Just A Face
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I've been in a pensive mood lately, thinking a lot about compassion and then the Great Depression, and this idea just struck me. I hope you enjoy :)
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She's just a face in a crowd.
Just a face hidden in a swath of gray veil, hidden by tipped head and pursed lips coated in pale pink. Just a face hidden by the hustle-bustle, click-clack, neighing, crashing sounds all around her. Just a face hidden by busy people with sad smiles, hidden by hands stuffed in pockets with fingertips coated in grime.
She's just a face hidden by gray skies and gray clouds and gray moods.
Just a face - that's all.
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She's just a face that stands in the street where the light hits her face, spreading across pale skin and pale lips, spilling onto pale fingernails and pale eyes shadowed with determination.
She's just a face that hears hears the clanging of a bell on a horse's bridle, the hears the shouts of 'get outta the way' and 'worthless peasent.' She's just the face that clambers out of the muddied street onto a muddied bench on the side of the road where the hustle bustle of traders drowns out her thoughts.
She's just a face covered in droplets of mud staining pale skin, just a face that takes jeers from men about 'pitiful women' with blank, calculating eyes.
Just a face - that's all.
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She's just a face that hears the shouts of 'no money' and 'the bank has collapsed.'
She's just a face that watches men flood the streets, watches them hurry towards the bank with papers folded into their fists, watches them sweat as they wonder about the condition of their savings.
She's just a face that looks down into her little purse and picks out the faded glint of a few coins, all she has left.
Just a face - that's all.
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She's just a face that casts off her skirts and sits by the empty fireplace, trying to see in the dim light of the afternoon as her fingers thread a needle through the tattered remains of her clothes. She's just a face that blots away tears as she clutches her stomach and tries to remember the last time she ate.
Just a face - that's all.
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She's just a face that cuddles into the nook of her husband's neck as he reads the latest news on the collapse on the bank.
She's just a face that tries to read the fine print of the newspaper and wonders why she never learned how to decipher the floating letters, just a face that listens to her husband's soft voice read the terrible news that their money is never coming back.
Just a face - that's all.
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She's just a face that rushes to the nearest pawn shop and flings her grandmother's necklace on their table, her lips shaking as she hands over the priceless heirloom.
She's just a face that watches the shopkeeper peel several bills off the tiny pile in his hand and give them to her, just a face that counts twenty, thirty, thirty-five dollars to buy food with for God-knows how long.
Just a face - that's all.
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She's just a face that blots the sweat from her son's forehead and watches his eyes flicker dimly, just a face that knows she doesn't have the money to buy the medicine needed to save her only child.
She's just a face that gathers Timothy in her arms and sings him a lullaby and blots the sweat away again and again until the strip of fabric is soaked through with perspiration, just a face who brushes back the hair from her son's face and let's a tear fall when she's sure he is fast asleep.
Just a face - that's all.
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She's just a face who watches the fine ladies of the town prance around in all their finery, turning their noses up whenever they pass a beggar in the streets. She's just a face who grips the straps of her bonnet a little too tightly as she wonders where compassion has fled to in this town.
She's just a face that realizes she, too, is one of these beggars now.
Just a face - that's all.
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She's just a face who bends over the only book they own and tries to decipher the print, just a face who sits for hours and hours until her vision is blurred and her ears are humming. She's just a face who manages to make out the letters a, c, and t.
She's just a face who wishes she was more than this, sometimes.
Just a face - that's all.
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She's just a face who trails sodden hems over towards the other end of the tiny room as she goes to wake her son, just a face with trembling eyes, hollow eyes, trembling lips, hollow frame as she realizes that her little boy is lying a little bit too still, with lips a little to taut to allow oxygen through.
She's just a face that bows over his head as the sobs wrack her body, just a face who wishes her husband is here so that she doesn't feel so alone, then realizes that her husband is off making money to keep them from starvation.
She's just a face who remembers giving birth to Timothy and holding his little hand when he first walked and talking baby talk with him as he goo-goo ga-ga'd for hours on end.
Just a face - that's all.
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She's just a face that peers into their lone cupboard and traces the cobwebs with shaking fingers, just a face who remembers when food used to be piled high where now there is none.
Just a face - that's all.
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She's just a face who bends over a crying girl in the middle of a street and picks her up, carting her away from the danger of the open road. She's just a face who traces a tiny, flat stomach and hungry, innocent eyes, just a face who realizes that there is still compassion in the world.
She's just a face that digs into her purse and pulls out the last dollar she has, pressing into the grimy hands of the little girl, just a face who watches the girl smiles and knows she has done the right thing, no matter the consequences. She's just a face who watches that little girl embrace her mother, watches the mother mouth 'thank you' with teary eyes.
She's just a face that knows, somehow, everything will be okay.
Just a face - that's all.
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She's just a face in a crowd, and that's all she'll ever be - right?
- the end -