"Got no folks to speak of so, it's a hard-knock row we how! Cotton blankets, steada wool! Empty bellies, steada full! It's a hard-knock life"~ Annie
My Dearest Papa,
I write this with sincere hope for the future…my future. That these past six months of hell without you was not for nothing. That possibly something wonderful came from this nightmare.
I met a man today Papa…he reminded me of you. He has a warmth that makes me feel safe. As though nothing could ever hurt me again. I know you're wondering how I met this man.
Jimmy (one of my shelter mates) and I were sitting on a bench in Madison Square Park. Well…Jimmy was sitting; I was singing "Tomorrow" bringing out my very best Orphan Annie. Jimmy was laughing as I started jumping off the bench releasing all my frustration. There was quite a crowd around us watching as I sang and danced my way around them. Unfortunately there really wasn't a lot of money. Since the market's crashed (I still don't understand how you didn't foresee that coming Papa…and I don't know if I ever will) everyone's kept their money super close. So it makes sense why they wouldn't want to hand it over to two homeless orphaned tweens who literally haven't eaten for 3 days. Jimmy walks around the crowd holding out his bettered Yankee hat as I held out my red messenger cap, hoping someone will at least spare a dollar and am disappointed (but not surprised) when no one does. As I turn to go I feel a tap on my shoulder.
"Can I not make a contribution?" questions a husky unknown voice.
As I turn I see before me a young man, probably in his late 20's early 30's, smiling at me. He towers over me…like a giant might. He's standing in the sun…completely enveloped (like my choice of vocabulary Papa?) by it…making it hard to see. The only thing I can see clearly are his warm brown eyes…like yours were Papa. Seeing a piece of you in the face of this stranger makes me feel like I can trust him. I only nod in response to his previous question as he drops a bill into my hat. I smile politely and say "thank you" expecting him to turn and leave (and am taken by surprise when he doesn't). I turn to leave and look down into my hat…and see Mr. Franklin staring up at me!
I know Papa…believe me I was shocked. I mean a $100 bill is more than just generous…it's insane. I at first thought it might have been some sick joke and told him as much. But Papa…he wasn't joking. His name is Walter Sanford and he's a director for an upcoming show. He assures me that there's more where that bill came from and goes on to tell me he thinks I have real potential. Continuously telling me that with the right training I could be a real star! Papa…he wants me to be in his show! Me. Performing. On stage! Can you imagine? My heart swells just thinking about performing on Broadway. He even said that he knows some place I could live where I would have my own room and plenty of food to eat. He's driving me over to the house (letting my stop my Central Park so I can say goodbye to you) now.
Papa…I know you're worried but I can't live on the streets anymore. It's getting to be too dangerous. Last week some girl pulled a knife on me demanding I giver her my shoes. My feet are covered with blisters and scrapes now. And I'm starving Papa…I can't think of the last time I had a real meal. I know you wouldn't want me living like this. My options are few Papa…but I think I'm taking the better deal.
So here I am…under our tree (where I placed your ashes) writing this letter letting you know that things will be better. The void you left when you died is still unavoidable…but with time I think it will heal. I miss you so much Papa and I love you with all my heart. Wish me luck Papa…I promise to come and visit again soon. All my love.
Your,
Sinara