The first time he saw her, she was homeless, sitting in Union Station eating crackers from a paper bag. Her face, haggard and hollow, watched people pass by her, paying no attention to the small glances she received. She clutched her bag tighter in her hands as she saw hoagies held in the hands of office workers, who adjusted their headphones as they dodged each other. The wrinkles under her eyes tensed in contrast to her shaking hands, and she bit into another cracker. He wondered if this was routine for her, if she always seemed to look at bystanders with that look in her eyes. The longing gaze she gave them was embedded into his mind, something that haunted him whenever he thought of her.

She wore nothing but faded, torn jeans and a cropped shirt filled with holes, and a worn blanket was set beside her, picking up the dirt around her. It was evident that she had owned those clothes for a long time; they were probably older in age than his ten year old daughter. He suddenly wondered about this girl’s own family, if they even knew she was like this, living in such a horrible way with no evidence of changing. He would be devastated if it happened to his own daughter, and he would no doubt pick her up and bring her back home, where she belonged.

The girl’s eyes lit up when a shaggy man strode over to her, sitting down next to her. The man clutched a brown paper bag in his fist, determined to not let it go until the girl stuffed some money into his other hand. She hungrily grabbed the bag, a feral look in her eyes as the man glanced around and walked away, his hands stuffed deep inside his pockets. She seemed to uncap something, taking a long swing of whatever drink was in the bag.

He sighed. It was clear that she had fallen prey to the dangers of alcohol. He bet to himself that there was some sort of drug in there too, and sighed again, knowing better than to interfere. To him, there was nothing that could be done to help her; he was not a social worker, only a simple businessman on Wall Street whose problems were quite different and just as important. He looked up at the old-fashioned clock on the wall, and groaned at the time. His train was delayed until eleven that night, and it was only five in the evening. At least he could keep himself entertained by observing the girl, even if it meant wishing that she would turn her life around. This was not the way to live, the way to be remembered by others.

She wiped her dripping mouth and hid the paper bag under her blanket. With nothing better to do, she fiddled with her fingers, only wanting the time to pass by as quickly as possible, so she could get her next fix when the crowd of people withered down to almost nothing. He snorted, knowing that she wouldn’t be alone in the station. She didn’t even notice him glaring at her, waiting for a tragedy to happen at any minute. Her life seemed like a tragedy for her, trapping her inside a world in which she could not escape. No matter how hard she tried, she was always sitting back down in the same spot, drinking beer or taking drugs all day long. That day she was lucky, lucky enough to find an abandoned paper bag filled with crackers that would serve as her meal for the day. She was used to this lifestyle, but there was always something tugging at her brain, telling her that she could do better. No, she couldn’t do better; she was doomed to be homeless, with no guide to help her find a better path. She learned to accept this fact, and dealt with it every day, allowing the hopelessness and neglect to consume her.

As the day passed by, she became even more anxious for the crowd to disappear. Finally, when the clock struck ten, she jumped up and took the brown paper bag down to the bathroom. All day, he had never seen that energy and eagerness in her until then, and realized how dependent she was on the drugs. She returned ten minutes later, sniffling and smiling to herself as she sat back down and threw the blanket on top of her. He thought that she was going to fall asleep, but no, she watched the last crowd of people come to and from the train station with light and fogginess in her eyes. The hustle and bustle of the people had died down and everything was calm again, everyone except her, savoring the silence she knew too well.

When the time approached eleven, he got up and took one last look at her. For the first time that day, she looked at him too with curiosity. There was a silent correspondence between the two and she looked away, unfazed by the message he sent her.

Change.

Knowing that she had discarded his message, he calmly walked away without any regret. Someday she would remember his message, and listen to him.

****************
He picked up the newspaper, smiling at his wife and daughter at the table, and absentmindly turned the thin pages, searching for something of interest. He froze as he stopped at the page near the end, staring at a picture of a familiar girl, whose similar smile lit up the picture. She looked beautiful, nicely dressed and cared for, but his shaking hands didn’t stop him from seeing the disgruntled girl from the station. He swallowed as he read the caption.

Police found a girl identified as Shannon Hanson, a 23 year old from Long Island, in Union Station, dead from an apparent drug overdose. The NYPD sends out its condolences to Shannon’s family and friends. Shannon was known to be an excellent photographer, and many of her photographs were finalists in national and local competitions. She will be missed by the ones closest to her, and will be remembered for her cheerful spirit and enthusiasm for life.