Kindness, concern saved somebody’s child

Somebody’s child was playing chicken in the street.

She may not have known it. There was never a look in her face as if this was a game, never a look of mischievous joy and daring, never a look of defiance.

The child, somebody’s child, looked to be in her 20s.

It was about 8:45 Tuesday morning, and she was standing on the sidewalk on South Flores Street by the H-E-B Market. Nothing stood out about her except that she was standing on the sidewalk wrapped in a purple blanket.

Nothing stood out until she was no longer standing but running across South Flores, weaving, stopping, running as cars blared their horns, hit the brakes and swerved.

Making it to the other side of the street, where there was a bus stop, the young woman turned around on the curb, looked up and down South Flores, and with traffic flowing, dashed back into the street, running, weaving, stopping, running as cars blared their horns, hit the brakes and swerved.

There was a desperate, panicked look in her eyes but she made it to the other side and turned around, ready to run again. An older woman in front of the store, visibly upset, asked, “What’s wrong with her? What is she doing? She’s going to get killed! Where’s the security guard?”

Someone went inside to get the security guard. The young woman was still on the H-E-B side of the street as a couple of people spoke with her to keep her from running back into the street.

The security guard talked softly to her, asking if she was all right and if she needed anything. Her eyes flitted back and forth with suspicion. She was a young Latina adult, but she could have also been a teenager. Under the purple blanket she wore a long-sleeve rust-colored shirt, black pants and black sandals.

She began crying as she spoke, addressing the guard but looking at the ground, saying, “Sir, if I have offended you in any way, that was not my intention, please forgive me. That was not my intent, and I am sorry.”

The way she spoke, her sincere, clear, almost formal enunciation was beautiful, yet heartbreaking. The guard told her not to worry about him, that she hadn’t offended him, but that he was concerned about her.

Still looking down and crying, she lifted her hands, palms to the sky, and said, “God has prepared me to accept anything but, sir, if I have offended you, in any way, I’m sorry.”

Along the way, it came out that she’d been to Haven for Hope.

Sometimes she was addressing the security guard, sometimes God, other times a family member, “But Tio didn’t know … he wasn’t even …” It was hard to follow, but the way she spoke was mesmerizing.

Two police cars arrived, and, like the security guard, the officers spoke to her gently, telling her they wanted to help her.

“Everybody’s doing good except for me,” she cried.

They continued to engage with her, asking questions in ways that were reassuring and not threatening.

Crying, she told them, “I was smoking dope, I was smoking dope, right now, and then I started running back and forth.”

When the officers say they’re going to call an ambulance, she begs them not to, saying, “I feel so, so, free out here! I feel so, so free out here!”

When asked why she didn’t like EMS, she said, “I’m sorry if I called you any names, disregard that.”

EMS came, her vitals were taken and EMS left. By then the young woman had calmed down.

An officer went across the street to get a small plastic bag which belonged to her. Someone who’d gone into the store to buy her some food handed it to the officer who helped the young woman into the backseat. She was not in handcuffs.

Somebody’s child had a rough day. Whoever that somebody is, know that others treated your child as if she were their own.