The Gift of Windows

Rosa follows the delivery truck with her eyes as it crawls into one of the narrow side streets. Maybe today will be the day, she thinks as she stashes her meager belongings behind the snow fencing.

She knows she will not be welcome walking the streets if there are any nosy neighbors spying on their neighbors. Staying to the alleyway in the middle of the block, she gives a quick look up and down Ash, then Poplar, then spots the bumper on Maple.

These guys are fast, she thinks, as the engine roars to life. Staying in the shadows, Rosa waits until the noxious fumes pass her by.

There. On the curbside. Sitting atop the mounded snow sits a tall box with an LG logo. A delivery of a double-wide refrigerator. Thank my lucky stars! They only cut the straps. They didn’t cut the box!

LG makes the best! Oh, I don’t know about the refrigerator, but the box! Thick, sturdy boxboard. Not that flimsy corrugated stuff that rots in the rain. And look, the Styrofoam base is in one piece. I even have a door!

The Lord has answered my prayers! Granted, he didn’t find me room in the shelter through this cold spell. And the pantries are all out of food. What happened to the season of giving? Oh yeah, it’s January.

On TV, they say bad times are coming, but they don’t know anything. They haven’t been on the streets as long as I have, to see what bad times really are. And they aren’t watching these delivery trucks coming with big boxes every day to homes across this city.

I’ll worry about food later. The size of this box is a luxury with room to roll over in. I have to get this box to the Second Avenue underpass. It must be the windiest place in the city, not the smartest choice for a home base. But the snowfall helped. That snow fence catches the drifting snow and created a wind break. It’s now part of a three-sided igloo, with a sheet of cardboard covering the open top.

I find this safer than trying to live in the alleys or huddled around closed storefronts. In my world, there’s no safety in numbers, even in the shelters. No roaming hands, no request for “favors,” no one to take the last crumb from your hand while your belly aches.

They would take the few clothes I carry if they thought they could wear them. It’s mostly men on the streets, plus a few old crazy crones. Not many like me. Someone young enough that everyone assumes should have a future. But this is the life I have chosen. No responsibilities, no bills, no stuff, just the daily challenge to survive.

The box won’t be as hard to move as it would have been in the spring. It’s sliding nicely on the unplowed alleyway, and the plows left the sidewalks on Second Avenue an icy mess.

The box is getting wet and hard to hold as flurries start. I turn down Second Avenue and see that the Elementary School is letting out early. That could make crossing Frederick Douglas a challenge. Four lanes of traffic I need to cross before I settle into my new home.

My fingers are getting numb. The tips on what remains of my gloves have holes on them. If I were smarter, I would have brought the extra socks. The kids would laugh at the ugly mittens, but I would be warmer.

The crossing guard doesn’t comment as she stops traffic to let me and a few girls across Frederick Douglas. Back on the ice, the box moves smoothly. Not much further, I think.

I hear back from the corner, “Monica. Child. Stay away from her. You need to go home.”

I turn and I see, she must be about 9 or 10, and she must be Monica, pushing the box from the back end. “The lady’s right. You should be heading home. Your mother will be waiting for you.”

“No, she won’t. I let myself in when I get home. She’s at work. Besides, you need help.” Monica continues to push forward, nearly knocking me over. The crossing guard can’t leave her post, and no one else follows. I guess I have help, at least for a few minutes.

“I’ve seen you when I’ve sledded down the hill. Can’t you go home?”

She shouldn’t be burdened with my life, but I’m feel I need to be honest with this girl who seems to know more about life than she should at her age. “This is my home, at least for right now. This box will make things a lot nicer overnight.”

It’s not much further to the snow fence. She spots my hideout and says, “It’s a nice snow fort. But you’re right. This box will make it better for you. It’s a lot bigger.”

“Are you going to hide it with snow? I can help, for a little while at least.”

Saint Benedict Labre must be working overtime now that he is canonized. Our saint of the homeless must have sent this child to me today, in my time of need. How can I turn her away as she waits for an answer? “OK. Let’s move this snow wall to the back so the box will fit. I can worry about hiding the other sides tomorrow.”

She’s good to her word, helping more than I deserve as she leans into the wall to knock off blocks and carries around to the back. Focused on the larger blocks I was moving, I lost track of her for a minute.

She called over, “Hey, I found this box. We can use it to move snow easier.”

I want to hug this child. She’s such a help, but I see the traffic getting busier and the clouds are getting darker. “You better leave now before it gets darker.”

“I wish I could stay, but you’re right. I forgot to ask. What’s your name?”

“Monica, my name is Rosa. It’s been a blessing to have met you.”

“No, Rosa. I wish I could help more. Wait. I know what I can do.” She pulls off her knit gloves and hands them to me. “I saw your hands. You need them more than me. Besides, my mom is always yelling at me that I keep losing my gloves. What’s another pair?”

I hold back the tears as I say the most sincere “Thank You” that I ever said in my life. “But you need to go now.”

“Goodbye Rosa. I will see you soon.”

As she skips off, I am torn by wanting this ray of sunshine to return but not wanting the darkness of my world to snuff it out.

The winds were light, but the snow was steady overnight. The box trapped my body heat better than the snow. I was warmer than I’ve been for weeks.

The line at the soup kitchen was long, and it was midafternoon when I return to my home. I see that someone has moved my Styrofoam door.

Carefully opening to entrance to my home, I see an envelope and two rectangles of cardboard. Inside the envelope are push pins and a handwritten note.

Rosa, I didn’t see you today, so I left them here. Please. Pin these up. A house should have windows to keep things bright and shutters to protect you. Love, Monica.