In the early '70s, my aunt Sarah studied education at a college in a very conservative small town. Sarah lived on campus, while her boyfriend Jack (who eventually became my uncle) lived in a crappy house in a crappy part of town off campus.
Because the college was in an industrial town, there were surrounded by really big feedlots and beef packing plants (slaughterhouses) that ran 24 hours a day and among the blue collar workforce were many undocumented workers that were paid under the table and lived off the grid.
Part of my aunt's coursework for her degree was going into the local district and trying to help illegal immigrant families get resources for the kids (stuff like free lunches and pre-natal care if the moms were pregnant). Mostly, the work was depressing as fuck. The families wanted the resources, but they didn't want to bring any attention to their undocumented status. It was just a disaster.
Uncle Jack lived across the street from a crappy apartment building that housed several of these families and often, groups of children would be playing outside. One day while visiting, my aunt noticed this kid, a five or six-year-old little girl, sitting alone on the apartment's crumbling balcony. After that, whenever she'd visit during the week (day or night), the girl would be there, but she was always gone on weekends.
There were a lot of people who lived in those units, so on the weekends, there would be tons of kids of all ages running around, tearing crap up, generally being little jerks, like kids do. They moved into the house in August, so it was blazing hot and the sun didn't set until almost ten at night, so the kids were always out running around.
Any given weekday, though, that kid would be sitting there all by herself, just staring over at them, well into the evening. My aunt said at first she just thought it was sad that the kid didn't have anybody really looking after her.
But then it started turning to fall and the days were getting shorter and colder. One night, my uncle was walking my aunt out to her car and she remarked to him that the little girl wasn't out there, a relief because it was getting so cold. But then a car turned down the street with its brights on and when the headlights hit the balcony of that apartment building, the kid was still there. My aunt said she must have been wearing dark clothes because when the headlights passed over her, all they could really see was this very pale little face, the headlights washing away all of her features. She'd been there the entire time. They just hadn't seen her because it was so dark.
That was turning point for my aunt. By now, she was into her internship with the district and she was doing a lot of outreach. So one weekend afternoon when it was still pretty nice outside, she and my uncle approached the families mingling outside. She asked about the little girl, but no one would talk to her. She said even the kids pretended not to be able to understand her.
Winter came and still the little girl could be seen on the balcony, appearing like like she wasn't wearing a coat. At this point, my aunt decided to stage an intervention to get the kid a jacket and maybe even enroll her in school. So she sees the kid one morning and heads across the street and up the stairs that lead to the second level. But by the time she gets there, the kid is gone. My aunt didn't hear any footsteps. She didn't hear any doors closing. Nothing.
My aunt figures it's the same thing from before—they're just scared of an outsider. But now she's more determined than ever because this kid clearly needs some resources.
That week it snowed, so when the weekend comes, a bunch of the little jackals that were living across the street were outside stockpiling snowballs to throw at each other. My aunt has learned from the last time, so this time she doesn't take my uncle, but she does take candy. And a bunch of silver dollars.
