Gloria Jean'd worked at the women's shelter for seventeen years, and she'd never seen it as crowded as she did the night after all that crazy crap happened downtown, scaring everybody. By eight o'clock, all the beds were gone and the cots had to come out. Gloria helped put everything together, then relieved Joan at the reception desk. She was there an hour, and six women came in when usually the number would be more like one or two.

     In all their eyes, Gloria saw despair and terror.  

     One young woman in particular stuck out in Gloria's mind. She came in just as Gloria was about to be relieved herself. Her I.D. told Gloria that her name was Alison, and that she was eighteen. The clothes she wore, the way she had her hair styled, the way she carried herself, all made Gloria think that Alison was escaping from a middle class or upper class environment, which was uncommon but hardly unheard of at the shelter. Alison barely said a word, but in Alison's silence Gloria sensed loss and desperation. She looked like someone ready to break down and bawl uncontrollably at any second. 

​     Gloria Jean handed her a sleeping bag. "I wish we could do better, but..." 

​     Alison nodded, then turned to go find a cot. 

     Why did Gloria Jean remember her among all the women she met and had to deal with that night? That was hard to put her finger on. It had something to do with Alison's eyes, though. Huge and brown, the horror and fury that danced within them seemed, somehow, to epitomize the entire day.  

     Things got busy for a couple of hours after that as dozens of women, most strangers to each other, prepared for the night. Gloria Jean saw Alison as she made one last pass through each common room before finishing her shift and going home for dinner and a good, stiff drink. Alison had placed her cot against one corner of the room, and now she rested on her cot, on her sleeping bag but not in it, facing into the wall, and, yes, Gloria Jean saw her shoulders quiver, a sure sign that she was sobbing. 

     Poor thing, Gloria Jean thought. God bless her. God bless us all. 

     Gloria looked into the sky as she crossed the parking lot to get to her car. The vast sweep of the stars never ceased to awe her. 

     Blessed be the glory of God, she thought. 

     And, also, she thought, thank God that this insane, evil-dripping day has at last come to an end.   

​END OF NOVEL

HOME