RED

The others called her Red.  There was now a faint hint of copper in her hair.  Scraggly gray now replaced what had been red.  To say that the years had been unkind to her would be an understatement.

I asked her how old she was.  She squinted and said “That’s a question one should never ask a lady.”  Hmmm, I thought to myself.

I stared at her face. Too much sun and too little soap.  Her last trip to the dentist was likely decades ago.

When I asked her about the new homeless shelter off of Lewis Turner Boulevard, she snorted, “I ain’t goin.”  “Why?” I asked. “Too many rules,” was all she offered.

I wonder if all the planners, do-gooders, volunteers, and boards of directors, have got it all wrong?  Have any of the area’s homeless been asked what they would like?

Somehow, I doubt it.  Maybe the planners feel that if the homeless had normal thinking power, they would not be homeless.  I don’t know what anyone on either side thinks.

All I know is that this old woman is standing in front of me asking for a dollar. I pull my money clip out of my pocket and peel off two.  She mumbles a “thank you” and walks away. For the first time, I notice that her ragged tennis shoes don’t match.

Late fifties, early sixties maybe.  Too many cigarettes, too many beers, too many crumbs.  I wonder what is keeping this old woman alive?

Maybe it is just an enjoyment of being who she is and not worrying about what others think she should be.

Red, I really think that you have hit upon the answer to a long life.  Just be, right here, right now.