Last fall, The Sps and I came across a teen girl crying on our curb, next to the maple trees. We were setting off on a walk around our suburban neighborhood.
I sat down next to her and asked if she was OK. She nodded yes, yet clearly she was not ok. I told her that we were going for a short walk, but she could knock on our door at any time if she needed help. She was barefoot. I was very worried. Wondered if she was hurt, so I asked. She said she wasn’t.
I repeated my offer of help and took off on our walk, shortening it to only one block so I could be near and keep an eye. Halfway down the block, I noticed she is following us. I immediately turned around and went to her, offering to help. She said she was lost. Between tears, she told us where she lived (nearby). I asked why she left the house with no shoes, she said she likes being barefoot. She was dressed appropriately otherwise.
She had a phone with her. While walking her home, she steps on a bee, getting stung on her foot. Poor thing, she is now crying harder. We stop, I tell The Sps to get the car while I sit with her. She calms down, telling me about not being in school the past year because of Covid so she had to start school a grade below what she would have otherwise. Sounded like she might not have been connected to any school distract at the time per a move.
One of the lost Covid kids.
We try calling her grandmother, who answers. I talk to grandma and figure out they live a block away. Grandma is outside when we pull up and I stay and chat a bit to get a sense of things, to ease my concern. Grandma is forthcoming and the girl seems comfortable with her. I was my sense that the girl may have had a disability, but I did not ask.
I repeated that she (I know her name but not sharing it) is always welcome to stop by the house, whenever she wishes.
She was quite lovely. I walk by their place sometimes on my daily walks, to placate the worry that rises up sometimes in random moments. Walking that careful line, being watchful but not intrusive. Wondering if I should have made some sort of call, but knowing the justification isn’t much. I’ve taken barefoot walks. I’ve cried on those walks, rarely but definitely. I’m a crier. Maybe she is too. She’s in school. She is being cared for by an adult. Nothing she told me indicated she is in any danger or was running away from anything, even though I will always wonder.
I hope she is ok.
That was October, last fall. Today I go outside with The Pup and I notice a different young woman sitting under my maple trees again. Facing away. Her biked is propped against the fence, her backpack is open and she’s having a snack, calmly unconcerned about my presence.
I leave her be.
I love the maple trees in my yard. Often I just go to that spot and sit in the peaceful shade it provides and process thoughts. It’s a small side yard, next to the road, but the maples and the fence and the house together create this secret placid place perfect for resting and thinking.
I love that others find peace and safety within it.
I think I should buy a little bench.
And think of other ways to let it be a small community garden, open to anyone who just needs a private minute.
~The End~
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