Jean, the Bag Lady

The streets of New York have taken their toll on Jean Matthews. I’ve watched her go downhill over the years. Now, her greasy hair hangs long around her neck, framing a face that is red and chapped from the wind and cold. She pushes her cart loaded with all her worldly goods, protecting it as though it contained the crown jewels.

I’ve watched her for four years from my shop window. She apparently makes the same rounds every day, coming down Twenty-Fifth just past Epstein Cleaners at about nine-thirty. She always stops at the newsstand and reads for about ten minutes, or until the clerk runs her off. She never takes anything from the shops. The shop keepers all trust Jean; most of them just consider her a nuisance.

We’re not sure just what her cart contains. No one has ever seen underneath that turtle-green blanket tucked tightly inside the metal cart.

I’d guess Jean to be about sixty. Had I not seen her when she first appeared on the streets here, my guess would be ten years higher. Jean is not very stable on her feet, always holding on to her cart for balance. The stooped posture defies her true height. Her penetrating eyes will liquefy a heart. Who is she?

Twenty-Fifth Street has its share of street people. Most of them are dirty, uneducated, and rarely speak. But Jean is different. Her looks are deceiving. Lately I’ve taken up crossword puzzles between customers, and anytime I can’t find a right word, I wait ‘til Jean comes around. She’s a walking dictionary. I’m amazed. But, come to think of it, I’ve never seen her work her own puzzle. I asked her once if she had ever gone to college. “Oh, I’ve darkened a few classes in my life,” she quipped, “but that was a long time ago.”

Here she comes now. She always brings her cart in with her. Maybe she’s afraid someone will steal it while it’s parked outside, but it could be that it serves as a type of walker for her to hold on to. Usually I’ll have doughnuts out and ready to share with her, but not this morning. The delivery boy beat her to them.

“Good morning, Jean. Sorry, but Danny beat you to the doughnuts.”

“Oh, that’s okay. Danny’s a little on the skinny side anyway. He needs them a lot more than I do. I’ll just be on my way. See you tomorrow.” But I thought I detected disappointment in those beautiful brown eyes of hers.

As she started to walk out, Mrs. Devan opened the door for her, “Good morning, Jean. Here, let me help you with that cart through the door.”

“No thanks,” Jean said with a bit of a rude tone. “I can get it just fine,”

That was unlike her. Jean’s always been friendly enough. After she was out the door, Mrs Devan walked up to my counter. I was curious. “I didn’t know you knew Jean.”

“Oh, gosh yes. Jean and I were roommates at Vassar.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. Jean attended Vassar College?”

“Yes, Jean graduated Cum Laude in nineteen eighty-seven. She married a physician and, until five years ago, was a member of the Long Island Country Club. I know you don’t believe that, but it’s true.”

In a way, I could believe it, but still I was shocked. “You know,” I said, “she’s never talked to me about her life, but I knew the lady carried more around than what’s in that cart. She’s a brain when it comes to crossword puzzles.”

“Oh yes, poor thing, she’s a brain alright. That’s the one thing she has managed to hang on to.”

“So, what happened?”

Mrs. Devan looked back toward the door to make sure we were alone. “Jean, like I said, married a doctor about thirty years ago. Her life was full of dinner parties, sequined gowns, political rallies—you name it, the Matthews were there.”

I hoped a customer didn’t come in. I wanted to hear the rest of the story.

Mrs. Devan closed her eyes for a second. “I wish you could have seen her then. That stringing hair was always up in a perfect swirling bouffant. Her minks and foxes were the envy of every woman at the club. In their Seventy-Seventh Street penthouse, she was always the perfect hostess. Yes, Jean loved her parties. She loved her wine and cheese parties—but mostly, she just loved the wine. I guess she still does.”

Eldon Reed ©2015

Enjoy the journey,

Eldon