Millie

May 9, 2018

Her name is Millie. A tall, skinny and bold-eyed girl who wakes up every morning atop a cardboard box that lies horizontal with her on the curbside of a city street in the Edge district of St. Petersburg, Florida. Her skin is sun-kissed and dirty as each arm hair accompanies a little scab and her brown hair is long and split as if each end has been broken for years. Her clothes are always the same—a faded orange and ripped safety vest covering a bikini top suited for a child and an old pair of nursing scrub pants above an unlaced pair of red sneakers that were terrorized by a dog.

I always pass Millie on my morning bike ride just as I hop on the Pinellas trail. She sits on this bench aside a public trash can. There’s never been anyone with her. I guess I started noticing her about a month ago. I didn’t think much at first but then, after watching her read, something intrigued me. Most mornings, I wave and smile. Other mornings, I stop quickly to say Hello (if she’ll let me). A typical conversation with Millie is usually a short one. She always wants to get back to reading her book and is timid when answering questions. I feel like Millie plagues me - is that sane? She’s like a puzzle I cannot solve. She stands for a life I’ve never experienced and a lifestyle I find it hard to understand. But, I feel connected. And it’s weird. I’m not sure what to do with it.

I’ve caught myself wondering about Millie, ’Did she end up homeless or was she born into a life with no money? What could she have done or is this how she chooses to live?’. I never want to pity Millie; I never want to pry. So I smile. I wave. I ride my bike. Life goes on. And Millie stays Millie—my alluring homeless acquaintance whom I carry a strange fetish for empathizing.

May 14, 2018

I was asked today for some money by a homeless man on the street. He didn’t scare me; but, he did make me think of Millie.

Millie’s never asked me for anything. She’s never asked for food. Or water. Or money. Or a bus ticket. Or change. Or a pack of Marlboro Menthol’s. I’m not sure if I admire her in this way or if I believe her to be foolish and stubborn. What I do know is how much I want to know about why this girl is nothing like me but am too coward to ask her how she came to be who she is.

Why is it that so many times, when experiencing someone unfamiliar, we are drawn to what new can be learned but run away as if everything's to fear? Is it our sixth sense—our intuition screaming panic and signaling a move towards comfort and safety—or is it the worry that we might be exactly like the people we are ultimately afraid to become?

My birthday is coming up. We still don’t know many people in our new city. My husband wants to throw a party and I’m concerned it might be us - just the two of us - sitting at the pool drinking mimosa’s on lime green floaties in our matching orange swimsuits. Do I invite Millie? I thought about it. How would it make the homeless girl feel to be invited to a birthday pool party? How would it make me feel to invite the girl I feel destined to understand but can’t seem to pin point why?

I asked my husband. He thought it was sort of weird. I don’t know - am I weird?

May 24, 2018

It’s my birthday. It was a great day. We finally met some friends in our apartment who worked with my husband to throw a little something together. There was cake. Mimosas. Sun burn. And music. My husband and I did wear our matching orange swimsuits (embarrassing, I know), but surprisingly everyone thought it was, I guess they called it, “cheesy cool”. Millie crossed my mind a couple of times. I’ve been biking more at night while the weather gets warmer in the morning so I haven’t seen her as much lately compared to when we first moved in. I guess I still can’t comprehend why I feel a connection to this random homeless girl?

I'm starting to come to the realization that maybe I'll never know. Am I supposed to know? Should I know? Would I do anything differently if I did know?

Maybe there’s beauty in not knowing things sometimes. Sort of like the soul—such a hard construct to fathom, this ever-moving follicle of spirit that places us into emotions and feelings, environments and relationships, experiences and memories that are meant to teach us everything without telling us anything.

We have a piece of cake left. One piece of chocolate cake. I think I’m going to give it to Millie in the morning.

May 25, 2018

I offered Millie the slice of chocolate cake and, immediately, she began to cry. When I asked her why she was crying, she followed a “Thank you,” with “yesterday was my birthday.”