The Kindness of Strangers
doris j popovich
Chapter 1
The cool morning dew soaks through the seat of Alice’s faded thin jeans, as she stretches across the grass, only half-ready to begin another day. Joey is curled up next to her, his front paw extended and touching her leg. Quietly, Alice breathes a soulful sigh, almost a whimper. Her eyelids are red and heavy from another restless night. The handlebar of her rusty silver bike is balanced against the park bench directly in front of her, casting its dawn shadow on the grass. Her few possessions are draped majestically on this bike. Joey’s cage is wired in place, lodged between the handlebar and the front fender. There’s a stack of blue-green paper towels from a gas station lining the cage, with dead leaves and grass softly packed on top.
A musty green water-fountain stands five yards south. All night the sound of the water trickled in the fountain. The winds are beginning to pick up now and the sound of waves slapping against the boats docked in Belmont Harbor intensifies. After seeing the morning’s first jogger, Alice feels relieved. The sun gently washes her face with color. When she closes her eyes, transparencies of yellow, red, and orange spin uncontrollably before her. Soon it will be time for her to rest. Another night, another quiet night. Quickened by her good fortune, she makes a mental note to return later to this spot.
Joey stretches and gently pumps his white front paws. Alice delights in this ritual. She loves Joey. She adopted him eleven summers ago, in what seems like another life. Gracey, the grey tabby who belonged to Gina, her next-door neighbor at the time, gave birth to three grey tabby kittens and Joey, who much to everyone’s surprise, was stark white. A flush of nostalgia warms her cheeks as she remembers Joey as a kitten. He used to sit perched on the outside sill of her kitchen window starring into the house for hours. Alice never cared much for cats, but she found his incessant interest in the goings on of her life quite flattering. Before she knew it, Joey had found his way to the inside sill of her kitchen window. There he would sit for hours, looking out with an equal mix of interest and disinterest, like only a pampered cat can do.
Early morning is their preferred time of day, quiet and usually safe. The lakefront is deserted except for the familiar parade of early morning bikers and joggers. Traffic on Lake Shore Drive hasn’t picked up yet.
“OK, big boy. Back in a second.” Standing slowly, she feels dizzy from the rush of blood to her head. She staggers and waits for it to pass. When she catches her balance, she makes her way to the water fountain. Using her hand as a cup, she rinses her left arm to the elbow, then her right. She unties the red handkerchief from her neck, soaks it, and uses it to wet her face. The water feels cool against her forehead and eyelids. She leans down to drink but loses her balance and falls, landing on her left knee. Gently she removes a small brown chard of broken glass from the skin of her knee, and she starts to bleed. Looks worse than it is, she thinks. There’s no one around to complain to anyway. The hazy orange sun peaks half out of the water, far across the lake. Another day beginning.
Each day proceeds much the same as the next. No hurry. Find a good spot and stay there. Running water is nice. At first she required a toilet, now a secluded bush at night does just fine. Less competition that way. Safety is another consideration, though more difficult to predict. This morning’s spot has lots of shade, private toilets, and the promise of picnic leftovers; a spot of relative good fortune.
Alice wakes up hours later. The bench is hot and the sun is burning her face. When she fell asleep the park bench was shaded. She is startled by a stray toddler standing directly over her, starring intermitantly at her and then Joey. The park is crowded with picnickers. She looks over to Joey’s cage. He is wide awake, peering suspiciously back at this little girl. Both Joey and the child have grouchy looks on their faces. She wonders who the youngster belongs to. Before long, a young Hispanic girl, maybe seven, comes and retrieves the toddler. The girl looks tired. She grabs the hand of the baby and drags her away without making eye contact with Alice or Joey.
“Time for breakfast.” Alice reaches for a plastic bag inside another plastic bag, inside a paper bag. Joey stands up and paces the circumference of his cage when he hears the rattle of plastic. He may be old, but there’s nothing wrong with his appetite. He lives to eat, and much to her pride, he eats every day.
