One Dollar

She wasn't as cute as the others.

Her hair was too short, shorn, and her eyes were too wide, but she was the only one I noticed, the only one who looked bewildered, standing there, gawking at me with her basket full of wooden beads. Her legs were dirty to the knees.  

All the same, I knew better than to let her know I saw her. I looked away when I passed, quickened my pace, avoided those too-wide eyes, and shoved my hands deep into my pockets. She trotted along beside me.

"One dollar," she whispered, holding up her basket, but you could tell by the way she formed her words that the sounds were still a struggle. The other kids rolled the phrase out easily. "One dollar," they'd call, holding up postcards or bracelets or wooden flutes, and shoving them toward you. Smiles on their hunger-eaten faces, shouting, "One dollar, Madame! You buy for your daughter! One dollar! One dollar!"

"No, no" I'd tell them, looking upward, away from them, and shaking my head. I knew I couldn't look down, couldn't take them in, or they'd swarm; it was too much like a promise. I can't help you all. There are just too many. "No. No, thank you. I can't help you. I'm sorry."

But this little girl, she didn't ask a second time. She just trotted along beside me, not saying a word, and I just kept my hands in my pockets. I just kept looking up. I just kept walking.

I quickened my pace again.

I didn't see her fall. Just heard the sound.

I took three steps away from her before I paused. Turned around. She was face down in the dirt. Her basket was empty, wooden bracelets all spilled out on the ground, and I was just standing there, hesitating, until I finally knelt down.

I picked up the bracelets and put them back into her basket.

She sat up and looked at me. Her eyes were even wider now somehow, darker, brimming with tears and even more bewildered; that's when I saw her, really saw her.

She was a baby.

Penelope's age, maybe. She couldn't have been more than four, and every instinct in my body told me to open my arms. I wanted to check her skinned knees. I wanted to hold her.

And she wanted me to hold her. I could tell.

She didn't cry, but she looked up at me with those wide, dark eyes, all full of hurt and surprise, and she leaned her body toward me. If I would have opened my arms she would have rushed into them. She would have rested her head on my shoulder. She would have cried.

I couldn't help her.

I pointed at the bracelets. "One dollar," I asked. She nodded. I handed her a dollar and she handed me a bracelet. Then I left her. She was still sitting in the dirt, examining her knees, just a baby, and I left her. I walked away.

I didn't want to walk away. I wanted to open my arms. I wanted to hold her. I wanted to help her, but I didn't know how.

I still want to help her, but this time I want to support an organization that can make a real difference in the lives of street children. And I want you to help, too.

So here's the plan:

I'm asking you to make a donation to UNICEF.  You don't have to give much, but I want to honor this little girl, along with all the children I saw in Cambodia, and I want you to help me.

If you do donate, please leave a comment here saying "I Donated!" and I'll enter your name in a drawing. At the end of the week, on Sunday, January 29th, I'm planning to close the comments and draw a name at random. The winner will receive the bracelet I bought from the little girl in Cambodia. It isn't fancy, and it only cost a dollar, but it's special to me.

So I hope you'll participate. I hope you'll tell your friends.

I hope you'll like it.

*Finding the Bigger Picture though Simple Moments*