Lilly Doud Narrative

I had always wondered what people thought when they walked by me on the streets. Was it pity, or maybe disgust. Id understand why they felt bad for me and I also could understand why I disgusted them. I was a 27-year-old mother with three kids and no home, but everything I had always went to my kids. It the stigma of living on the streets that lead to the stares and nasty looks, knowing the thought going through their heads was “how could a mother allows this for her children”. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was knowing that I had nothing to bring my family home to, we had no place that really felt like home.

Every morning, I took the kids to the public bathroom on 38^th Street and got them ready for school at 4 am before it got crowded, just to avoid the stares and whispers as washed their clothes in the sinks and they cleaned up next to me. The biggest struggle was always finding food, and it took me 6 months ask, maybe because I was embarrassed or just had too much pride, but I did and after explaining our situation, the administration gave them free breakfast and lunch, and I couldn’t thank them enough. After I walked them to school and dropped them off, I began looking for work. I had never had a real job, because I married right out of school and the children became my job, but I went to every small dinner and grocer I could find looking for work. If I was really desperate, I would tell them my story, hoping for a pity day of work, and surprisingly, it worked a lot.

I used the pity story at the interview that saved us. I told this tall man with grey hair and a cane that my husband left me alone with three young children for another woman, and took everything. There was something about this man that made him so easy to talk to and for the first time since, I had cried talking about my situation. Maybe he did just feel bad, but for some odd reason, I felt more empathy then pity from him.

I know it’s not his real name, but we always called him Mr. T, and after working in his diner for 6 moths, I had enough saved for a one room apartment lease down payment. I immediately went to tell Mr. T, as we had become good friends over the time I’d worked for him. He looked up bright eyed and immediately told me not too. I was so confused and asked why, and all he said was “follow me”. We went to the back of the dinner and he opened a door id always assumed was a closet, but it was stairs. I followed him up to find a two-bedroom apartment right above the diner. It was small and musky, but it was perfect. And from the moment I walked in, I could tell, this was home.