The Fish Pond: Holding On to a Bit of Summer

I first caught a glimpse of her from the train, a single flash of bare skin underneath the filthy gray blanket, bright white bare legs tucked into thin canvas sneakers with no socks. I watched her walk across the parking lot as the train pulled into the station, my eyes absorbing the greasy hair and the wispy bit of pink skirt that peeked out as she adjusted her blanket. In the bustle of disembarking from the train I lost sight of her as I tried not to lose one of my kids in the throng of passengers wending their way through the station on the bitter cold December Saturday.

We got the kids safely into the car, heat blasting to warm them up, and ran a couple of errands, then drove around Cumberland, just looking and trying to figure out what about the place makes it feel so much like home to us. I saw her again, huddled under an overhang in front of the newspaper offices about a block from the train station, the blanket wrapped around her providing only a little shield from the biting wind. We continued to drive around, but her image continued to haunt me. It was so cold, and she had so little protection from the elements.

We probably drove around for another hour or so, long after dark, but we kept returning to downtown Cumberland as if drawn, each time seeing the woman huddled in the alcove. Finally BigDaddyFish mentioned something about her, about being concerned for her well-being, and I confessed to how she had haunted me since I first saw her. We wondered what her situation was, how she got there, if there were drugs involved, if she had mental illness, and if there was anything we, middle-class visitors from another town in our warm minivan, could do for her.

I told BDF I wanted to give her my coat. It wasn't much, but it was the only thing I could think of, that I wanted to give her the coat off my back. I had a car, she only had a blanket.

"No, give her mine," my husband said. We began to scramble around, trying to see what else we could come up with. His wool lined coat, canvas on top to keep out the rain, a wool hat, some gloves, a $5 bill, since we'd spent most of our cash on the train. BDF circled the newspaper offices as we got organized and I thought about what I'd say, what I'd do. The kids were perplexed, unsettled, they couldn't grasp in their heads why I wanted to give my coat, or my husband's coat, away. We told them we'd explain as I got out of the car.

I approached her, said hello and mentioned how cold it was, and that I'd seen her from the train. She had a handul of plastic shopping bags around her, full of food near as I could see, and she was eating a sandwich, her blanket wrapped around her from behind, over her head and shoulders like a hood, only her face and a bit of her neck showing. I could see that she had little on, what looked like a summer nightgown, wispy and light and airy and not suitable in the slightest when the temperature is 16 degrees. I asked her how she was, and she said that she was doing okay, that someone had brought her groceries. I mentioned how cold it was and that I saw she had only the blanket, and I told her I wanted her to have the coat.

"I'll be okay," she said. "I have a sleeping bag and another blanket I've hidden away, I keep them hidden away when I walk during the day because some people like to mess with my stuff. After a while here I'm going to go walk again, then I'll get my stuff before I bed down for the night."

I asked if she was sure, that it was so very cold that night, and she said she was sure. She told me that she used to have a coat, and that my husband's coat looked warm and that she could tell it was a good coat, but that she didn't want it.

"A few years back I stopped wearing coats and even pants. I have my dress, I'm okay. I don't like the winter, the cold, I like the summer, and this way, I can hold on to a bit of summer for a while." She didn't smell of alcohol or have the demeanor of someone who was high or even insane. If not for what she was saying, and for the fact that she was wrapped in a blanket while I impotently tried to give her a coat, we could have been two old friends catching up after a chance meeting in the street.

I pressed her a bit more, asking if she was sure, saying I was going to worry about her out there on the cold street. She thanked me, said she was sure, and asked where I was from. I told her, and she said "That explains it, that's why you're so nice. I've been there, they have nice people there." My stomach lurched a bit when I imagined how others may have treated her. I told her that she had to at least take the money, it wasn't much but it was what I had, and she at first refused that, too, noting the groceries she had, but I am a stubborn old goat and I said "Please, it's Christmas, I want you to have it." Her eyes shone with tears that didn't fall as I reached for her hand and pushed the crumpled bill into it. I asked once more about the coat and she shook her head, and I nodded to her, turned, and walked to the car.

"Thank you!" she called as I walked, and I am embarrased to say I didn't even turn around to look at her, to say you're welcome and smile, and I still don't know why. I got into the car, and watched her eat her sandwich as we drove away, back to our warm house in our warm car, our place of wealth and privilege and I felt a little dirty as I related to BDF what she had said.

I wish I'd asked her name. It was 10 degrees in Cumberland that night.