The tiny Asian lady stared pensively out of the glass windows at the front of the truck stop in Sidney as rain pelted down outside. She was dressed all in pink from her pink socks tucked into thin flip flops to her flimsy button up shirt over a pink polo shirt, ragged collar held together by a small, brass safety pin. Her hair was shot through with gray, bangs pinned on top of her head with two small clips. The most startling part of her appearance were scabby rings encircling her brown eyes and the sides of her rather wide nose. The scabs were wrinkly and light brown in color and flaking in spots and gave her the appearance of an odd raccoon. It was hard not to stare.

In a quiet voice she said, "what is this?" pointing at the rain.

I had dashed inside to use the restroom and was watching it rain, waiting for it to clear a little before I made my way back to the car.

"It is only rain," I answered her, eyeing her with curiosity.

"Those are my bags," she said in heavily accented English, pointing to a large plastic shopping bag and a small rolling piece of luggage. Both were crammed full of her belongings.

"Do you know Greyhound?" she asked quietly.

"Where are you trying to go?" I responded.

"North Platte." She answered.

"Did you ask the people at the desk if the bus stops here?"

"Yes, they say no. Must go Ogallala." She stuttered over the unfamiliar word.

I pulled out my PDA and looked up Greyhound on the Internet. Sure enough the buses did not stop in Sidney.

"How far is Ogallala?" she asked.

"60 miles." was my response.

"How did you get here?" I asked.

Over the next few minutes I questioned her gently and surmised through her broken English that she had traveled across the country from Utah, getting rides from various kind hearted strangers. The last person had dropped her at the truck stop in Sidney. She was trying to get to family in North Platte, Nebraska. I tried calling my sister-in-law who lived in Sidney to ask if she knew of some way to help the lady. No she didn't.

Leaving her I went to inquire with the front desk help.

"She's been here quite a while," said the teenager working at the counter.

"Is your manager here?" I asked. The girl inclined her head toward a short, stout woman at the opposite end of the store from where the Asian lady was standing.

I was feeling particularly guilty at this point thinking that I could load her up in my car and just drive to Ogallala. But it was 100 miles round trip and I still had more work to do. Wanting to get home at a decent hour, I beat down my guilt.

"Is there a bus service from Sidney to Ogallala?" I asked the manager who was standing talking with several other people, one obviously a truck driver near the doors.

"No, not that I know of," she responded, "why?" I explained about the stranded lady standing forlornly near the doors at the opposite end of the store. The trucker made a sarcastic comment about why didn't I just drive her right over to North Platte anyway?

"The police department has a transient relocation service," said the store manager looking up at me with a shrewd eye.

"Do you have their number?" I responded.

I dialed the police department who promptly told me it was the sheriff who handled that particular service and the person would need to arrive at the sheriff's office in person in order to receive their help. The dispatcher was very polite and gave me the number of the sheriff's office. The store manager had helpfully written the number down on a small scrap of paper and handed it to me. Shaking my head ruefully at the group of people all watching me silently, I crossed the tiled floor to where the lady stood waiting. The rain had slowed now.

Carefully I explained to her that the sheriff could help her but I would have to take her to town in my car.

Tears filled her eyes, "no, no-o-o, no," she said shaking her head.

"It is the only way," I said. Still shaking her head, she opened the door to leave.

As I got in my car I could see her carrying her shopping bag and rolling her small luggage across the wet parking lot.

I headed home lost in thought. I didn't even offer to feed her, or give her any money. I could not imagine being stranded so far from home with no one to call. I had offered to let her use my phone, but she had shaken her head. Maybe she didn't have a number of anyone to call. Maybe she was afraid of the police? Was she illegal? I did not know her name. And then there was that nameless disease. Was it contagious? Thoughts collided in my head.