She looked straight past me.

She’s difficult to miss because she looks terrible.

I continued to look at her face, willing her to turn her head to see me. Her eyes swept past me, then suddenly jerked back—

—I waved hello and smiled.

“MOMMA!” she squealed, running towards me like an exuberant puppy. I felt the glances of the other people at the bus stop land upon us as she threw her arms around me, a nearly toothless and asymmetrical grin spread across her face. The few teeth that remained in her mouth looked like pieces of dying bark: dark, brittle, and uneven. I laughed and asked, “How are you?” as she buried her head against my shoulder, her tangled and matted hair scratching my neck.

“I’m good, I’m good!” she answered, clutching my arm. Though she smiled broadly, the wrinkles of her face did not disappear. “I like to see you, Momma!”

I laughed again—no one else has ever called me “momma”.

I saw the flashbulb explode into light over her mind before she exclaimed, “I got a place to live!”

“You did?” I said, surprised. I hadn’t seen her in a few weeks and had wondered if she was still panhandling for money for The Big Man.

“Yes, yes! I have my own room. I lock my door at night.”

“Do you feel safe there?”

“Yes, yes. I lock my door and I sleep.”

“I’m so glad,” I said, glancing at the muted afternoon sunlight bounce off of the solitary brass key dangling around her neck. “That’s great.”

“Yes, yes, it is! Oh, Momma, I like to see you!” she said again, restlessly pulling at the sleeves of her green sweater.

I saw my bus turn the corner and approach the stop.

“Are you taking the 29?” I asked. I hoped she would say yes.

“No—I have to take my own bus back to my room. My room!” she said with the joy of a little girl about to open her first Christmas gift.

“That’s my bus,” I said, noticing again the other people at the bus stop watching us. “I have to go—but I hope to see you soon!”

“Okay, Momma!” she said, waving to me. “Good-bye, Momma!”

“Good-bye,” I answered, waving back at her before making haste towards the waiting bus.

“Thank you, Momma!” she shouted at me. She kept shouting at me until I disappeared into the vehicle. “Good-bye, Momma! I like it, Momma! Yes, Momma! Yes, yes, Momma!”

I looked back one last time and smiled at her. She waved again, the single key bobbing along with the motion of her arm.

No one sat next to me on the bus. I looked out the window, squinting at the dying afternoon sun.