A Formative Day

March 9, 2001 was a day that escaped me for reasons which I cannot now realize. I do, however, realize the importance of it upon me, the description of which may not have an effect upon you, but it still does upon me. It helped make me who I am.

As I left the building on my way back to the parking lot, I thought about how beautiful a night it was. The air was crisp but contained that notion that it was beginning to warm into the sentimental sensation spring tends to bring about. The sky was clear other than those curious little sparkles that never cease to draw the imagination as they drew a smile across my face.

I rounded the corner at the end behind the row of low slung buildings into the alley that contained a few parking spaces and many dumpsters. I had walked this route four times per week since I began the program in September. The buildings included a few restaurants, which of course disposed of their refuse into the respective dumpsters. I say refuse as that is what you and I would call it, but what the little girl whom I saw trying her best to stack things on top of the cement block she had dragged in front of the bin would call dinner.

Seeing a small black girl eagerly trying to attack the rancid pile, made me more confused than I was the time I saw my mother light a joint. I felt the learned racism from some of my old acquaintances arise. Some of them might say, “Just like a ‘coon to be diggin’ in the damn trash.” I also felt the rise of humanity arise in me, in that I wanted to help her. Most of all, I felt curiosity as to what had caused her to be in a situation where she had to dig through other peoples garbage to find enough food to survive.

I didn’t know whether I could approach her or not. I didn’t know if I could handle the smell of wet rust and rotting pizza along with the smell of a child whom I was sure had not bathed in weeks judging from the crust under her nose and the wax oozing from her ears. I didn’t know if she would act like the ‘coon my old friends thought her to be and bite me with a rabid tooth. I did know that my feet were moving me towards her, a realization that came when I heard the puddle of dumpster juice splash under my foot.

She looked up at me as though I were wielding a knife, intensifying that feeling I was trying to suppress as I new it to be one of false pretence. Remembering that I had swiped three miniature chocolate bars from the basket in the student services office, I took one of them out of my pocket, quickly removed the rapper and ate it. No, I did not do this as a cruel joke. I did this to show her what it was. As much as I would like to think this were not true, I still felt as though she were a simplistic being that did not understand the complex culture that “we” had created. I did this to show her that the chocolate would not hurt her in that way you hold out your hand for a dog to sniff to show it the same lack of malicious intent. I then took out a second bar and held it out to her. She took it from my hand quickly and ate it even faster. I then took out the other bar. She took this one more slowly. She said, “Thank you.”

As naturally as she had spoken these two words to me, I spoke the natural two word response to her, “You’re welcome.” I felt in that moment all of the preconceived ideas about other people fall away. Not because I had heard her speak, but because I saw another little figure walk from behind the painted green can. With skin like a dirty white napkin, she held out her hand.

Since I had given the last chocolate to the first of the girls, I had nothing to fill her gritty fingers. “Wait here.” I ran as fast as I could back to student services grabbing as many chocolates as I could hold. By the time I had returned, two minutes later, the girls had made it successfully into the rotting container of food scraps. It appeared that they had a preconceived notion too…that you couldn’t rely on other people; so, they didn’t wait. I vomited, dropped the candies, walked slowly to my truck, and called 911.