How Many Heroes

2- Streetlights

     Greendale is split into two parts: the half of the town that I lived in, and Pennies. The latter is where Maria lives, named such because the inhabitants were so poor. Pennies was the home to every non-white person I knew in Greendale, except for Jesse and Mrs. Hudson, the black widow who lived three doors down from my house.

It was a dark Saturday afternoon. A harsh wind whipped my brown hair out its ponytail and tugged at my loose clothes. Despite my mom's disapproval, I opted for the twenty minute walk to the nearest bus stop, instead having her drive me. The familiarity of the town scenery helped ease my nerves. Not wanting any passerby to recognize me, I kept me head down until the bus came.

" 'ow ya doin' Ms. Logger," said Carlo, the driver, as I walked on.

"I-I'm good," I muttered, dropping a wad of dollars into a can labeled TIPS. Carlo never charged for his services, but I was sure he'd run out of business one day because so few people rode his bus.

I took a seat fairly close to the door, not wanting to mingle with anyone behind me. This bus-The Tasha, named after Carlo's wife- was my favorite not only because the friendly driver, but because the chairs could turn three hundred and sixty degrees. My friends and I had spent many weekends and holidays, talking and laughing as Carlo drove us anywhere.

In ten minutes I was at the edge of Pennies. I stepped off onto a cracked, grassy sidewalk and looked at the worn community in front of me. Faint sunlight fell on old, wooden houses and vegetable gardens shared by neighbors. I zeroed in on Maria's house and saw her standing with her mother and little brother on the crumbling road, staring woefully at their house.

"It's fine, everything fine," I whispered to myself, trying to ignore my rapid heartbeat. I ran toward the house. Maria saw me coming and met me halfway. Here browns eyes were widened in a fear that I rarely saw in her. Without speaking she grabbed my hand and dragged me toward her house, where her mother and little brother were still looking up at the house.

"Someone wrecked our house," Maria said to me. "We were out shopping and when we came back..." she gestured toward the house.

Shard of glass, fallen from broken windows littered the dirty driveway, Dried-up eggs were stuck to the walls. A strange symbol, a vertical line with three horizontal lines going through it, sprawled over the front of the house in bright green.

"Oh my God," I said.

Maria's mother gingerly walked inside the house. The little boy, Antonio, went over to Maria and took her hand. Maria's mother came back a few minutes later with two water-filled buckets in either hand.

"Um..h-hi, Mrs. Rodriguez," I said. "Can I...d-d-do you n-need any help?"

"Hola, Bethany," she said tiredly, not even bothering to remind me to call her Teresa. "You're welcome to do as much as you can, but I don't think there's much you can do." Her eyes looked again at her ruined house.

For the next hour, Maria, Antonio, and I silently used sponges to scrub off as much eggs and paint as we could. Mrs. Rodriguez retrieved s broom from inside and swept glass off the driveway. Then we went inside to see what other damage could be undone. Most days, the Rodriguez household was light and fun. Whenever I came, it never mattered that the couch was worn or that there was barely any electricity. It was my second home. Now, that feeling had been stolen by someone so malicious they would harm an innocent, low-income family.

We crept carefully through the house, as if we were the invaders, afraid that someone might be hiding in the shadows. There appeared to be nothing wrong with the kitchen, bathrooms, or living room. But the bedrooms were a different story.