(Chapters will get longer, I promise...)
I have passed through the same street of Manhattan an innumerable amount of times. I see the same faces, shops, and parked cars every day. This street, in particular, is known for its plethora of homeless men and women. The sight is truly heartbreaking. The hopeful, discouraged, and lonely faces of the poor fill the street.
It's hard to walk past these sad faces and ignore all of them every day on my way to work, which is exactly why I don't do that and plan on never doing so. My mother always said, "no matter what they say, you don't need to act hard and tough just because you are from Manhattan." She was a lovely woman, so of course, I am going to listen to her and do what she had always wanted me to do. I have gotten to know all of them, and they're all genuine and lovely. There hasn't been a new face for months.
Until today.
-
Today started off as it usually does. I woke up at 7:00 AM, put on the first clean band t-shirt I could find, a pair of sweatpants, and my treasured vans. There's no need for fancy attire when you're going to stand behind a counter at Academy Records for six hours. Normally, I get to work 30 minutes early, just in case I run into someone new on the streets.
If I were to predict a new homeless person to come to this street, I would always imagine them being an old or middle-aged man or woman. I would have never expected a boy who looked barely old enough to live on his own to be huddled against the wall of Academy Records with a blanket and an empty jar reading a plea for money:
"Just got out of an emotionally abusive relationship...anything can help...please..."
His skin tone was ghostly, as if he had never experienced the suns rays. With blotches and tired eyes, assuming this boy had been crying would be an accurate assumption. His slightly curled, caramel-like hair was tousled in every direction and ended at the very end of his eyebrows. I considered approaching him, but decided that now would not be the best time.
For the time being, I gave him a smile and a small wave. Making eye contact with him was like making eye contact with a plain, white vase: the vase shows no emotion. No personality. No life. The boy simply watched as I walked past him and into the building. Monday mornings aren't usually busy, so I have moments where I can just sit down, put my legs up on the counter, and go on my laptop or read.
Now, normally, this would be very easy to do. Today, though, I had a man watching me through the window. He remained emotionless, but hopeful in the slightest way. After almost a minute of eye contact through a window, I smiled slightly and motioned for him to come into the store. He looked down, almost as if hiding the tinted red color slowly filling his cheeks, and walked into the store.
AUTHORS NOTE:
Well hi :-)
So this hasn't made much progress yet, but it'll get there. I promise.
Please follow and vote if you want to read more. It would really mean a lot .xx
-Abi
P.S.
The girl who I imagined Farah as is Olivia Cooke. (Known as Emma DeCody from Bates Motel)
