Chapter Three

"I'll be back, Ruth." I smile at my daughter before stepping out the door. 

The streets of New York were a little less busy with the Great Depression; nobody had extra money to spend. I see many homeless people sitting on the sidewalks with only the clothes on their backs. The Great Depression was affecting Jack a little more than me. He has had periods of homelessness and knows what it's like only having the clothes on his back. As for me, on the other hand, besides the patches I went through with Jack, I don't necessarily know what it's like to be bottom of the barrel poor. Jack made acceptable money fairly quickly off his pictures when we arrived in New York. So I never went hungry. 

I make my way downtown to a little photo studio, I feel eyes upon me. I don't exactly look high society class, but you can tell that we weren't poor. I wear an average style dress on the middle class scale. Nothing I would have worn in my previous life with my mother Ruth. Just thinking about all the fancy dresses I had at the bottom of the ocean now blows my mind. 

"Rose Dawson," I reach out my hand, acknowledging the secretary behind the counter of the studio. 

"Oh Mrs. Dawson, we're glad you arrived."

I smile. Closing my eyes, I shake off the horrible memories that ate my brain. The beautiful blonde behind the counter reminds me of the face I saw aboard the Titanic, when Jack and I were at the head of the ship, trying to hang on until it pulled us into the water. She sadly let go too early. 

"This is the dress they wanted you to wear." The girl passes me a dress wrapped in plastic. This was one of my favorite parts of photo shoots. After they were over, I got to keep the dress. It was such a fun way to get a new piece of clothing, but not costing my family any money. I never told this to Jack though. I didn't want to hurt his feelings, the things he can provide me in life were always important to him, and I would never tell him there were things I wanted that I knew I couldn't have. But I was completely okay with this, I honestly gained much more. I got a husband who loves me unconditionally, and I can be me instead of a well brought up girl. 

The camera shines bright as I smile for a picture. My teeth looked extra white as I was hoping, cuz I've been treating it with baking soda. Jack makes fun of me for the act. 

"Beautiful," the photographer tells me as I strike different poses.

Many hours later, I find myself walking back down the streets. The amount of cash in my wallet for getting paid for this photo shoot was making me nervous, as I would not want to be robbed. 

 My eyes see a man with a little girl, sitting on the sidewalk. They look hungry and cold. The pain inside my heart is indescribable. I think going through a tragedy makes you more vulnerable to the things around you. It makes you more sensitive, more merciful, more caring to everyone. I hope my Mom picked up on these things too. 

Grabbing a dollar out of my purse, I hand it eagerly to the man. His eyes light up like the lights on a Christmas tree as he smiles and takes the cash. 

"Thank you." He nods. 

I smile.

A dollar doesn't sound like much, but at the corner store; it should be at least two meals if planned properly.