Gloria

“Yea, I’m a government girl, there’s no question about it” Gloria said as she searched my feet and inspected my torso.

I, a man of 20 years, gazed upon her poverty with utter fascination. Her world of babble and confusion was so utterly different, yet never pretended to be inaccessible to me. I looked her in the eyes and said

“Oh?”

My face was void of emotion not because I’m particularly skilled in veiling my emotions—although that I am—but because I had none.

“Have you ever heard of Carnival Inc?” Gloria asked as she stared once again at my “cool shoes.”

“I have not,” I mentioned, one tone, tilted head, would appreciate tad elucidation.

“They provide work for the disabled and the mentally ill. I make minimum wage. I’m insane. I tried to go to college 8 different times. Are you a Cornell student?”

“I am,” I admitted.

“I was once interested in plants and plant science they have a good program there I used to want to go there but I couldn’t do it,” Gloria said, finally meeting my eyes.

The bus pulled up and I asked her name, she said Gloria. She asked mine and I said Francis.

“That’s a really nice name,” she said, mesmerized.

“It was good to meet you,” I said.

I think I walked by Gloria today on campus. I met her in the commons yesterday.