The parking lot princess sits on her bench perched in the middle of the parking lot, with large suitcases bookending the bench. A blanket spread from end to end, staking her claim—her home—for now. I have a clear view of her bench from my window where a fly is trapped between the panes of glass. The sun warms the morning, seagulls fly overhead towards the river. Parked cars all around, moving cars go past and busy people wander by her bench. Some stop to chat, a guy hands her a coffee, a kid turns his head and stares. Cops hand out advice which the parking lot princess promptly rejects. The day goes on. She walks around a bit within sight of her bench and frequently lays down appearing to sleep.
Eventually the parking lot empties, traffic slows and evening comes. She sits up and munches on a bag of chips, saves some for later and covers herself up into a sleeping bag. The air is chilly and damp. The long night begins. A woman in a white car stops beside the bench, opens the car window and drives on when the wrapped body starts to move. I check my window around midnight and the princess is absent. A couple with a little white dog walked by and she bolted out of nowhere towards her bench. The lady in the couple talked to her for quite a while, then moved on. Police cruise by. She bundles herself back up, lays down and waits for the long night to continue.
The morning brings light to the shadows of night, beaming warmth on the new day. Another day of pacing, resting, watching, ignoring. The parking lot princess is someone’s daughter but no one’s friend. Is she missing someone? Is anyone missing her?
The next day the bench was empty. My heart sank…wondering if she was okay. That bench was her throne of choice for the past six nights.
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