we don't deserve what's coming

admittedly, I stopped because her dog was staring at me.

from across the awkward right-turn lane onto southbound brentwood, just as you leave the whole foods parking lot, the staring face of a pitbull that was much like fry's, was too much for me to pass up. I'd even gotten into my car - the only one at the bottom of the parking lot, parked entirely too close to the store for weekend standards - and started it, but turned off the engine when she looked at me again.

her owner looked at me only once before I approached them. but penny, whom I was about to meet, kept staring. she had fry's white patch down her nose and a white belly. she was just smaller than him, and when I walked up, she was just as shy. her owner, whose name I caught as sylvia, warned that penny wasn't good with new people. but I just treated her as I would my bubba when he's scared (get low, offer a paw, talk sweetly, and smile), and to sylvia's surprise, penny was very friendly and approachable back.

sylvia's cardboard sign said that she and penny had run out of gas while traveling and were stranded in st louis. what sylvia and I had next was a conversation akin to those I had when I would come upon true transients while interning with the homeless outreach project in phoenix. she tried at first to make it sound like she'd stumbled into st louis, like this hadn't happened before or she wasn't used to it. but then a certain amount of pride took over as she compared the treatment she received from brentwood police versus that of those in new orleans and california; and she seemed wary of me in a way that I'd seen from transients who'd become hardened to the conversational outreach approach. she was happy to accept money and food from anyone who would give and go while she put up defenses, veiled by a false front of vagabond spirit and wandering goodwill, to anyone who stopped to ask real questions.

I stayed for only a few moments after I could see that she was mildly uncomfortable with answering my questions. one of the last things she asked was if I knew anyone who was hiring, and of course, the answer was no. I rubbed the side of penny's face the way I rub bubba's when I'm leaving, got in my car, and left.

again, her dog is why I stopped. her dog is why I was visibly shaken and upset as I was leaving, to the point of planting myself on a good friend's doorstep to demand a hug before I went home to an empty apartment. the thought of an animal or a child suffering while living in such an unstable way should be enough for any capable adult to be outraged, or at least overcome by emotion. but while I stopped for her dog, the entirety of her situation is what made me think:

we don't deserve what's coming.

we, the good little humans who are striving to be creative and true to ourselves, who would give anything to survive in a way that made us and others happy, who have compassion for and take care of other sentient beings even when they are difficult, don't deserve the current and coming years of unrest, uncertainty, and unlivable economic conditions. she, sylvia, no matter her reasons for possibly being chronically homeless, should at least have the opportunity to make her situation better, and others among us teetering on that brink should not have to learn how to survive like she does.

we deserve options, we deserve optimism. we deserve the right to make ourselves happy in the most organic and personal ways we know how. we deserve to help others feel this kind of happy, and to expect that they would do the same for us. we deserve to rest easy knowing that this kind of organic happy is made possible by people who give great and genuine care to the economic situation of all of us, because that's what makes them happy.

but I can't help but wonder what comes next.