Day Two

*****NAMES CHANGED TO PROTECT PORTLAND'S STREETKIDS****

The difference between the Salvation Army shelter and the youth shelter is like night and day. The kids in the youth shelter are all pretty much in the same boat. No family. All that jazz. And the youth shelter allows for individuality. They don't try to censor everything you say. They treat you like a human being, not a prisoner. 

The youth shelter is in a different place than the day services. I thought I was lost because the building isn't labeled so I kept circling the block lost looking for the shelter. A boy came up and asked me, "Are you looking for something?" I told him I couldn't find the shelter. He said he had seen me at the day service center and introduced himself: for the sake of anonymity we shall call him Ginger.

He explained that the rule is you can't wait outside door until the shelter opens because of surrounding businesses. So the kids just circle the block until 8:45. They let me circle the block with them.

Once we were let up I had to wait in the landing by the stairs to get signed in and get a tour of the shelter. The other boy who had been talking to me told me if I wanted to keep my phone on me I needed to hide it but that otherwise it was chill.

I crumpled up in a ball on the red chair so that I could rest my head on my knees. I didn't even hear the staff lady come up to me. We'll call her August. She gave me a tour of the shelter floor where I will be staying. She told me the rules which were much more simple than those of Salvation Army. No drugs, no sex, no violence. She asked if I wanted dinner. I shook my head. She asked if I knew where I was assigned after I was screened. I said that it had been a long day and I couldn't remember. "I understand. You look tired."

The beds were bunk beds set up more like a camp cabin or spare college dorm room than they were a shelter. In the women's shelter the beds are just crammed together on an empty floor. There's no color. Nothing. You get a milk crate or bin for your stuff. The bunk beds and actual room felt more humane. Less like a holding pin.

The kids were in the living room/day room area where they were eating dinner (provided by the shelter), watching movies, and playing board games. A boy and a girl were snuggled up together on blankets on the floor. It was loud. You could tell these kids knew each other and treated each other as family. Much like the hospital I was in when I was sixteen.

I took a shower and was actually maybe too impressed with their shower facilities. They were small private showers with a door and space to change. In the salvation army the showers were what you'd expect at YMCA. No privacy. Just a curtain. The youth shelter showers were hot too. I put the water as hot as my sunburn could handle it and just stood there for the longest time.

After my shower I made my bed. Not only did I get proper bedding but August even gave me pink bedding! It was much more homie. The pillow is attached to the cot and far from comfortable. I was torn between trying to go out and make friends with the kids in the dayroom and going to sleep. Exhaustion won and I passed out with the light on, even without movies.

I had intended to wake up at first call so I could meet people in the morning but I don't even remember the first wake up call. I woke up about 10 to 8. I got dressed and went out for breakfast. They had corn flakes and miniature blueberry scones out for us to help ourselves. People made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to take with them for lunch later. The staff asked several times if we had enough food to get through to the night.

While I was out in the common area several kids asked if I was new. They were welcoming when I said I was. They have a wall where they memorialize kids who have passed away that stayed in the shelter. There are three posted. One died after being hit by a car and another had no reason listed how he was killed. The third died of heroin overdose in the shelter and was found when a staff tried to wake him up. There were signatures and messages written all over a picture of him.

I met with the lady who had done my intake yesterday. She told me the day services would open at 1pm and to kill time until then. She told me who to ask for help with Spencer and to file a grievance report for how salvation army treated me. "I felt a lot more comfortable here." I told her.

"Of course you did. People are nicer here."

She told me that while she doesn't personally work with salvation army she hears stories from the kids about things that have happened there. It does not have a high reputation. The kids call it "Crack Central". And those that have stayed there agree the staff is not only mean but unhelpful.

I went to Whole Foods to get something to drink and some strawberries. After that I decided on Powells. A group of kids from the shelter were waiting outside for it to open. I met up with them and they let me hang out with them. One told me of places to sleep outside that would be safer should I end up in that position.

Now we are all sitting in whole foods killing time.

While we were in Powells my paternal uncle called saying he is canceling my phone but he'll wire me money. He got angry when I said I was staying in a shelter so I didn't have an address because the sperm donor kicked me out. I called my maternal uncle after I got done with him. He said he'll take care of my phone bill for now.

"At least when you change your phone number they won't be able to reach you anymore."

I want to go to the starlight parade tonight but don't want to lose my bed so I doubt that is going to happen (need to be there to claim bed at 8:45). I should probably sleep anyways.

