“The Cold Night”

“...It is midnight, it is still and it is cold!” William Carlos Williams  It was during the time when I didn’t know any better, when my selfishness was only accompanied by my childish perception. I could’ve been 5 or 6 or 12, but the fact remained that, in my head, I was no older than 3, for I had not yet gained the ability of critical thinking. I must say now that I am not, and have never been, the brightest person in the world. Perhaps I could attest this to my identification as a realist (others would say pessimist) and my sharp tongue, one of many qualities that had been a source of my constant reprimanding from my parents. Thus I criticized the world around me with a harsh gaze and rigid tone. Why does the man who sits with his children on the street wave around his cardboard piece as though it was his only aid? How many times had I heard my relatives disapproving murmurs state, “Why don’t they look for jobs?” “Isn’t that what S.O.S is for?” “Forget about the parents, think of the children! Public school is free!” And so, as any other kid would, I said the same.

On this particular day, my dad had decided to treat the family, we’d go out to eat dinner. As sour as I was, If there was one thing for certain that I loved, it was food. The ride there was pleasant enough and my dads jokes managed to crack more than a smile on my mother's face as well as on mine. Now as I look back it seems incredible how fast a warm moment can become so cold. We’d just finished stuffing our faces with delicious tacos and I was more than satisfied. It wasn’t until then that I noticed a young girl sitting behind me, sniffling. Her face I remember was long and stretched, her eyes too small for her face, and had abnormally round rosy cheeks. At the time all I could register was that she must be sick. It isn’t until now that I realize it was very likely that she had down syndrome. However, I’d never had a problem with “special” kids (as they were referred to in my school). I quite liked them really, because even though the world frowned upon them, they looked back on the world and smiled.

Except, she wasn’t smiling. As small as her eyes were, it was clear from the red apples on her cheeks and the rouge color that stained her squashed nose that the tear stains and pinkish tint in her eyes were not my imagination. I continued to watch as a clearly overweight woman waddled over to her and asked her what was wrong. “I’m sad”. “Well that’s not my fault.” I watched wordlessly, fuming on the inside as the woman merely laughed at the state the girl was in. She, in turn, looked down at her empty plate and silently wept. Suddenly, the twenty dollar bill in my pocket felt heavy and burnt through my jeans. I looked away.

Now, all I had to look at was my plate. A plate that I now realized had once held 4 tacos, all of which I had eaten. I didn’t dare look back. I felt guilty. I didn’t know why or perhaps I did, but I must’ve thought too much about it, because by the time I’d finished they were already leaving. I suppose I should have been happy, after all no one wants to be miserable when your family finally agrees where to go out to, right? I took a sip of soda, which had filled my mouth with a refreshingly sweet taste before I heard the sound of a loud screech from across the parking lot. I remember then, that the soda, which had previously tasted so sweet, became a bitter,sour taste that made me gag. When I turned around there stood the girl once more with the woman, who was trying to hand her a bottle of soda which had been rejected each time. “Stupid girl!--” CRASH With an unbelieveable amount of force the woman took the bottle she’d offered and threw it violently onto the darkened street. 
My Mother had been silent for most of the evening but at that moment she spoke to us saying, “You see? You guys are lucky. You can eat all the tacos you want unlike that girl who only got one.” I didn’t think they knew how I felt in that moment. The guilt that ate away at my stomach seemed to have affected only myself as the rest of my family remained as expressionless as mannequins.

“Dad, don’t you think she could have treated her daughter differently?” I heard him take a sharp breath before replying, “No opines.”
“But shouldn’t she-”
“It’s her daughter, right?”
“Yes…”
“Then?”

The cold air blasted me after we exited and got into the car. The twenty dollars were still in my pocket. I wanted to rewind the night. I wanted to go and offer the little girl all the food and soda that she could eat. I didn’t want to see the woman throw the bottle into the dark. I didn’t know why, I had an idea, but I wasn’t sure. I suppose in a way I had grown up as a Daddy’s girl in that Barbie wasn’t always a princess, but she was a lone survivor escaping an island of monsters and venomous plants. But while my Dad did enjoy action and adventure he had a kind heart, the type of person who would take off his shirt and offer it to the other person who didn’t. That was him. My Mother on the other hand was more critical. She was the person who insisted that if they had feet and they had working hands that could write signs for help, they could also use those hands and feet to work. To be honest, it’s probably more accurate to say that I have more in common with my Mother.

“Why do they sit there and do nothing? Those people on the street could try selling flowers or washing people’s cars instead of doing nothing.”
“No opines. You know what I saw today?” I had perked up, interested as to what my dad would say to her. It wasn’t often that they seeked conflict.
“There was a man on the street, and just like every other person he had his piece of cardboard except his didn’t say the same thing. You wanna know what it said?”
“What?”
“It said, I don’t want to be here, and you don’t want to be here, but I haven’t got a choice. I have to be here.” My Mother had fallen silent as well as the rest of us. The only sound that could be heard was the soft breath of my brother and the faint sound of the rumbling engine.  I think this was the moment I finally understood why I had felt so guilty. I didn’t appreciate what I had, and scorned those who had nothing because I thought they could do better. I’d lie if I said this had a happy ending. I never did see that little girl again, and I never stopped judging more harshly than I should. But sometimes, on the rare occasions when I remember the cold bite of the wind nipping at my skin again, sometimes I remember that not everything is fair for me to judge. On those days, I’ll drop my quater into the mans hat and walk away.