Saturday night a woman returned to The Scarlet Cord asking for another red string bracelet because she lost the first one. As I tied another string around her wrist, she asked for a hug. I had a nanosecond to decide if I was going to extend kindness to the intoxicated woman.
Although the toxic effects of alcohol dulled her senses, the woman was still sober enough to say, “I’m the woman behind your doors. Your artwork is about me.” She continued, “If I go home tonight, I will be beat.”
After giving her a hug, I tried to offer a few words of mercy. But she kept saying, “I’m the woman behind the doors. Your artwork is about me.”
“Put this card into your pocket,” I said while handing her a business card from Women At Risk International. “When you wake up tomorrow morning, you will find the card in your pocket.”
She slipped the card into her pocket and told a random group of young teens standing nearby, “Your mom made a beautiful exhibit.”
Did I fail to really help this woman? My heart ached. She vanished into the night with the red cord tied around her wrist. Truly, this woman was one of the women behind The Scarlet Cord doors.
