Moving to the new neighborhood meant a fresh start for me, a journalist who needed some break from the constant ringing of telephones, the stressful environment, and the aggressive clacking of keyboards. Little did I know, however, that a little girl with a red bag would change my life forever.
My new home was settled in the heart of a quiet neighborhood that gave the feeling of a warm blanket I desperately needed.
The subdued rumble of the handful of cars that passed down the street felt more like a forgotten whisper than a disturbance.
This place resembled a paradise, and I loved it.
As I was unpacking my things, I noticed a lonely little girl with a red bag in her hands. She stood at the bus stop across the street. For a long time, she didn’t move, she just started at my house.
I wondered why she was there, alone, but I didn’t dare to get out and ask her, not wanting the neighbors to believe I was there to uncover their mysteries.
The following day, when I looked out of the window, I stumbled upon the same sight.
The same girl, and the same red bag. She was motionless.
I tried not to stare and returned to what I was doing around the house. After some time, however, I looked outside again, and the girl was still there.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I wondered what was happening in that girl’s life and I was eager to learn more, but I didn’t want to scare her.
A couple of days passed by, and the girl that held tightly to her red bag was standing at the bus stop again.
It became a morning routine for me to glance through the window and look at her, unaware if I needed to make a move.
Then, one morning, she wasn’t there, but her red bag, which was worn at the edges, was placed in front of my front door.
My heart raced and my hands trembled as I opened that red bag I had seen many times before and wondered what it held.
Inside, I discovered the most delicate little creations that seemed to breathe with imagination. Tiny houses made out of bottle caps, toy cars made of plastic and wires, and dolls fashioned from fabric scraps. Each of the tiny toys was handcrafted to perfection.
Was it possible that those little hands were able to produce such beautiful creations, I thought to myself.
And then, at the bottom of the red bag was a note.
“Hi, my name is Libbie, I make this toys to pay for my grandma’s medicine. My parents died in a car crash three months ago, and I have no one else besides my grandma. Would you like to buy some? Thank you.”
Tears filled my eyes and a lump formed in my throat. I realized the girl was not just lonely, but she was also lost in her world of responsibilities and the daily struggle to provide for her grandma although she was still just a child.
She stood at the buss top not only because she tried to sell her perfectly crafted pieces, but also because deep down she hoped someone would notice her.
I took all the money I had in my wallet and put them in the red bag. As of the toys, I placed them on my kitchen counter.
When the morning came, I waited patiently for Libbie to appear. The moment I noticed her, I opened the door and welcomed her in. She was afraid and surprised by my offer.
“Please get inside,” I said. “I have some homemade cookies and warm milk.”
“Sorry I bothered you,” she whispered quietly.
“Oh, sweetie, you are not bothering me at all, please get inside,” I insisted.
Libbie entered my home. She sat at the chair and grabbed the glass of milk.
It was then that she shared her story with me. Her dad would take her to the bus station every morning so that she could catch a bus to school. On her way home, her parents would wait her there.
The bus stop was the place that reminded her of the good days. By standing there, she pretended that her mom and dad are still around and it made her feel a bit better before she would return to the harsh reality.
My heart broke for Libbie, but I assured her I would be there for her.
Over time, she and I became friends. Libbie would visit me often, and I would help her craft her toys.
A couple of years latter, when I married my boyfriend Darren, we decided to adopt Libbie.
Her grandma is staying with us, and we all take care of her.
As of Libbie, we helped her set a website where she sells her toys and people are touched by her story.
She, however, still wants to stay at the bus stop every now and then.
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Bored Daddy
Love and Peace