She stands at the bottom of the freeway exit, holding a small cardboard sign, diminutive compared to surrounding billboards. Been in an accident? One call, that’s all… Eat more chicken (sic)… She seems so young, so happy, waving politely as the cars pass, but there’s a burden of some sort behind her eyes, you just know. You can tell by the crease in her forehead, the way her lips will relax into a slight worried frown after she’s done with each wave.
Then, she turns – and there they are – hanging from her backpack – the little pink sandals.
But there’s no kid in sight.
With the father maybe? Why isn’t he at work? Or out here begging for his family if it’s come to that? Her sign says nothing at all about a family, it just asks for help. The cynic in you wonders if they are just a prop.
Or maybe something happened to her daughter, maybe she carries them as a memento.
There’s no time to ask her, even if there’s a dollar or two in your wallet, which you’re pretty sure there’s not. Should you check? If you had a dollar, could spare it – would you? What would you choose to believe she’s really going to spend it on? What does any of it have to do with you?
