—Leo Buscaglia
A slow-moving road plow was in front of me, and I followed it as long as my patience would allow before opting for another route downtown. I made the turn onto Oakdale and noticed a very pregnant young woman on the sidewalk pulling a suitcase with one hand and holding another one under her arm. I passed her but watched in the rearview mirror as she struggled to pull the suitcase. “What in the world?” I said, stopping the car. “Why is she walking around in this weather?” The woman was petite, with unruly shoulder-length blond hair. I watched through the back window as she struggled to keep the mane out of her face. The small suitcase she was holding dropped from under her arm and she squatted to pick up the bag. I peered through the passenger window trying to see if she was heading for a car or bus stop. “What is she doing?” I mumbled as I threw the car in reverse. I backed up alongside the young woman and rolled down the window. “Do you need help getting those somewhere?”
Tears fell down her face. “I don’t know where I’m going. The landlord kicked me out of my apartment.”
I pushed the button for the trunk and jumped out of the car, grabbing her bags. “Let me take you somewhere. Why were you kicked out?”
She put her hand on her belly and watched as I put her suitcase inside the trunk. “I haven’t paid rent in two and a half months. I told him I was going to try to find another roommate because I can’t pay it myself, but I can’t find anybody else. Men showed up this morning to rip out the carpeting and paint the walls.”
The wind picked up and I motioned for her to get in the car. “Tell you what,” I said. “I live just down the street. Maybe you could call your parents.”
She shook her head. “They’re divorced,” she said. “My dad’s out west and I haven’t seen him since I was thirteen. My mom’s an hour north but she’s the reason I moved here in the first place. We haven’t spoken a whole lot in the last five months.”
“Any friends nearby where I can drop you?”
“No.”
I wasn’t accustomed to asking strangers to sleep at my house, but how could I just leave a pregnant woman without a home to wander the streets? I could see the headlines: Pregnant Woman Dies of Exposure After Woman Passes Her By on the Way to Lunch. “You can sleep at my house if you like. Maybe tomorrow things will look different.” She blew her nose and nodded.
My living room was small but warm, with a fireplace on the far wall and an upright piano in front of another. The walls were a shade of green, and at the top, a border with ducks on it stretched around the room. I love ducks and had put the border up myself. The carpet was a soft pile, the color of a rose. The young woman was uncomfortable, her arms crossed in front of her.
“I hate this carpeting,” I said, dropping the suitcase to the floor. “Please. Feel free to sit.” I motioned to the sofa. She sat down and sank into the green cushions. “Who puts pink carpeting in a living room?” I said. “When I moved in I said I’d change it, but it’s cheaper to cover the walls than the floor. Of course some people might say, ‘Who paints their walls green and tops them off with ducks when they have pink carpeting?’ All those interior designers on TV would just cringe.” My Christmas tree was in front of the window, decorated with a hodgepodge of bulbs and beads. “We really should get acquainted,” I said, sitting in my favorite chair, a dark leather recliner with patch-worn arms. “I’m Gloria Bailey, and I live here alone. I have seven grandchildren that I adore. They’re brilliant, as you can imagine. My—” A door opened, and I winced. For a moment I had forgotten about Miriam. I looked up and saw her standing in the hall doorway.
“Who is this?” Miriam asked, walking in front of the young woman. “Who are you?”
“I’m Erin.”
“I see you have a suitcase, Erin. Are you going to the airport?” Erin shook her head. Miriam eyeballed her. “Are you a military wife?” Erin shook her head again. “Where is the father of that child you’re carrying?”
I stood up in an effort to save the poor girl. “I’ve asked Erin to stay here for the night,” I said.
Miriam turned on me. “Here? Are you running a boardinghouse, Gloria? I’m cramped as it is in these small quarters.”
The hairs on my neck stood on end, and I positioned myself between Miriam and Erin, whispering in that too-loud-to-be-considered-whispering voice, “This is my home, Miriam, and I’ll ask whomever I want, whenever I want, to stay in it.” I turned to Erin. “This is my neighbor Miriam, who’s staying with me for a few days.” Erin attempted to smile but Miriam was ignoring her anyway. “Why don’t you sit down, Miriam, and let’s enjoy a visit with Erin.”