Cindy SHE HAD BAGAGGE

 

I was waiting in line at a homeless outreach event underneath the Burnside Bridge in downtown Portland. It is a weekly event where hundreds of homeless guests come to have a great meal, haircuts, clothing, and manicures.  The hustle and bustle of a restless city; productivity and consumerism layer the foundation of this “beautifully broken” song.  The cars are the drone; horns fade into complacency along with semis and traveling locals above us on the freeway.  The harmony is the happy and joyful “thank yous” of people getting haircuts and, for some, having their first meal in days.  The melody is Cindy’s story: a beautifully broken segment that evokes the reality of the homeless experience.

SHE was loud. As I waited in the food line under the bridge, curses spewed from her lips:

“FUCK.”

I turned around and saw her. A woman with much baggage; she was holding two backpacks, one looking very heavy.  She also carried two dirty sleeping bags.   Her hair was messy, dirty . . . falling out.  Her face was wrinkled. Her teeth were only half intact.  However, her eyes say gentility and peace, despite her cursing.  She stood struggling with the bags.  She would lift the luggage and move two feet in line as we got closer to the counter.  She would repeat this process with curses and pained grunts until we arrived closer to the front.  I turned again and asked how she was doing, to which she responded,

“Not good, these bags are so damn heavy.”

“Well that’s not good. I would love to sit with you and eat if you would like.” I said.

She replied with phrases like, “No one ever pays any attention to me,” “You don’t have to do that” and “Thank you.” We arrived at the counter.

We grabbed our tasty rice and meat, donated by a local Mexican restaurant and three soft oatmeal and chocolate chip cookies in a Ziploc bag. We sat on the concrete under the bridge; because all of the tables were full.  I started to ask her why her day was not good.

This is her story:

Today my husband was arrested, only thirty minutes ago. He was yelling on the streets.  He always yells.  I tell him to stop, but he doesn’t listen . . .  this food is really good, this food is really good!

*She had not eaten in two days.*

I sure do wish he would listen to me. I love him so much.  We have been married for six and a half years.  Sometimes he beats me.  I wish he would treat me right.  But he is all I got.  I don’t have any friends and I know almost everyone here.  They are probably all wondering where Mikkey (*her husband) went. I am going to have to hide tonight.

I ask, “Why do you have to hide?”

If I don’t ill either get robbed or rapped or both.  I’m so scared, I wish Mikkey was here.

*She seemed scared and looked around at the different tables; she felt the eyes of other homeless people looking at her.*

I have to hide tonight. . . .  Oh, but you don’t understand.

I tell her, “I don’t understand; Cindy, I never can, but I would like to try.”

[*Cindy’s eyes begin to tear up as she smiles.*] You’re so nice to listen to me, you don’t even know me and you don’t have to. You are a special boy. You are so special.  You’re a very special boy.  You must have had a good mother.  [*She holds my hands and I start to cry.*]  I have SIX children; thank the good Lord for blessing me with SIX beautiful children.  Thank the good Lord. SIX beautiful children! [*with more tears*]  You don’t have to listen to me, thank you!

I respond, “I am glad to do it. Thank you for telling me your story.”

I believe in God and some people here reject me for it, but God blessed me with SIX beautiful children.   I just want love and peace for the whole world.  I don’t want war.  I don’t like violence. [*She leans in*].  I want love and peace.  I don’t know why people have to fight [*She had clearly seen and experienced lots of fights . . .*] Thank you for listening to me, you don’t have to.  Why would you?  Thank you; you do not know how much this means to me.  [*I tear up and gently rub her forearm.*] No one pays attention to me, but you did, you much have a good mother.

*We hug for a while as she is still crying. She needs to talk*

I, hesitant, say, “I can’t do anything for you, but I can pray for you. Can I pray for you?”

[*She, happy and willing, responds.*] “Yes.”

*I reach in close to pray for Cindy and I touch her forearm:*

God, thank you so much for Cindy and her story. God thank you for her strength and her wish for peace and love in the world. [*She starts crying again.*] Thank you for her inspiring me because of her strength. Thank you for her SIX children. I just pray for Mikkey.  I pray that you would do something in his heart while he is in jail.  I pray he would love and appreciate Cindy in a new way when he comes out of jail.  I especially pray that Cindy will be safe tonight.  God, you are the Comforter and you are the Protector.  I pray and have faith that you will protect Cindy from being robbed or raped tonight.  Thank you for Cindy, God, and thank you for her story.

*When I finished she gave me a long, strong, deep embrace and kissed me on the cheek. I squeezed her tight and wished the very best for her.  She cried so much.  We stopped hugging.*

“Thank you for your story,” I said.

She said, “Thank you, you do not know how much this means to me, nobody talks to me   and I had a bad day.  Thank you.  You must have had a good mother.”

*She picked up her two backpacks and sleeping bags and went into the city to find a place to hide.*

 

 

 

Key:

* =Commentary