"Hey Fat Ass! Put your shoes on, I want to show you something." I say as I head to the door and grab a jacket.
Consuela looks down at her Dollar Store slippers with confusion.
I raise my eyebrow and cross my arms until her gaze turns towards a pair of white Nike's that have barely been worn.
"Yer iz no like da slippers?" she says half disappointed as she struggles to bend over and reach for the sneakers.
"C'mon," I say as I head out the door towards the street.
A moment later we're walking down the sidewalk. Me out in front, Consuela dragging a few feet behind. When we reach the parkette I turn around and wait for her to catch up.
"Wha-a-a-t, Mia?" she says begrudgingly as she looks around.
"Whaddya see?" I ask her.
She pauses for a moment before shrugging her shoulder. I stare at her faded Ricky Martin t-shirt that clings a bit too tightly to her chubby upper arms. For a moment my mind wanders and I think of maybe taking her to Verona in July for his concert.
"Mia?" she says and interrupts my daydream.
"You know what I see," I start as she readjusts her scrunchy and taps one of her feet in discontent.
"I see a great place for your Taco Stand," I say.
Consuela huffs.
"Mia, der iz no da place for dat Taco Stand! NOT da place!!" she yells back at me.
"Why not?" I retort. The parkette has great traffic throughout the day...it's not too far from home...there is nothing visibly flammable within fifty yards of it.
"Becuz, Mia!" she squeals, before leaning closer to me and lowering her voice to a whisper.
"Dis iz da place where da homeless people dey sleep," she says and nods her head as if she has just passed on the whereabouts of a wanted terrorist.
"So?" I say and walk toward the middle of the parkette to inspect the best location for her Taco Stand.
"So!? So!? Der iz da homeless people!! Dey iz da drinking da beerz and dey iz da steeling da bikes!" she cries back to me.
"Consuela," I turn around and face her. In the background a couple of homeless men sleep innocently under an old birch tree. Consuela motions her head towards them as if to inform me of something I was unaware of.
"You're too selfish," I continue. Consuela begins to tune me out, and so I jostle her shoulders and regain her attention. "Just think of the possibilities! Think of all the people on their lunches and that they might really like to have a Taco Stand here in this parkette," I say as I point to the office buildings that surround us.
"Think of how much nicer this parkette could be if you put your Taco Stand right here," I say and motion towards a nice curve in the path near a water fountain.
"And maybe," I tell her as I put my arm around her and we walk back towards the street, "Maybe you could do something nice for the people that have to sleep here. Maybe with all the money you make -- you could afford to give a free lunch to the homeless people. I think they'd like that."
"I dunno, Mia..." she says as we turn back towards the street.
What Consuela doesn't understand is that there is never going to be a perfect place for her Taco Stand. There's never really a perfect place for anything.
That's the challenge.
See the beauty in the imperfect and try your best to make that a reality.
"I do," I tell her matter-of-fact as we head back home.
I think the Taco Stand will be good for her. I have no worries about the homeless people in the park. After all, they are human just like us. They breathe. They feel. They cry. They have needs. They have dreams....or had them.
I think this could be good for Consuela. It will give her the independence she so desperately needs, and most importantly, it will get her out of my hair for a couple of hours each day.
Besides, the neighbors were starting to complain about the missing newspapers. And the last thing I need is Consuela doing jail time because I was too lazy to help her get her business started.
