The woman on the curb talked to herself or someone, and I couldn’t help myself; I wanted to give her a cheeseburger and a chocolate chip cookie. And, of course, a scripture card. After a bit, I carried a lunch sack to her, and she called me by a name. Not my name. But a name just the same. I told her who I was, and she quickly agreed that she knew my face—and had given me an important-sounding name.
So for a few minutes, I became Octavia Elizabeth but quickly became myself again when I mingled with other friends on the street. A man shouted, screamed, and tossed his bike to the ground at the corner by the park. He threw a fit and stomped, waving his arms and making enough noise to rattle the moment.
I had one lunch sack left—so when I asked my friends if I should take a trek over to the man, I suddenly had two bodyguards walking with me to ensure I was safe.
