of dollars.” That moment in time I hated myself.
“Thank you but no thank you, I have a little of my pension money that I am surviving on...”
With this I took my farewell and as I walked away I saw her scribble something down in her notepad.
Now the internal moral debate started. How could I call myself a humanitarian? Here I am at a meeting to save homeless animals and walk away from a homeless human being? Why did I want to do something but was afraid to do it? What was I afraid of; why didn’t I act on my feeling of wanting to help. This tore me up the whole ride home. I don’t even remember the roads I took, I just kept questioning myself, punishing myself till my head was pounding when I walked in the door of my home, a roof over my head, a bed to sleep in.
Then the all time question hit, the one I always find myself asking. Why did this happen? What is this leading to? Where should it have taken me or where is this taking me. Why when no one else seemed to see her, no one else went to see if she needed help. Why did I go ask, what does this all mean? She was there, I was there and we met. Why? What is fate putting in front of me?
When I had come out the first time I noticed a lady sitting on the newspaper stand boxes up against the wall under the shelter from the falling drizzle. As I approached the door she said:”You look like an outdoors girl who has horses”.
I turned, smiled and said: “I am an outdoors person but no horses, just a big dog”.
I reached for the door and found it locked. The rest of the ladies were headed out and gave me access, I went and got the display boards and as Dorothy held the door for me I walked thru and took the displays to Laurie’s car. Everyone was out of the building now and loading their cars. I started to walk to mine and wondered if the lady sitting against the wall was waiting for a ride. I turned half way to my car and walked back to her.
“Good evening, Mam”, I said approaching her, “are you waiting for a ride or do you need a ride?”
“I’m homeless” was her reply.
This stopped me dead in my tracks. “I’m sorry I didn’t know.”
“Well I can thank my husband and brother for it.” she replied, taking the small white note pad she had in her hand and folding it around the pen she had been writing with.
I was at a lost for words. My curiosity took over; “Well if you don’t mind me asking, where do you stay?” I shifted my weight.
“Well, tonight I will stay here because there is shelter, sometimes I sleep over on the other side on the bench.” And with a wave of her hand upwards she said, “And sometimes I sleep under the stars.”
“Wow” was my educated response.
“You would not believe how many homeless people there are right here in Columbia. There is this young black gentleman,” she lightly chuckled and slightly tilted her head back. “He says he is in love with me. He is in worse shape, he has been in prison, shot and was in a coma, so you know he is not all there, says he been convicted of robbery and attempted murder.”
“Is he homeless too?”
“Yes, he usually sleeps at the bus stop or over on the other side. See that entrance on the other side?” She said pointing thru the lit, locked lobby of the library. “There is a man that will sleep there tonight. He was an electrical engineer of 25 years who lost his job, home and family, there are a lot of us here”.
“Why don’t you go to a Grassroots, or a shelter?”
“Grassroots started out as a home for those who tried to commit suicide. They take the homeless, but they only take single woman with a child or single men. They only have two beds allocated for people over fifty-five. No room and they are not all they are made out to be.”
“Why don’t you write about this? Make the community aware of this situation”.
“I was to meet with a committee that was assigned to educate the people of Columbian about the serious problem here but they got disbanded before it even started”.
She went on through the politics, her daily activity of going to the mall in the morning, the library to go online in the afternoon, the inadequate facilities, the miss- spent funds that should have provided housing, the poor and disgusting education that most of the children have.
“These are not children who come to this library, it is a zoo for uncontrolled animals.” she said at one point.
She talked about her background, her father, the economy, the ill prepared troops that were sent into Iraq, and even how the price of gold has fallen. All the time looking very proper, speaking knowledgeably and apparently highly educated and looking me straight in the eye.
She looked to be in her late fifties plus, short silver grey hair combed back, her eyebrows marked on, wire rim glasses, a touch of make up, slacks, mid-length jacket and a blue and pink floral scarf tired around her neck bunched up under the chin and falling down across a white pull over shirt. She had a red, white and blue umbrella sitting open on the ground in front of her and two carry on type bags between her and the glass wall to the library.
“And you wonder why I don’t write about this? I have so much to say and you can see how worked up I become.”
“I’m sorry”. I extended my hand to her and said: “My name is Kitty.”
She stood and shook mine and said “Ann.”
I had been there talking with her for over forty five minutes, with not another soul around; and had this urge to ask her to come home with me, I had an extra sofa. I so wanted to help! The words almost came out of my mouth, on the tip of my tongue then I stopped.
“Is there anything I can do to help? I don’t have any extra room” I lied “but I do have a couple of dollars.” That moment in time I hated myself.
“Thank you but no thank you, I have a little of my pension money that I am surviving on...”
With this I took my farewell and as I walked away I saw her scribble something down in her notepad.
Now the internal moral debate started. How could I call myself a humanitarian? Here I am at a meeting to save homeless animals and walk away from a homeless human being? Why did I want to do something but was afraid to do it? What was I afraid of; why didn’t I act on my feeling of wanting to help. This tore me up the whole ride home. I don’t even remember the roads I took, I just kept questioning myself, punishing myself till my head was pounding when I walked in the door of my home, a roof over my head, a bed to sleep in.
Then the all time question hit, the one I always find myself asking. Why did this happen? What is this leading to? Where should it have taken me or where is this taking me. Why when no one else seemed to see her, no one else went to see if she needed help. Why did I go ask, what does this all mean? She was there, I was there and we met. Why? What is fate putting in front of me?