Page 8 of Taming Georgia

“Mom,” I say as we walk back to the car, “can we stop by and give Stan—”

She cuts me off, “Stop. Not another word about the bum, Georgia.”

“But we have extra money.”

She stops walking and turns to face me. “Listen.” Her voice is softer now, and I’m happy she isn’t mad. “There are tons of homeless people in the world. I know you want to help them. I do, too. But we can’t. If we give all of our money to the homeless people, then we won’t be able to pay for our house, and we’ll be living on the street. Don’t you see that if you help everyone, you won’t have anything left for yourself?”

“I know, Mom. But I don’t want to help everyone. I just want to help Stan.”

“Did you listen to what I said? We can’t help everyone, Georgia. It’s just the way it is.”

“But—” I start to protest.

“No more. I’m serious,” she says sternly before smiling. “Now, where would you like to eat?”

I shake the memory from my head and stop running. Looking up and down the street, I see most places are still closed, but I notice a gas station open a block down.

I run to it.

The selection is pretty good for a gas station. I’m assuming this one is frequented by drunk college kids coming home from parties at all hours of the night.

“Can I help you find anything?” the clerk asks me as he stocks the shelves with canned goods.

“Do you guys carry dog food?”

“Yeah, two aisles over.” He points in front of him.

“Great. Do you have an ATM?”

“Yep, back by the restrooms.” He sticks up his thumb and swings it behind him.

“Awesome. Thank you.”

I grab a small bag of dog food, some snacks, and some sausage and cheese sticks. The idea of unrefrigerated meat and cheese grosses me out, but there’s not much in the way of protein in this store. Plus, they won’t go bad if he doesn’t eat them right away. I throw some more nonperishable food items into the basket and grab a six-pack of water. I withdraw two hundred dollars from the ATM and pay.

Arms full of supplies, I walk back toward the homeless man. The memory with my mom and Stan is still vivid. I’ll never forget that day. I’ve thought about it a lot since it happened. It’s honestly one of the saddest days of my life. It’s the day that I realized that I didn’t want to grow up to be anything like my mom.

That’s a hard reality for a little girl to swallow. At that age, one’s mom is their everything. But after that day, my mom wasn’t mine. It was also the day I first started to feel guilty for who I was, for the family I had been born into.

I reach the man and softly say, “Good morning,” afraid to startle him.

He lifts his head up from his knees. “Good morning.”

His dog sniffs me a few times, and he must decide that I’m cool because his tail starts wagging.

“I hope it’s okay that I brought you some things.” I set the bag down beside him.

“Oh. Sure. Thank you.” He smiles up to me.

“Hi, I’m Georgia.” I extend my gloved hand to shake his.

He reaches his hand out toward mine. “I’m Mark.”

“Nice to meet you, Mark.”

I bend at my knees and pet Mark’s dog. He’s a gray pit bull. His mouth is big, smiling with a long tongue hanging out the side.

“He’s so cute,” I say as I hold his big head in my grasp.

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