"Hey, Lady! Got any change?"
"What?"
"Change. Have you got any? To spare, like."
Lady glances at the grubby girl in the doorway.
Just another dropout, but there was something about the eyes.
What is it about eyes?
Grubby can't be more than 15,
a child really.
A child.
Lady rubs her swollen belly protectively,
then digs into her bag,
pulls out a £5 note, pushing into the outstretched hand.
"Wow! Thanks, Lady!"
Grubby jumps to her feet and
lays her hand on her donor's stomach.
Unexpected!
"You and your child are truly blessed."
Startled by the statement,
as the voice that occupies Grubby is much older, deeper almost a host of sound that resonates.
Echoes.
Sings.
Chants and praises.
Raises and rides an ocean wave of emotion.
A moment.
It seems that the 33 week load she carries becomes weightless, like a helium filled balloon.
Relief. Warmth. Release.
Love. Support. Peace.
Grubby got it right - a blessing.
Truly, a blessing.
Lady turns to question Grubby.
Gone.
Off to spend the money on booze or drugs or some such thing.
With that thought,
The pain returns.
Lady sighs.
And sighs again.
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