Scarfs

• Hannah Versic, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2011

The steel grey train ground to a halt at the metro station of the enormous city. Mum, Dad, Claire and I walk off with our large bags and suitcases.
As we stroll along the sunlit platform, Claire shouts, “I spy with my little eyes something beginning with H.P.” We all try to guess.
“Handy purse?” asks Mum.
“Huge platform?” asks Dad.
“Happy people?” I ask.
“No. Homeless person!” she yells, pointing at a smelly, grubby man leaning against a pole.
Mum and Dad both give a disgusted look and pull Claire away. I feel sorry for him, so I secretly give him some of my holiday money.
Outside the station, Mum and Dad call a taxi to take us to our hotel. We put our bags in the boot and clamber inside. The driver starts the car and we zoom off to the colossal city.
We make many stops in the city, especially at traffic lights. During each stop I look out my window and I can see more homeless people, on park benches, in front of shops, some even muttering to themselves. “People shouldn’t have to live like that,” I tell Mum.
“Yes, I know Brianna, but sometimes people are offered sheltered homes, but they still choose to live on the street,” explains Mum. “Ever since we left the station that’s been the only thing you’ve talked about.”
It’s the only thing I can think about too. Something has to be done about the huge number of these poor, suffering human beings. Someone has to do something. That someone will be me.
“Since we’re in the middle of the city and we’re close to all the places we need to go, I think we’ll just walk to everywhere,” says Mum the next morning. “That way we can save money and I can have desert tonight.”
“Everyone ready for Science Museum?” calls Dad.
“Yes,” we reply.
“Good. Let’s go then.”
As we walk through the bustling city, I have my wallet out and ready in my hand. I give one dollar of my money to all the homeless people I see on my way to the Science Museum. I plan to do this for the rest of the five days that are left of the holiday, but I’m not sure I’ll have enough money for them and me. As I approach the Science Museum, I count my money to see how much I’ve spent. Four dollars. This means I’ll use at least four on the way back and probably run out before the end of the holiday. When Mum does the money check on Wednesday, she’ll get curious and ask what I spent my money on. I need to think of something else.
“Can I go to a craft shop while you get the groceries?” I ask Mum the next day.
“Yeah, me too?” pleads Claire. “I hate grocery shopping.”
“Alright, I’ll meet you two outside Supa Craft in fifteen minutes,” says Mum approvingly.
As Claire and I go into the shop, I recite my plan in my head. We come out fifteen minutes later with a pack of stencils for Claire and a couple of balls of wool for me.
In all the spare time I get, I secretly knit scarfs for the homeless. It is now half past ten on our second-last night in the city and if I’m ever going to deliver them, it’s now. I silently creep out of bed with my bag of knitting, shoot down the elevator and walk out onto the footpath. Without a second thought, I turn right and walk down the street.
Not a moment too soon, my first suffering person is within view. As I approach her, a patrolling police car rolls by. I duck behind a rubbish bin. I don’t think they saw me. I continue to walk closer to the cold, shivering soul. I put my hand into my bag of ravelled, woolly scarfs, pull one out and pass it to her with my nervous shaky hand and a wide smile on my face. She glances up at me and with a toothless grin accepts my gift. I repeat this process all the way down the deathly quiet street; my confidence building with every step I take. I soon become weary and decide to turn around and walk back.
As I near the hotel, I see a bothering sight. Claire is sitting on the stairs at the front of the hotel, sobbing. She looks up, sees me and rushes over with tears streaming down her face. “Claire, what are you doing out here; what’s the matter?”
“I had a bad dream and wanted to tell you but you were gone,” she whispered. “I didn’t know what to do, so came out here to try to find you.”
I quickly thought of something to stop her sobbing. “Claire,” I ask. “Can you keep a secret?”
Claire nods her head. One thing Claire is good at is keeping secrets. The tears have stopped and she is now thoroughly interested in what I’m going to say. “Can you see that person over there?” She nods her head again. “That’s another homeless person like the one at the train station. In this bag, I have scarfs that I made for all the people who live like that. I have three more in my bag. Do you want to help me deliver them before Mum and Dad wake up?”
“OK,” she says.
“But you must promise me you’ll never do this on your own,” I tell her.
“Alright, I promise,” she says.
We walk off down the left side of the moonlit street and hand the rest of my scarfs to the first three homeless we see. Then we walk sleepily back up to the hotel room. I contently fall fast asleep, feeling proud about my efforts and what I have accomplished in just four days.