The World They Know
(C) Doug Smeath, 1996

During Winter Recess in 1995, I had an interesting experience that gave greater meaning to Christmastime for me. Having received many new clothes for Christmas, the entire family now had an excess of apparel, and my mother encouraged us to go through our closets and remove the things we didn't want, the things we would never wear again. For me, this in itself was a great opportunity because I had so many clothes I hated, and, once they were gone, I would never again have to explain to my mom why I never wore them anymore. However, there was a greater event in store. These clothes were to be brought to the homeless shelter. And so we all loaded into the car and started the trek.

As we drew closer to the shelter, the surroundings grew grimmer. By the time we arrived at the alley-like street in the hidden reaches not known to many Salt Lakers, the streets crawled with sad and scary men and sparsely scattered women. I later learned that all the children and the majority of the women spent most of their time crowded inside the shelter. The people on the street seemed like phantoms who would disappear with the day as it faded to the cold December night; it seemed that no one could possibly remain in such a situation for any longer than a day.

My mom and sister proceeded to carry the boxes of clothes into the shelter, leaving my two younger brothers and me in a locked, keyless car. As I watched several scruffy men assist my mom with the clothes, searching for warm coats for themselves, I saw an old woman, whose thin lips drew back to expose her dirty teeth, meandering in the general direction of our car. Because we were in the area that we were, this could have been a frightening moment. However, I somehow knew the second I saw her on the street that she would be paying us a visit, so I was strangely prepared.

She tapped on the window. Since there were no keys in the car, I could not roll down the automatic window. Brainlessly frantic, I tried alternately to roll down the window and turn the ignition by hand, until I finally realized I would have to open the door, making us vulnerable to the outside. Somehow, however, I was assured of her kindness and our safety. The introduction consisted of a yellow grin and her sincere question, "Are you having a good holiday?" I told her I was, and I repeated the question to her. She happily told me she certainly was.

She asked if we belonged to an LDS ward in Tooele, Utah, or if we owned a business there. She said it just like that: "Tooele, Utah," as if I were a stranger to the state. Confused as to why she would ask that, I told her no, we didn't own any business and we lived in South Jordan. She asked how we made our living, to which I replied that my dad works at the phone company. She peered at me with great interest. "The phone company, you say?" A thoughtful look clouded her eyes, and then, as if suddenly remembering something, the whites of her eyes reddened as her squinting eyelids squoze the red to the center. "I hope there's never an earthquake while he's at work," she mused, adding, "the way the US West building is made of glass...!" With a somewhat panicked look on her face, she raised her hands and then brought them slowly downward and together. When they met at the center of her torso, the muffled sound of an explosion, minimized two hundred times, escaped from her chapped, red-brown lips, demonstrating the catastrophe of a glass building in an earthquake.

Before I could respond to her concern, the deep, worried gaze on her rat-like face burst into an entertained glow. "Do you want me to tell you a really good movie you should rent?" she offered with childlike glee. Seeing my indifferent nod, she said, "_Low Down Dirty Shame_," almost singing each emphasized word. Then she slyly lowered her voice. "You're old enough to see that," she assured me. "Just send these little ones off to bed," she whispered, for the first time acknowledging my two brothers in the back seat.

With that, she smiled, told me good-bye, and went off to an uncrowded part of the sidewalk. Not long later, my mom and sister returned. As we drove away, I recounted my adventure for them, occasionally interrupted by exaggerated interjections from my brothers. When we passed the woman, we saw that she had found a penny and was bubbling with happiness, flipping her treasure into the air and running to catch it. She looked up and saw us drive slowly past on the small, crowded road. She interrupted her game mid-flip to cheerfully wave to me. As I waved back, the penny fell directly on her head. She giggled like a child, then burst into laughter as she removed the penny, which had been held in place by her coarse, tangled, curly hair.

Finishing my retelling to my mom and sister, I sat back and reminisced over my very recent experience that seemed like an event from years past, perhaps even from a dream. I was very glad to have met this beautiful street woman, regardless of how ugly her appearance was. Shaking my head, I turned on the radio and pulled myself from this new world I had discovered. But I couldn't help realizing that the people I was leaving behind knew no other world, and they were there to stay.

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