Hope Disguised as Crispy Fried Chicken

One person can’t do all of the things, but we all can do some of the things.

When I was fifteen, my mother and I returned to Louisiana from California, where we lived with family.

Even though we had saved money for rent, we couldn’t secure an apartment because Mom didn’t have a job. We were forced to rent a hotel room at the Days Inn near Williams Boulevard in Kenner, Louisiana. We knew the hotel cost would quickly consume all our funds, but there was no other option. Our priority was keeping a roof over our heads; food had to be secondary. So, aside from the sugar packets I stole from the hotel’s restaurant, we did without.

The first few days without food were painful. My stomach felt like it was being rung out like a wet dish towel. After that, it wasn’t unbearable — until I smelled food.

We didn’t have a vehicle, so on a suffocatingly hot day, we (again) walked down Williams Blvd. so Mom could fill out applications at fast-food restaurants and convenience stores. On one of our stops, Mom was completing an application while we sat at a table in a fast-food chicken restaurant. The smell of the food was killing me, and my stomach was audible and contorting. I buried my face in my arms on the table and tried, unsuccessfully, to block the aroma. Suddenly, I heard a soft voice.

“Excuse me,” said a woman with blondish-brown hair, standing beside our table. She was about 5’7", wearing a white button-down shirt and jeans.

Mom and I stared at her and waited for her to speak.

“They messed up my order, and I can’t stand to see food go to waste. If you two haven’t eaten, would you mind taking it?”

We continued to look at her, completely dumbfounded.

She pressed, “I just don’t want food to go to waste.”

Mom nodded affirmatively, but I remained uncharacteristically speechless.

Stunned, I watched as the lady placed a paper bag on our table and a cup carrier containing two giant, clear-colored soft drinks.

She said nothing more before walking away.

I glanced at Mom momentarily and then pounced on the bag like a lion on a wounded gazelle. It contained two three-piece dinners with mashed potatoes and gravy, a roll, and coleslaw. It felt like a mirage. I couldn’t believe a stranger had just given us two free meals.

I deliberately hovered my face over the bag to inhale the heavenly aroma. I then began devouring the food so fast I could have smothered myself. Mom wasn’t as quick to eat. She sat and steadily wiped the tears that were pouring down her cheeks.

“Why aren’t you eating?” I asked with a full mouth.

“Be like her,” Mom said. “Grow up to be someone who helps others without making them feel like trash.”

I finally came up for air, probably with one piece of chicken and an entire roll already in me. I looked at what remained of my free food and glanced up at Mom. Her black hair was stuck to her sweaty head. I couldn’t see myself but suddenly felt my wet clothes stuck to my sweaty body. Shame grabbed me by the throat.

For the first time, I wondered:

1.      Did we look homeless? We were.

2.      Did we look hungry? We were.

3.      Did we look like "trash?" We did, but we weren’t. Our situation did not have much dignity, but we were good people who just needed some help to get on our feet. We needed a lucky break.

The woman, my miracle at a fried chicken restaurant, was our lucky break that day, and I have never forgotten her or that most delicious meal. I still feel so grateful to her. That day, I promised Mom and God I would help others whenever possible. I can't do it ALL, but I do what I can.

Did a stranger ever help you?