She walks the sidewalks by day and sleeps them by night outside the 24 hour drugstore.
She smears thick sunscreen on her aging face and wears plastic bags tied over her shoes.
She uses dish soap and glue to help cope through her days.
She uses pen and paper to voice her life words and then pastes them to her cart piled high with all her other worldly treasures.
The husband first met her on his way to school. They crossed paths and he reached out with five dollars - something he tries to keep waiting in his pocket.
It's the husband who taught me to look straight into the eyes, rather than to look straight past.
When the nights grow cold in December he gathers our sleeping bag into his arms and goes out to find Dee. He offers the warmth in the chill of the night hoping that she'll accept. She doesn't.
The girls have watched their daddy.
They decide to buy Dee a gift - some pens, a couple of journals, a pretty scarf to make her feel beautiful. They sit at the table and craft cards with flowers and messages beginning with "To: Dee ...".
One spring morning we sight her settled on the corner of Sepulveda and Queensland. We rush home to gather our gift and rush out to meet her. We chat for awhile and she speaks with humour and scholarly words. Her words make us smile. We hope our gift makes her day.
Tonight I pick up milk and see Dee all set up outside the 24 hour drugstore. I look straight into her soft blue eyes and say, "Hey Dee, can I get you anything?" She's been using her dish soap, I can tell . She smiles and says "I'm okay for now." I nod and make my way home thinking about our Dee, wondering what more can we share before we leave ...
