Beautiful Girls

I attended a friends' office party in a sports bar in Los Angeles a few months before coming here. Naturally, someone asked me what I did for a living, and I said that I planned to do volunteer work abroad and then return to the United States and study social work. The man then asked me what particular aspect of social work it is that I want to focus on.

''I'm not sure yet,'' I shrugged. ''I just want to help people.''

The guy-- in his mid-30's and in the television entertainment industry--laughed and said ''Come on. That's not a plan. That's a Miss America contestant response.''

I got the feeling that he was chiding me, that he was implying that though I might be pretty and sweet, I lack depth. His assessment didn't bother me, because throughout my adolescence I was awkward, solemn and studious. Now, when people make allusions to me being beautiful (but frivolous because of that), I'm somewhat proud because I think I've come a long way for people to think I could have fit in with the cheerleaders in high school.

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Here in Santa Fe, there are so many people that need help that I don't have to worry about finding a cause--things just come up. On Saturday, I go with Sr. Angelita to visit some of her neighbors in need.

Sr. Angelita is a busy, busy nun. As a doctor who specializes in nutrition, she sees patients in her home at all hours of the night. Angelita also works in a school, but sells fruit and used goods in her downtime to raise money for her work. I have a lot of respect for all she does, but I often feel nervous around her because she acts as if she is judging how much Jessica and I do. She quizzes us about our schedules and tisks and makes faces when we talk about the getaway day trips we take.

However, she greets me kindly when I go to her house on Saturday afternoon. Despite her being stricken by a severe cold and headache, we still go ahead with the visiting. The first stop is at the home of a woman with a severely handicapped daughter.

I am first surprised by the house because of its brand-new wooden door, but then shocked by how nice it is inside. There are wooden floors, as well as beautiful dining and sofa sets that look like they have come from a J.C. Penney's catalog, and a home entertainment system. Most houses or single-room dwellings in Santa Fe contain only simple, second-hand furniture, if any.

We go upstairs to greet the Jaquelina, a 22-year old woman who sits on a bed in a room full of dolls. Though she can talk, it is difficult for her to be understood, and she can barely walk. I try to entertain her with a toy while Angelita talks to the mother. From what I understand of the conversation, Angelita presses the mother to take Jaquelina to the hospital for rehabilitation and says that the daughter is too thin and needs to eat and exercise more. A schedule is worked out whereby I will bring the girl on walks one day a week, and Angelita and a relative will take turns as well.

Angelita and I chat with the girl while the mother is out of the room, and Angelita tells her that she is beautiful. I think that that could be true, but what good does it do her with her stuck in her room the way she is?

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When we go on to the next stop, there is a ill-kept women sitting in front of the house sniffing paint-thinner. Angelita introduces her as Lupita. When I go to shake her hand, I jump when one of the four dogs surrounding her nips at the bag of my leg, but Angelita and Lupita assure me that the dogs don't bite.

I sit on the ground to talk to Lupita, who, while sniffing paint, asks me where I am from and how old I am. I learn that she is 38, nine years older than me. I am able to understand when she tells me that I am beautiful, but Angelita has to translate that Lupita tells me that I am beautiful, she is ugly and that she loves me. I try to comfort her by rubbing her legs, but she says ''Que bonita'' and pulls away from me.

Angelita tells Lupita that she is beautiful, and then says to me that when Lupita was well, she really was beautiful. I can tell that that though she may be skinny, disheveled, dirty and wild-eyed now, if she were to comb her hair, use moisturizer, and eat vegetables and fish for a month, she would regain her looks.

Like me, Lupita has brown hair and brown eyes and we are about the same height. I wonder if she looks at me and sees herself almost a decade ago. I know that she can't have been using for the past nine years, because she surely would be dead by now.

I'm reminded of another conversation I had in a bar five years ago, a trendy spot in D.C. that has an hour wait to get in. My girlfriends and I were chatting with a group of guys who wanted to move on to another spot. I hurried to finish my drink before going, but one man stopped me and said ''Don't worry about it. I'll buy you another when we get to the next place. Beautiful girls don't chug beer.''

While I'm with Lupita, I can't help but think that beautiful girls don't sit in the dirt surrounded by filthy dogs that are covered in fleas, breathing in the scent of paint-thinner.

We leave Luipita to visit her mother, Doña Mari. She lives in a one-room dwelling that contains two beds and a tattered sofa. Two teen aged boys lie on one bed watching a tiny television. They sort through papers, while Angelita asks about food they need. I actually don't pay too much attention and instead look for open wounds on my leg, but fortunately find none.

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Back at the nuns' house, I attend a nutrition session for a twelve-year old girl who is tall, round in the face and on the verge of becoming quite large. Angelita lectures her on how many calories to eat, portion control, the need for exercise and how she should drink nothing but water. The girl, who is wearing tight jeans and a snug pink jacket, smiles and then goes on her way to a fiesta. Angelita tells me that the mother of the girl is very overweight and she is worried about the girl becoming so as well.

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Our next stop is to visit another Doña Mari, an elderly lady who lives next store to Angelita that Jessica and I visit on our own very often. Dona Mari is sweet, nurturing and grandmotherly. At her house, Angelita tells me we can eat if she wants because Doña Mari always has food around. I know this to be true, but am surprised that Angelita suggests it since there is always food in her place as well. Hungry, I agree to eat and Angelita scrambles eggs for me as Doña Mari cooks chicken and vegetable soup for her. As we eat, Doña Mari runs around bringing us sugar and coffee, and constantly offers us more fruit, cookies and drinks. Doña Mari tells me I am welcome in the house anytime, that I can spend the night if I want. Angelita sounds terrible but the soup seems to make her feel good and I realize that despite her toughness and ability to take control, there are times when she too needs to be taken care of and fussed over.

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Doña Mari's is our last stop of the day, and after leaving Angelita at her house, I see Lupita sitting on the corner. I greet her again and not knowing what to say, I tell her that tomorrow I am going to church. I am not trying to push religion on her, but I think it would be a good place for her because everyone is so welcoming, and maybe Father would know of how to help her. Right away, she shakes her head.

''Do you want soda?'' she asks me, offering me a partially crushed can of Coke.

I tell her no, and neither of us say anything until she breaks the silence by asking me ''Quiere?''. It's the formal way of saying what do you want?

I want to cry. I want her to ask for something of me--my coat, a hug, money, food. I want to be able to give her something so that I can be angelic and helpful instead of pretty but useless. I want to know how she ended up this way. I want to know that if I didn't get lots of attention when I went to fancy bars to in the United States, that I wouldn't have ended up on the streets like Lupita.

I realize she just wants to be alone with her dogs and paint thinner. I feel awful as I tell her nothing, say good-bye and walk away.