Liz

LIZ—I remember her silly face, her misshapen body, her undeveloped mentality. She was such an unfortunate human being. Still, she was a part of Brooklyn’s population. She became a community landmark by constantly roaming the streets, standing for hours on street corners and attending any funeral people would let her attend.
 
This simple but harmless woman was the victim of an unfortunate birth and of a social era that seemed to shove aside her kind or pay little attention to them. She should have been sheltered in some public institution where she would have been cared for and protected from the laughter and jibes of an uncaring world. Instead, she was left to wander the streets and display her silliness, to be poked at, jeered at and often to suffer.
 
Whenever I think of this woman with her worn look, her ungainly walk and her simple face, I remember her with sadness. She was a part of Brooklyn, but she was a sad indictment on a society that did not care soon enough.
 
In the latter part of her life, I was told that a kind samaritan, a member of the House of Prayer, befriended Liz. In her home, Liz was given a place to sleep that sheltered her from the cold and rain of inclement nights.
 
I do not know what became of Liz. More than likely, she is dead. I like to think that somewhere in the beyond, this unwanted individual has been released from her physical fetters and that she had found the loveliness and peace that she was denied on earth.

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