Story & Photos by Katherine Marrone
She couldn’t have been more than a year or two older than me, yet we looked so different from one another. She wore tattered clothes, all black. I wore a rain jacket, jeans, and sturdy tennis shoes. She wore a thin black sweatshirt, sweatpants that were too big, and broken flip flops. She had a small suitcase, filled with empty plastic bags to carry food. I had a stomach full of food. She didn’t have a roof to sleep under. I did.
As I was packing food away in a van, the girl approached me tentatively, and with a shy smile asked if there was anything she could have. Before I could hand her a few bananas and a cup of soup, she stopped me, and asked if I was sure I didn’t want the food myself. Surprised by her kindness, I shook my head. “Are you sure?” she asked in a sweet voice. “Of course,” I replied. She took the bananas from my hand and the cup of soup and asked if there was anything she could drink. When I handed her a cup of grape juice, she smiled and jumped in the air, her feet dancing. She drank the whole cup without stopping, and then two more after that, before she even touched her soup. In that instant, my heart broke.
For my spring break, I went with a group of sixteen University of Oregon students to Los Angeles for an Alternative Break. However, we didn’t go to California for the sake of celebrating. Instead, for a total of six days, we had only one goal in mind: help others. We pulled invasive plants and planted trees with an agency called the Tree Musketeers, stocked food in boxes for the Los Angeles Regional Food Bank, and helped build houses for Habitat for Humanity. For our fourth night of service, we helped the Greater West Hollywood Food Coalition prepare food and then serve dinner to the area’s homeless.
When we arrived in West Hollywood that evening, it was the smell that hit me first. As I stepped out of our twelve-passenger van and closer to the anxious group of people waiting for the hot meal we were about to serve, the smell of dirty clothes, smoke, and body perspiration overwhelmed me. It was the smell of despair and poverty. It was the smell of the homeless. I tried to breath out of my mouth, ignoring the stench. I looked at the eager faces in line, some weary and tired, others surprisingly energetic, perhaps for the meal that lay ahead.
As I looked around, I attempted to make eye contact with everyone. However, I couldn’t ignore my nervous heartbeat every time I did happen to meet someone’s gaze. It wasn’t because of any embarrassment I might have felt for them; instead, I felt embarrassed for myself. I had clean clothes, sturdy shoes, and a full stomach. They had torn clothing, shoes that could barely cover their feet, and nothing to eat. I felt ashamed I had so much while they had so little. I was worried they would look down on me.
Despite what little some had, it was often that as I served desserts someone’s face, creased in dirt and wrinkles, would stretch in to a warm smile. As I placed danishes and cupcakes into dirty hands, I looked into tired, yet strangely content eyes. And as I told some of our goal in Los Angeles to help those in need, many expressed their sincere thanks. They were just happy to meet people who cared.
One man had filled a whole plastic bag full of cupcakes and brownies. When I made a comment on how many desserts he had, he smiled and said that he was bringing them to his family. He looked at me with proud, tired eyes. I smiled at him, picked up a chocolate chip cookie, and asked him if he had room for just one more dessert. He leaned in and said, in a voice full of love and pride, how his son loves chocolate chip cookies, but can rarely have them. He couldn’t wait to give it to him. Tears welled in my eyes as I pictured this man arriving home, and surprising his son with his favorite cookie. To me, and many others, a chocolate chip cookie is just a cookie, but to this little boy, it meant more. It meant that for a few sweet moments, he could finally forget the stresses of poverty. For a couple minutes, he didn’t have to feel poor.
Even after a few days back in Eugene, I still find myself thinking about that father, his family, and especially the young woman who approached me, who danced when she was given juice to drink. I wonder how she falls asleep at night knowing she is helpless against the dangers of the night. I wonder how much she is able to eat each day. I wonder about her dreams, aspirations, and future.
The Hollywood I visited had no red carpet, grandiose mansions, or high-class celebrities. Instead, I saw streets full of crime, poverty, and homeless, ranging from all ages, with very little to eat or drink. I saw vivid images of despair.
After witnessing such extreme poverty, I know there are things I take for granted. I am enveloped by small worries each day: how I will get my homework done, whether the store will carry the dress I want, whether or not that boy will text me back. I complain about the weather, hard classes, and petty fights among friends. But I have an abundant amount of food, clothing, and shelter. I don’t have to wear torn clothes that don’t fit. I don’t have to stand in line for hours in the cold in order to eat. I don’t have to stuff plastic bags with leftovers just because I don’t know when the next meal will come.
I want to live selflessly, not selfishly. I want to find joy in smaller things. Things like a warm smile and thanks from someone less fortunate. Things like the comfortable bed I sleep in at night. Things like grape juice and chocolate chip cookies. I want to live with a purpose, and that purpose is to help others.
 

Gallery • 3 Photos

Another Side to Hollywood