The Beauty Queen

I remember when I first saw her on the corner of Wabasha and Kellogg—her dark velvet dress, her long silver hair, her posture erect and dignified. She proceeded slowly down the sidewalk with her tiara-crowned head held high, looking straight ahead. A light breeze rustled the satin sash that lay crosswise from her shoulder to her waist, much like that of a beauty queen. I thought maybe she was a beauty queen. Could a local senior center have held a beauty pageant? I strained to see the words on her sash, but there were none.

As she approached the bus stop where I was standing, I tried not to stare, but I was spellbound. What was she doing? Was she mentally ill? I wondered if I should ask her if she was a princess. Would she have appreciated a bit of conversation?

I noticed on her feet she wore high-heeled sandals. Her feet must have hurt; she’d already walked four blocks in her sandals, and she gave no indication of stopping. Did she wander off? Was someone looking for her?

I glanced at the people around me. No one gave her a second look. A woman walked slowly behind her, a small smile on her face and kindness in her eyes. I thought maybe this woman was with the beauty queen, but she soon quickened her pace and crossed the street. I had never been in this part of town before. Maybe those who frequented the area saw the beauty queen every day.

Years ago on my drive home from work, I regularly passed a young man who wore a stuffed alligator on his head. This particular young man was always accompanied by a young woman who seemed to be helping and guiding him. The beauty queen, however, was all alone. I would have felt better if she had had someone helping her.

I boarded my bus shortly after the beauty queen passed. Three times along the road I saw men holding signs with words like “homeless” and “hungry.” I was uncomfortable. I was glad I was on the bus; if I had been in my car, I would have had to decide what I might do to help these men.

I want to help, but I don’t know how. I envy the people who can reach out to others so easily when I do nothing because I'm worried I might offend. Last winter when I took the bus to work on snowy days, every day a woman and her granddaughter caught the same bus, and every day I noticed the little girl had no hat or mittens. I wanted to bring her some; the thought crossed my mind more than once. But in the end, I worried about how the woman would react; I was afraid she would be angry at me for making assumptions. Maybe the beauty queen would have responded to a kind word. Maybe I should have asked her what kind of pageant she had won. If her status was real to her, I should have made it real to myself.

           

The moment I saw the beauty queen I began to pray, but I was selfish in my prayer. I asked for guidance for myself; I didn’t ask for anything for the woman. I know God sees her. I pray that next time he will help me move beyond only seeing.