Day Sixteen

    ****NAMES CHANGED TO PROTECT PORTLAND'S STREET KIDS***** 

I knew it was going to be a hard day from the moment I woke up. There was a BBQ for the staff of the newspaper I worked on before I was homeless. It was meant to be a reunion of all the years of staff and had been talked about for at least a year. I was torn. I wanted to go but then I didn't want to mix my old life with this street life. I didn't want people to know what I have been reduced to.

I debate for a long time but in the end I decide I need to go. I need a reprieve from street life anyways. 

Savior Man picks me up fairly early so I can see Spencer and get myself ready so I don't have to look homeless. Jesus doesn't make any sort of appearance before I leave so I call and make sure he's in one piece and see if there is anything he needs. 

"What are you? His mother?" one of the guys around me asks. 

"I'm everybody's fucking mother." I say then I leave telling them to be safe. 

Savior Man picks me up from the transit center then we go to Winco to get food to bring to the BBQ. I grab chips. He gets stuff to make an Asian salad and cookies. I get a bulk bag of Bits-oh-honey and Tootsie Rolls  for myself and the other kids. I think of getting a bag of sour gummies, Jesus' favorite but none impress me. 

I immediately grab Spencer when we arrive at Savior Man's apartment. I scoop him up and stroke him, overwhelmed with the feeling of his fur and kisses. I realize how much I've missed him since we've been separated. It is intolerable. On the streets I try not to think of Spencer or any of my life outside of shelter and the street kids. I can't let myself think about the outside and the life I used to have. I had a good life. If I focus on everything lost I will lose my mind. 

Savior Man offers me a shower telling me, "There's everything a girl could want in there." 

"Are you gay enough to own a hair straightener?" I ask. 

"Not quite that gay."

He has a blow dryer and I find a curling iron in the bottom of my suitcase. Good enough. At shelter we have one bottle that is our shampoo, conditioner, and soap. Savior Man's shower has four different kinds of shampoo and just as many conditioners. Overwhelmed by that much selection I wash everything twice and come out an hour later with skin as soft as a baby's butt. My hair is slick and smooth, dandruff free, just like my hair used to be before I was homeless. I run my hands through it, I cannot believe how amazing it feels to finally have soft hair again.

I picked up make up at Fred Meyer while I waited for Savior Man, even put hemorrhoid cream under my eyes (Miss Congeniality taught me that this hides bags under your eyes). I plaster on ten tons of concealer to hide the bags then do my eyes and even put on lipstick. I slip into a pink sundress and blow dryer my hair. I use my curling iron to straighten it then step back and look in the mirror. For once I see myself. My real self, not my street self. Who I used to be when I worked and went to school and had friends. I realize how much I am losing myself. 

"Do I look homeless?" I ask Savior Man for the gay stamp of approval on my outfit. 

"No, you look great." he says.

"Thank you." I used to ride to school with him in the morning and ask for the gay stamp of approval on my make up. I miss this. 

I lay down on their couch and am just about to doze off when Savior Man's roommate asks, "Hey girl who likes cats too much do you want to smoke pot?"

I leap up, "I always want to smoke pot."

I ask for the straight opinion on my looks, "Do I look homeless?"

"No you look like a cute girl in a sundress." 

We smoke until we are choking. I take a few puffs of my inhaler and decide to call it good. I want to be somewhat sober for the BBQ though I don't think I could make it without a little help. I help myself to Savior Man's cookie dough when he is not looking then sit with him on the porch.

"So how did our teacher know I'm staying in downtown Portland?"  I ask him.

"I told her."

"Did you tell her I'm residentially challenged?"

"Yeah."

I groan, "Who else knows?"

"Fish."

"FISH?!" I shriek. 

"Yeah well he was there."

"He's the last person I want to know. Last thing I need is giving him something to gloat over."

"If he says anything to you just tell him at least you don't live with your mother."

"That's right; I forgot he lives with mommy."

