The Lie

I don't know when the lying started. The first lie I can remember was when I lied about eating a container of chocolate icing when I was 8. Now it's just become a way of life for me. I tell myself I have to. I live on the streets. And the stuff I say is partly true...I DO have two kids. It's just that they live in foster care and someone else feeds them every day. And I AM hungry. Lying is a way of life, isn't it? People lie to me all the time...they clutch their fancy handbag close to their nice warm jackets and tell me, "I don't have any money," as they practically run to their car.

Today, Marla's with me. Usually I find people give me more when I'm alone, and they feel less afraid. But I can't say no to Marla...she's saved me more than once. She calls me her sister, and I guess it's close enough. I never had a sister before, so I'm glad she thinks of me like that. If I did have a sister, I doubt she would take care of me the way Marla does. She nearly ripped that guy apart trying to save me from his grimy hands two weeks ago. She calls me Sissy, which isn't my real name, but I don't care. Alyssa is too fancy a name for a woman on the streets anyhow.

The corner we're on is near a convenience store. Marla holds up the sign that says, "Hungry kids to feed. Please help." Every so often someone will toss some coins at us, or call out to us to get some paper money. So far today, we've got 15 dollars. Pretty good for a Wednesday. Sunday and Monday are better days, Wednesday, not so much. I figure Sunday and Monday are good because folks who go to church get to feeling all high and mighty, thinking it's their duty to help us. Not that I'm complaining. I even say "bless you" when people give us money, just to make them feel good. A little positive reinforcement, you know what I mean? I just figure God didn't take much note of me in my life, and I'm just returning the favor.

Well, we're just standing there, not much traffic. A woman gets out of her car and heads toward us, big smile plastered on her face. I tap Marla's arm, and she wakes from her napping. I never could figure out how she can sleep standing up, but she does it all the time. This woman comes up, smelling like flowers and baby powder, dressed in casual but nice clothes. No sign of a purse. "Hi, I'm Beth. What are your names?"

I'm not feeling inclined to answer right away...she doesn't have a purse, right? But then, maybe there's some money in her pockets. "I'm Sissy and this is Marla." I stick my rough hand into her soft one and return her radiant smile with a half-hearted one of my own. She asks me if we have somewhere to stay that night. That's when it dawns on me...this is one of those shelter folks.