Desolation

Endless fields of dust and weeds rush past my vision. It almost seems as if they're the ones moving and not me, as if I could just sit still and let the whole world pass me by. I rest my head back against the wall of the freight car and close my eyes. The hum of the train lulls me to sleep as memories fill my mind.

"Maggie," my Mama sighed, "I ain't gonna last much longer."

"Don't say that, Mama. You'll get better. I know you will."

"Maggie-"

"I need you," I interrupted. Though we both knew that wasn't true. I'd been the only one of us working for the last four months, ever since Mama got sick, and what I earned from my few odd jobs was hardly enough to feed two people; we grew hungrier every day. "We've had this conversation, Mama. I'm not gonna leave you here." She looked at me long and hard. Then she kissed my forehead and went to bed.

I wake up as the train begins to decelerate. I'll have to get off soon, before it stops. There's nothing worth stealing on this car, I already checked. What I brought from home will have to make do for now. I stick my head out of the train and see tall buildings. They're still in the distance, but growing rapidly. New York City.

I sigh. I don't want to start a new life here. Not without Mama.

If I get off now I'll be able to walk the rest of the way before the sky is too dark. I secure my bag across my body and take a deep breath, then I jump off the train. I hit the ground hard and roll away from the tracks. I lie here for a few minutes before standing up, feeling my heart pounding. I'm a bit bruised from the landing but that's the worst of it, so I brush the dust out of my eyes and follow the railroad toward the city.

It is dusk when I reach the outskirts so I begin to look for a place to sleep. Spotting a narrow alley a ways up the street I make my way toward it. I sneak in between the buildings but as I'm setting down my bag I hear someone behind me.

"Hey, you." I spin around, searching for a face to go with the voice. Then I notice an older boy getting up from where he'd been laying. "What do you think you're doin'?"

"Uh," I stammer. "I was just... trying to-"

"Get outta here!" He takes a step toward me. "Now, or I'll-" I am gone before he finishes his sentence. I stop running after a few minutes and eventually find an alley similar to the first, but unoccupied. Exhausted by now, I sit down and finally allow the tears to slide down my cheeks. A heavy loneliness settles in my heart.

"I miss you," I whisper into the darkness. Hoping that, somewhere, Mama can hear me.

In the morning, I wander the city. I'm not sure where to start looking for work. I always heard it's abundant here, that anyone can get a job. But the more I see of New York, the more people I notice who are definitely not employed. I spot a homeless camp under a bridge and another behind a factory building. In the late afternoon, as I walk by two people in dirty, ragged clothes, their eyes cast down to avoid attention, it suddenly dawns on me that I'm one of them now. I am homeless. This realization shouldn't be so shocking to me but it is, and I have to sit down.

If I can't find work here in the city, I'm done for. Mama had always wanted me to come here, so when she died that's what I did. But there was never a plan B.

I return to my alley from last night and luckily no one else is there. I don't want another confrontation. I don't want to be around people at all, really, not the unfriendly strangers who've ignored me all day. For the umpteenth time, I long for Mama, for home, for anything familiar. And again, the tears come, sleep not far behind them.

I am out of food. I've stretched the very little I brought with me for as long as it could last. This adds a new sense of urgency to my mission. I ask dozens of pedestrians if they know of any job openings but no one takes me very seriously and they all say no. I even venture into a few factory buildings, but each time I am pushed away with an irritated assurance that "No, we are not looking to hire right now, or anytime soon! Good day!" The bit of hope I still have diminishes with each negative response, and panic is starting to settle in. By the end of the day, I still have nothing to show for my desperate search.

I don't cry tonight. I still miss Mama, of course, but it's different. I don't feel sad right now, just empty. New York City holds nothing for me. No job, no home, no friends. Not a single person has shown me any kindness in the few days I've been here. I don't want to stay here, but it's not as if anywhere else would be any better. There really is no place for me, anywhere. I try to ignore my complaining stomach.

The next day, I stay put. I know I won't find anything, and walking around just uses energy that I don't have. So, I stay in my alley. I'm done trying. I am miserable and hungry and bored and completely enervated. I try to sleep but never really succeed. The pain in my stomach gives me something to focus on for several hours, but eventually I lose interest in that too. I don't get up the whole day, or night for that matter.

I sit through the next day, too.

And the one after that.

I wish for Mama every moment. I want to see her, to hold her, to talk with her. I know the only place for me is with her, so I am determined to be there. It won't be long.