It was raining on Friday so I didn’t expect to see any homeless people on the streets, but there she was on the north east corner of 42nd and Fifth, wrapped up in her poncho, smiling at everyone who passed by, whether they looked at her or not. I had met Laura the week before but I couldn’t stay long enough to listen to her story. I’m glad I found her again.
Laura said she was 26, about to turn 27, but with her baby face and open smile, I would have thought that she was even younger. She’s from the area but had been living and working in Los Angeles when her father was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, one of the its most severe forms.
According to a recent study and as reported by CNBC, most personal bankruptcies in the United States are due to medical bills. Although some of the numbers are in dispute, there is no doubt that skyrocketing medical costs are sending more and more people into poverty. I was staring at the evidence in the face.
Laura has a college degree. She even has a graduate scholarship that she had to hold off in order to go home to take care of her father. Her father had no insurance so in order to pay for his care they had to mortgage their house. He passed away last year and the bank foreclosed on their house. On her way back to the airport to return to LA after her father passed, she was mugged, losing the last few dollars she had. Adding insult to injury, her Social Security card had been in her wallet and she has become the victim of identity fraud. She’s been staying in a shelter for women in New Jersey for the better part of a year. She’s the youngest woman in the shelter by 25 years, she said.
For most of the time I’d talked to her she had a pleasant smile and she tried to smile and look at each person who passed her in the eye. She betrayed no self-pity, only displaying hope and optimism. In the time I sat with her several people stopped to give her money and food and they rewarded her with something she found far more precious: a smile in return.
It’s when I asked her what she would want people to know about her that she revealed some of what she was truly feeling. “I want them to know we’re not all fakers,” she said. “We’re not all junkies. Some of us have had bad luck.” Her eyes finally started to well up. “Do you know how many people smile back at me? One percent. Fifty percent sneer at me, look down at me. A few help me. The rest just ignore me. It hurts. We’re people, too.”