At the Cross Roads

While stopped for some fast food and self-serve gas- I saw her watching me watching her. She was young- her late teens I guessed. I did not know her, but I had known other girls- others of similar circumstances- at least I assumed so. All dressed up and no place to go described her- sitting on a battered suitcase at the cross-roads on that hot July afternoon- waiting for someone, anyone, to offer her a ride- to somewhere, anywhere- it’s not like it mattered where- as long as it took her far away from this place, the only place she had ever known- a share cropped farm- a red dust hell hole- an unfortunate place of birth. Times had not always been so bad- times not remembered anyway. All she had now was in that suitcase, and her Sunday best she was still wearing- that she had worn for the funeral-. the final period to this existence. No fond memories of childhood remained- there were none. It seemed that she had never really been a child at all- always grownup worries and responsibilities. But things would be different now- she would escape this place- she had dreams to fulfill- new memories to make. I would offer her a lift- I was too late. A big black limo approached- stopping- the door opened- I watched as she hesitated- the choice was hers- a brief discussion with- I could not see who- finally getting in- leaving the suitcase in the dust- heading to who knows where. I feared for her- for her dreams- her new memories- her very existence- I felt deeply saddened for her. Would anyone else ever again?