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Sonya stumbled back after meeting James Parker's leg. With impossibly
big eyes she looked up at the old man and sang out, “Oh, hello.”
“Well hey there,” James started with his grandfatherly advice,
“you know, it's not safe to be wandering out here alone.”
“No, it's okay. My mama tells me to be tough. I'm tough now.”
“Oh, okay,” James Parker says with a laugh. “What is your
name?”
“My name is Sonya. My mama calls me mi cielo.”
“Mi cielo? What does that mean.”
“It means, my sky,” she says with an enthusiasm only
found in young, uncorrupted, children, “It's because I like birds
so much. I like all kinds of birds.”
The old man, with his own sky blue eyes, looks straight back into
Sonya's innocent brown ones. “Well, Sonya, my name is James. Why
are you out here by yourself? It's dangerous.”
With her chest puffed out, Sonya began to explain that her mother
was ill- that she, being her daughter, was the only person who could
get her mother's medicine at the local pharmacy. Sonya told him she
was only going to be out on the streets for five minutes because she
lived in the apartment complex where the old bookstore used to be.
With total faith and conviction she told him that her and her mother were
always going to be okay because God was always watching over them.
James Parker wanted to tell her she was mistaken. He wanted to tell
her that not everything was going to be okay, and all she had to do
was look around to see that God has abandoned everyone. He wanted to
tell her all of that, but instead he smiled and told her to be careful.
The old man reached into his back pocket and pulled twenty dollars
from his wallet, “Here, get yourself something nice,” he told
her, “for being brave.”
Her voice now an octive higher than before and her eyes now wider than James
thought possible, she sang out, “Thanks James,” as she skipped
away.
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