It was a frigid Friday night and Littlejohn’s was the only thing on my mind between 2 and 3 a.m. I dragged my friend on an ambitious venture as we braved the bone-chilling wind and walked from our apartments to the Corner.
Anyone who has strolled down the Corner would be hard-pressed to avoid the substantial number of homeless people gathered under the 14th Street bridge. I can’t help but feel guilty walking by them every day on my way to class, dinner or going out. Their penetrating stares jab into me, tearing at my heartstrings. I spare any donation I have.
I’ve observed how, at night when it gets cold, many of these individuals scatter. I usually don’t see them past 11 p.m. and I wonder where they go. This past Friday, however, was different.
I was close to the finish line, the tantalizing, greasy fume of Littlejohn’s overwhelming my senses, when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a woman slightly hidden in the corner next to Qdoba. She appeared older and had around 10 blankets wrapped around her. Rather than sitting out in the open, staring right at me with a piercing gaze, she looked down solemnly. She didn’t call out and ask for money or food. She didn’t have a sign around her neck. She didn’t even notice me. It was clear she was staying the night on the Corner.
I couldn’t speak. All conversation halted between my friend and me. As we reached Littlejohn’s, my fervent appetite was completely gone. I ordered a large Chicken Noodle Soup with crackers. “You never get soup here. What are you doing?” my friend asked. I shrugged and told him to get his meal to go.
We walked back outside in silence. He smiled at me, knowing I was up to something. I walked over to the lady in blankets and knelt down beside her. She looked up at me and underneath her shaggy hair, I noticed her beautiful blue eyes. She beamed at me and then nudged the box next to her. “Someone already bought me dumplings,” she said. “You didn’t need to do this.” I insisted she take the soup. After thanking me profusely, she proceeded to offer me the rest of her dumplings.
As I departed, I began to tear up. How could someone with absolutely nothing offer me the only thing she had? Her selflessness was on a completely different level. I like to think of myself as a thankful and giving person, but this made me re-evaluate. Would I really give the shirt off my back for a friend? Or, furthermore, would I give the shirt off my back for a complete stranger?
I have my own apartment with a warm bed crawl into. I’ve never had to worry about being hungry. I walk around with an iPhone, a laptop, good shoes and a big jacket if it gets cold. This woman has absolutely nothing. Nothing but a bigger heart than nearly anyone I’ve ever met.
During the holiday season, I aspire to be more like this woman in thankfulness and selflessness — to give and to give wholeheartedly.
Madison’s column runs biweekly Wednesdays. She can be reached at m.ruddy@cavalierdaily.com.
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