“Home, is it just a word? Or is it something that you carry within you?”
—Nomadland
I met Mia when I was walking my dog Izzy about three o’clock yesterday afternoon. It was hot. Arizona hot. High 90s in April. After a lovely week in the 70s, a summer preview hit with a vengeance. It won’t be getting cooler anymore. Only hotter. Welcome to the desert.
I saw a white van parked in the shade of the tall Aleppo pines in my neighborhood looking very out of place. Straight outtaNomadland. Three tires and a gas can were strapped to the back, on the top were piled a mountain of boxes, and the hood was covered with various things looking like items were being sorted out from inside. A small-statured, tan young woman in jean shorts and a tank top was standing leaning against the front seat with the door open.
I noticed all of this because the typical parked car on the street, and there aren’t many, was a white Camry and recently a van with a sticker that says “this vehicle is not for sale.” Odd that the owner feels compelled to post this. It’s just a plain white van. Really, how many inquiries could there possibly be?
Izzy and I walked home and I went to work for a 5 pm shift. I drive food delivery for Doordash. The night sucked. After three deliveries of way too many miles for ridiculously low tips, I quit for the night. The highlight of the evening was delivering to a strip club in Scottsdale. My typical Dash customer is an ASU student or a suburban family so this was quite new. I pulled up to the club where four beautiful young women were sitting out front dressed in robes—covering their costumes I assumed. I delivered a salad from Mad Greens to Ariana. Great food choice, girl.
It was a night of interesting humanity. In the time of Covid, I have become a compelling observer of life. In doing so, I’ve found that observing without judgment is usually the best option.
After this very short Dash shift, I went home and took Izzy out for a longer walk. It was now dusk and the sun had become a lazy sunset tinged pink by 90-degree heat. We circled the block back to the white van again and I decided to walk up to her and as I approached, our conversation went like this.
“Hi.”
“I know, it’s a mess.”
[She explained to me that an HOA board member had earlier tried to intimidate her into leaving and thought I was about to do the same. I knew exactly who she was talking about. The Wicked Witch of Public Street Enforcement. As if.]
“I was wondering if you needed anything. Do you need any help?”
“I’m here because I have a flat tire and I don’t have the money to fix it. I was on my way to the shelter.”
“Do you have any food?”
“No.”
“Water?”
“Yes.”
I told her I had some things that might help her out and that I lived just around the corner and would be right back.
At this point in my story, I need to introduce my friend Jeanmarie. We have known each other for nearly 30 years and have many things in common, including a giving heart for anyone living in an underserved community. Because of her, I carry my Doordash dollar tips to give to women at street corners, especially those with children. Jeanmarie crochets blankets for shelters. She is my inspiration, along with my recently deceased Mother, who role-modeled giving to women’s and children’s shelters to me.
We must take care of each other. I believe this in today’s world now more than ever before. For Jeanmarie. For my Mom.
I put together some bags of what I hoped were useful items for her. I knew the toilet paper I hoard would come in handy for someone. I included a ton of protein bars I had which, as it turns out, were practical and useful for her. This gave me an idea to start carrying them with me in my car to give out at street corners. Mia bars! I have another friend, Gina, who is brilliant at thinking of creative ways to get food to homeless families. I need to share this idea with her. But back to my new friend.
When I returned, we shared the tightest hug that warmed me to my soul and she told me her name was Mia. Beautiful Mia. Probably around 30 years old. We had the nicest chat and I learned what brought her to my neighborhood. It could have been so many of us. It will be so many more of us. There but for the grace of God. I gave her enough money for the tire and a bit extra. Because really, what am I working for? I have enough to share. More than enough to share with this wonderful woman who needed a little help. Who up until a few months ago had her own home and different life, never expecting how it would change. The most heartbreaking part of her story was giving up her two dogs. Could I live without my Izzy? I cried.
The next morning I woke up early to bring her a cup of coffee and a big bottle of water with Izzy on our morning walk. As I turned the corner I saw nothing but an empty street. Mia was gone. I was happy for her and sad for me. But relieved. My new nomad friend was on her way. I know she won’t forget me and I surely won’t forget her. Just as I won’t forget Ariana who loves salads and works at a strip club. We are all a community of women just doing what we need to do to survive.
How many Mias and Arianas will Covid and the post-Covid era create? More than I can surely count. As women, especially, we can create a community of care and not allow anyone to suffer because of a world they have become part of yet did not create.
Her name is Mia. Nadia. Shanice. Fatima. Aliyah. Maria. Shawn. Watch out for her. Help her. We have more than enough to share and care for our community.
As Jeanmarie helped me understand, don’t just drive by, even one dollar at a street corner can make a difference to someone.
Her name could be Mia.