Fish is that person everyone hates but I hate him on a much deeper level since he ruined my job while I was in the hospital. Kind of. We have a complicated history to say the least. He is an awkward 22 year old virgin who lives at home with Mommy. 

Savior Man goes inside to work on his side dish. I fall asleep on the couch and he has to work to get me up. I didn't want to wake up. The couch was just so damn comfortable. I give Spencer a kiss goodbye and we head out. 

Fish arrives chaperoned by Mommy. Not only does she hang out awkwardly at the BBQ for awhile she even fixes his plate for him. I look at Savior Man, "You're right I win." I tell him and feel a little bit better that Fish needs his mommy to make his plate for him. The BBQ is foreign to me now. I want to weep when I find out who is hired for my old position. The new chief nods in agreement. My old section is being sacrificed as an act of desperation. I curse my debt preventing me from going back and saving it. The person in charge of what used to be my baby had to be taught how to write a sentence.

Who taught him? Me. No one else wanted to deal with him. The copy editor would  beg me to take his stories for her. Now he is the head of my section. My world is ending. 

I get to sit in the shade and talk all day. I don't have to carry my bag. I forget for a few hours that I am homeless. The only time I remember is when people ask me what it is I'm doing now and I don't know how to answer the question. I had intended to answer, "Kicking ass and taking names." but in my marijuana fog I forget this was my plan and instead lamely say "nothing." 

My old teacher and advisor asks, "I heard you were homeless in Alabama or something."

"Kind of." I say but don't explain. When she asks about my trip I talk about the culture shock and beaches, not about where I'm staying or how I got in this mess. 

When it is time to go my chips are left over. I can't take them: there is nowhere to keep them. Savior Man doesn't want to keep them nor does advisor lady. Savior Man shoves them at me and says, "Here take these and bargain with them, or sell them for drugs, or do whatever it is you people do with food."

I am dying in laughter and screaming, "You are a horrible person." at the same time. 

"I heard that." Our dearest advisor says laughing. 

We used to be family, us journalist folks. They were my first Portland family. It's hard to balance being with them again and pretending things haven't changed on my end. They make me desperately miss my old life in a way I cannot allow myself to think about. I want to cling on to them and get this life back but I'm in too much debt for school. I cannot go home. 

Savior Man drops me at the max station and we say our goodbyes. I make it just before shelter is due to open. I meet the other street kids at the fountain. Jesus runs and hugs me, picking me up. I'm bloated from cookies and squeal for him to put me down. 

"You look fabulous." he says. 

"I used to be pretty before I was you know, homeless." 

We try to get into shelter but they still won't let Jesus in. As much as I don't want to sleep outside I don't have the heart to send Jesus out alone by himself for the sixth night in a row. I grab a grievance report and go with him to his secret spot. He complains I'm not fit enough to keep up with him. 

"It's not too late for me to go back and get a bed." I warn. 

He boosts me up over the wall to his secret spot. We are completely shielded from view there and he has blankets hidden under the wall. We make a bed out of jackets and blankets then curl up under the sleeping bag together. It sprinkles but it doesn't rain which is good. We have nothing water proof. 

Jesus clings to me even though I don't feel touchy feely, "Thank you for staying out with me," he says, "It makes me feel less worthless." 

I don't really respond. In my head I'm thinking about how angry my friends would be if they knew what I was doing. It occurs to me that I have no weapons and he could secretly be a rapist or murderer. I think it's possible that he may one of those serial criminals who have the need to know their victim before they commit the crime. He could have luered me off to this secluded spot to kill me. 

I know this is a ridiculous way to think about someone I consider my friend but I cannot help where my mind goes sometimes. I fall into a fitful sleep waking up from nightmares and attempts to get comfortable. I dream I am trying to save a sex slave baby. She is naked and the blood between her legs is dripping on me. She is screaming.We are trying to flee slavery. Trying to get her safe. "I can't just leave her." I yell again and again. 

I don't stay asleep long enough to know if we make it out or not. 

--mm