It was already past midnight and the New York midtown streets were empty from a light summer drizzle. She accosted me right outside my hotel as I stepped out in search of a quick snack before retiring to the bed. The boy walking behind her was no more than eight and he swung a long key chain to amuse himself. She was a middle aged, white woman, slightly overweight with a face that seemed to have dried up from crying spells. She showed me a big scar on her head where a section had been shaved off to get to a clean incision. She showed me some dollar bills and mumbled a story of how she was stranded without medical help. She was from St Louis. She asked for twenty seven dollars - an oddly precise amount - for her medical care. Upon seeing my skeptical face, she changed her request: she needed money for the boy and she had not eaten.
I looked at her and wondered: was this a practiced act right down to the scar and dried tears? Was the boy in on it? I looked at the boy. He was nonchalant, probable having witnessed many such pleas during the day.
"I'll buy you dinner, but no money" I declared, thinking I'd flush out her intent. To my surprise, she agreed. Was she is telling the truth? or may be she was settling for anything at this late hour? Even a meal would do.
Right across the street corner was a food truck with halal offerings. I bought her a plate of chicken and gyro with rice. She took it thankfully and I walked on in search of a sit-down restaurant.
About an hour later, with my appetite satiated from a greek salad and tea at an all-night cafeteria, I wandered back to my hotel. There she was working the same street corner - the boy seemed as energetic as ever, though lost in himself. I approached them and asked her whether they had eaten. She seemed hesitant at first or was it my suspicious mind? She replied the meal was delicious but the chicken was a bit spicy for the boy. I bent down and looked straight at the kid. "Did you eat?" He looked back at me blankly. "Did you eat?" I asked again.
He said nothing, turned away and followed his slowly shuffling mother who was already crossing the street. I stood there in silence.
I looked at her and wondered: was this a practiced act right down to the scar and dried tears? Was the boy in on it? I looked at the boy. He was nonchalant, probable having witnessed many such pleas during the day.
"I'll buy you dinner, but no money" I declared, thinking I'd flush out her intent. To my surprise, she agreed. Was she is telling the truth? or may be she was settling for anything at this late hour? Even a meal would do.
Right across the street corner was a food truck with halal offerings. I bought her a plate of chicken and gyro with rice. She took it thankfully and I walked on in search of a sit-down restaurant.
About an hour later, with my appetite satiated from a greek salad and tea at an all-night cafeteria, I wandered back to my hotel. There she was working the same street corner - the boy seemed as energetic as ever, though lost in himself. I approached them and asked her whether they had eaten. She seemed hesitant at first or was it my suspicious mind? She replied the meal was delicious but the chicken was a bit spicy for the boy. I bent down and looked straight at the kid. "Did you eat?" He looked back at me blankly. "Did you eat?" I asked again.
He said nothing, turned away and followed his slowly shuffling mother who was already crossing the street. I stood there in silence.
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