Mary had waited nearly three hours in the soup line outside her makeshift home. Being mid December, the snow was nearly to her calves. Her once nearly albino skin now looked African American from dirt and disgust. Her hands had turned a royal bruised blue and her fingers had lost all feeling. Standing there in line she didn't even want to think about her shoeless feet under the blanket of snow, all that mattered to her was that she could get food for her little girl and thankful a kind neighbor would watch her while she waited in line for food. Mary hadn't eaten in days but there were no more hunger pains . . . she wasn't even hungry anymore. There wasn't enough food to fill both bodies for the soup kitchen only offered one bowl per person and it was just satanically cruel to make the frail 6- year-old wait outside in these brutal conditions. The air was like a frozen tundra in itself but the wind slapping at your dissolving body was like Satan's whip on his suffering slaves. Yet day after day Mary surfaced up all her strength and faced the elements for a small cup of soup. To Mary all that mattered was not feeding herself but the pure sweet gratification she received from watching her daughter sip her steamy hot soup and look up with thankful tears in her eyes and whisper, " thank you mommy, it made the tummy monster go away."
Another breezy winter day where the wind seemed to blow right through you like you didn't even exist. Mary had lost her home and her life only 6months ago and now here they were scourging for food eating what petty little table scraps they could find. Along with the other 40 percent of homeless people Mary still worked. Thankfully her years working as a waitress in her teen years paid off, yet never could she ever have imagined the nightmare of fast food and service would continue after years of college and a teaching degree, if only school could have taught her how to turn brown cabbage into fresh produce. Looking down at her baby girl she'd rather be tortured by Satan himself in his most wicked ways then hold out a piece of molding bread and dirty water for her daughter to consume. To watch her once petal pink skin drain to a cotton ball white was worse than any torment inflected on herself.
Walking down the sidewalk with patches of cloth for clothes she waves to the man on the corner holding a sign saying "father of two babies, will work for food." Sitting on a park bench she opens a stray paper reading the columns "A recent study of 29 cities found that 20 percent of all requests for emergency shelter went unmet due to lack of resources A Status Report on Hunger and Homelessness in America's cities, via the National Coalition of the Homeless." Turning the pages just brings her more heartache with stories like " two trends are largely responsible for the rise in homelessness...a growing shortage of affordable rental housing and simultaneous increase in poverty the National Coalition of the Homeless." Disgusted with the black and white words she closes the paper and looks down to her baby girl playing in the sand. If only she could rewind time.
The air is cold and dead and the rain is plummeting down as God smites them with his cascading icicles. They take shelter in St. Andrews, a nearby church where Sister Roberta graciously welcomes them with open arms. Down in the dark and damp basement is where they get their donated clothes. Mary doesn't take much for she still has compassion for the others who come looking for a shirt or pants but she takes absolutely no hesitation when picking out the best for her daughter. Lilly runs over to the toys and with uncomfortable silence Sr. Roberta hands her the plastic dolly to keep. It wretches at Mary's insides that she can't give her daughter what she needs let alone what she wants. Thankfully the parish of St. Joseph's opens their eyes and their hearts to Mary and Lilly. Socks and underwear maybe a sweater or two and they are on their way.
Knocking at the door to old Mrs. Henry's house the striking intense scents of tuna fish pounding at the walls of her mouse sized white washed house is stomach churning like a starving rat on an aerobic wheel looking at a hanging piece of corn. Old Mrs. Henry is dirt poor but at least she can keep her house. Her husband died and left her in mounds of debt but she has a small retirement fund left over from her years as a dental assistant. The taxes on the house are so high she has resorted to eating plain tuna fish for every meal because it comes banged up for ten cents a can but in this world food is food. Mary drops Lilly off with her new dolly for Mrs. Henry to watch while she becomes one of the 19 of homeless people who work by flipping burgers at McDonald's. The pay is 3.50 an hour but the 100 check at the end of the week is just enough to pay Mrs. Henry for babysitting and enough to buy some food and maybe a hat and gloves.
Upon returning to their makeshift home they find that their home sweet home has been destroyed by the wintery blazes. Their cardboard house had been crushed and crumpled against the wet brick building like a newspaper plugging up a rat hole. Their makeshift fireplace has been strewn about and half the contents have blown down the deserted road. Alone in the world they kneel together amongst the remnants of their home and cry silent tears. Mary can predict tomorrow's headlines "Another homeless bum on the streets." Once again it will be the soup line this week 'cause cardboard and duck tape cost money. Money that they don't have, and probably never will have. The one prayer Mary countlessly asks is that she can one day find someone who'll be able to take care of them or at the very least take Lilly to a good home where she can have what she deserves. It's too early to condemn her life as one of the 1.35 million homeless children in the US.

"Lilly closes her swollen eyes as her mother wraps her weakening arms around her baby girl to keep her warm. She can feel every bone in her body. She can feel her mother shiver uncontrollably and sacrifices her scrap of cloth of a blanket to help control her convulsions. She had always wondered as a little girl what it would be like to sleep out under the stars at night but now it's just one more night on the scrap of moss next to the elementary school playground. Her abdomen is as hot as the fiery blazes of hell and the devil himself is stabbing at its walls with his pitchfork. Just the thought of eating now makes her gag reflexes spur to life. Mentally and physically exhausted she rolls over to face her aging mother, kisses her on her wrinkled forehead, lays her head to rest, and with the last ounce of strength she has left wishes on the nearest star to never open eyes."