Exhausted, frightened, crying, she lay on the grass. She must have fallen asleep, for she awakened when someone touched her. A man whispered her name.
“I’ve been lost.”
“I know.”
“I couldn’t find you.” She pushed herself up.
The sun rose behind him. Glorious color shone all around him. Carolyn raised a hand to shade her eyes.
“I found you.” Raindrops of sensation raced up and down her body. It wasn’t the young veteran who had found her. She couldn’t see His face in the light, but she knew His voice even though she had never heard it before. Her heart pounded wildly. He whispered again, and then He was gone.
Carolyn sat on the grass in the morning sunshine, holding tight to that one single moment when she felt loved, cherished, and for the first time in her life, certain of what she was supposed to do next.
Finally, pushing herself up, she found her way back to the sidewalk. She ducked into a public restroom to wash. Someone had broken the mirror. She stared at her reflection, like a Picasso painting, hacked up and put back together at odd angles. She dragged her fingers through her long, snarled hair, trying to make herself decent. How did she do that after spending weeks living in the same clothing, sleeping on the ground, scrounging in garbage cans? Giving up, she went back outside. She walked for a while and then sat to rest on a green lawn that tapered down to a pond.
Jesus had told her what to do. She just didn’t think she had the courage to do it.
A young mother came down the slope holding a blanket and large picnic basket. A little boy and girl raced ahead of her, each with a small plastic bag in their hands. Bread crumbs for the ducks. One quickly swam their way, eight fuzzy ducklings following in her wake.
“Not so close, Charlie!”
Pain gripped Carolyn. Her heart pounded again, hard, fast, fluttering strangely as though she had just come back to life. The little boy looked older than his sister. He took her hand and pulled her away from the edge of the small lake. Protective.
Carolyn wanted to get up and move closer, but she didn’t want to alarm the mother. She knew she looked a fright, like any other alcoholic still craving a drink, a slut who slept with strangers to keep warm, a derelict who ate out of garbage cans and slept under the cover of bushes. What mother in her right mind would want someone like Carolyn anywhere near her innocent children?
The young woman spread her blanket and sat down a short distance away. She smiled at Carolyn. “It’s a perfect morning, isn’t it?”
Carolyn found it difficult to speak. “Yes.” Perfect. She watched the little boy. “You called him Charlie. My brother’s name was Charlie.” She turned her face away so the lady wouldn’t see the tears that came so quick. She wiped them away.
“Was? Did something happen to him?”
“He was killed in Vietnam.”
“When?”
“During the Tet Offensive.” January 1968. Had it really been more than two years?
The lady sat for a long time, hands in her lap, watching her children. Carolyn knew she should leave, but the normalcy held her. The little boy and girl ran up the grassy slope. “Mommy! We need more bread! The ducks are still hungry!”
Chuckling, the lady opened a package of Wonder bread and handed them each a slice. “Little pieces. And don’t get too close. You’ll frighten them away.”
Carolyn remembered Oma letting her open packages of Wonder bread on the way home from Hagstrom’s grocery store. Her stomach cramped with hunger now, and her mouth watered. The children ran down the slope and threw the food to the ducks. Carolyn put her forehead on her raised knees and swallowed despair.
“Would you like a sandwich?” The lady held one out. “We have more than enough.”
Too hungry to be proud, Carolyn got up and went over to accept it. “Thank you.” She started to move away, but the lady spoke again.
“Why don’t you sit with us and share our picnic?” She set out sandwiches, a plastic container of potato salad, a bag of chips, another container of chocolate chip cookies, pints of milk.
Carolyn sat on the grass next to the blue blanket and tried not to stare at the food as she ate the peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
“You can sit on the blanket.” The lady smiled at her again. “It’s all right. The grass is still a little wet with dew, isn’t it?”
“I don’t want to get your blanket dirty.”
The lady’s brown eyes softened. “Sit. Please. Do you live close by?”
Carolyn noticed the gold cross at her throat. “I’ve been living in the park for a while.”
She looked dismayed. “Why?”
“I didn’t want to go back to the place where I’d been living.”
“You don’t have anywhere else to go?”
Carolyn shrugged and then shook her head. “I burned my bridges a long time ago.” She licked jelly off her fingers. She’d only eaten half of the sandwich. “May I please have one of those pieces of cellophane?”
“You’re not going to eat the whole thing?”
“I’m saving a little. For later.”
The lady’s eyes grew moist. “You can eat it. I’ll give you another one to save, if you want.” She reached into the basket. “I wondered why I felt such an impulse to make extra sandwiches this morning.” When she looked up, her eyes filled. “Don’t cry or I will, too.”
“People usually tell me to get lost.” As if she wasn’t already.
“May I ask your name?”
“Caro.” A piece only, but enough.
“I’m Mary.” She extended her hand. Carolyn had to move closer to shake it. “It’s nice to meet you, Caro.” She passed over a pint of milk, then took a paper plate and fork from the basket, scooped potato salad onto it, and handed it to Carolyn. “Tell me about yourself.”
Fear melted away and loneliness won. Carolyn told Mary she had family, but they wouldn’t want her anymore. She told her about college, Chel, the protest rallies, the desperation to change the world before it was too late, and then Oma’s call telling her it already was. She told her about living in Haight-Ashbury and moving to Clement Street, the drinking and drugs, going to Woodstock and the long drive home wondering if Chel would make it.
“Did she?”
“Yeah. But she died of an overdose a couple months ago.” Carolyn put her hands over her face and cried. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I told you all that.”
“I asked, Caro. Because I care.”
The children raced up the slope again. The girl came over to Carolyn. “Hello.”
Carolyn felt her face fill with heat. “Hello.”
“Who are you?” the boy wanted to know.
“Don’t be rude, Charlie. Caro, this is Sadie, my little lady.” She ran a tender hand over the little girl’s dark curls. “And this is Charlie, the man of the house.” Smiling, she pinched his nose. “Caro is our guest.”
The little girl looked curious. “Is that why you made so many sandwiches, Mommy?”
Mary laughed. “I guess so.” She patted the blanket and they sat down. They prayed together before she gave them their sandwiches.
Charlie leaned closer to his mother and whispered loudly, “Why is Caro crying?”
“Because she has had a very hard time.”
“You used to cry a lot. I still hear you sometimes.”