Now, just to clarify not all of the women at the salvation army shelter are bad. Many are just what you'd expect. Dirty, smelly, angry, and talking to themselves. However, there are a handful like me who are trying to move to a better situation. During my panic attack one woman told me that she slept under cameras when she was sleeping outside to protect herself. She said that one time a man lit her blanket on fire but was caught by the camera.

I don't know for sure where Spencer is staying tonight so I don't know for sure where I'm staying. My screen in lady told me once I get the official case manager they can figure out something for Spencer. 

I went to get my money that my uncle wired me. He got his panties in a bunch when I told him we don't have walmart out here. People think I'm lying but it's totally true. Portland banned Walmart so it's a two hour bus ride to get to one. Instead, they are allowing a target to be put right in central downtown. <facepalm>

A note on this. If you ever get lost somewhere and need to find something ask a street kid. They know the city better than anybody. They are on their feet all day walking it. My fellow street kids have been able to tell me how to find the most obscure places and they don't mind helping. I'd be getting around fine if it weren't for the fact that I'm terrible with directions. However, them telling me the general direction has cut my lost time in half.

After that I found cricket to get a new phone. They wouldn't let my uncle do it via his credit card over the phone but he said he'll send money my way when he can.

By this time day services were open. I sat by the wall so I could charge my phone. You can't leave things unattended there. Staff tells you it's not a matter of if it will get stolen when left unattended but when and the other kids will second that opinion.

After my phone was halfway charged I went and laid down on the couch. Street kids are tired. One of the kids told me "that's just what the shelter does to you." But there's also the fact that you walk from place to place all day. You don't have much time to sit down and rest. Then the beds aren't all that comfortable. So in day services a number of kids were curled up in balls together on the couch.

Even though I have bubble issues where I don't like people touching me or in my personal space I took a spot at the end of the couch where a black boy was sleeping. I curled up with my phone in my pocket. It was an odd nap. We both woke up and readjusted many times. It was far from comfortable. I didn't even know his name, probably wouldn't recognize him in shelter tonight. 

One of the times I woke up I saw the smaller couch was now completely open. I went over, laid on my stomach and passed the fuck out.

A woman with blonde hair woke me up and whispered to me, asking if I wanted dinner. I nodded. I was famished. Dinner was pizza. I sat down at the table closest to me as being the new kid on the block I'm still kind of lost. Sitting there I met another guy who we will call Redneck.

Redneck told me that he was in the shelter for eight months before getting section 8 housing. He told me it's best to keep your nose out of street kid drama (this was because someone was trying to drag him into a fight.) He said that the shelter staff will mostly be good to you but kids start fights and steal.

"There's two ways you can go with this," He said, "You can abuse the system until you're too old for the program or you can get your shit together."

The staff guy that is familiar with me from my first day, we'll call Pete. That might actually be his real name. I'm not sure. But, Pete brought out a guitar and sat at the head of our table strumming it. He asked Redneck where he has been and if he's working.

"I'm working on finding work." Redneck said.
"That was the hardest job I ever had." said Pete.
I nodded.

Redneck said he makes money from selling plasma. Something that is not even an option for me with my health problems. I feel like a little kid when I'm in shelter or day services. I mostly try to stay invisible and watch people so I know what is expected, how to fit in. I feel like I look like a scared little kid. I probably am scared somewhere beyond all the exhaustion. I just can't tell because I'm too damn tired.

Like the hospital the kids here often ask, "What's your story?" They want to know why you're here. How you became homeless. I find this story hard, almost impossible to tell. It's much more complicated than my parents are bastards who kicked me out. I'm not sure if it begins with sleeping on the streets at 12 to protect myself or at 15 sleeping in the car with my mother or the past few months in the south. It's too much.

Shelter doesn't open for another 40 minutes. I'll probably get off here in 20. I'm fairly close I just don't trust my directional skills. I'm determined to stay up and watch movies or do whatever it is the kids do at night. I need to make friends. I know that will be vital to getting me through this. Friends who know what the hell to do to make it out here.

People ask why I came here instead of staying with my uncle in Atlanta or trying to make it in Alabama. The reasons are far from simple. I can say my uncle agreed that while he could try and keep me safe in Atlanta Portland was a better option. The reasons why are so varied. It's farther away from my father. It's a place I feel safe and anonymous. Staying with my uncle would have meant three people in a two bedroom apartment with 4 cats. Also, he has bipolar which would be hard for me to live with as my father had bipolar and he is a hermit who needs to be alone. (As am I really)

What it boils down to is even with all this bullshit I still feel safer in Portland. I feel like I can breathe easier. The air is cleaner. People are nicer. It is my home.

PS: Friend will keep Spencer for a few more nights. I am overwhelmed with the compassion my friends have shown me.

I don't know what else today has for me. Or tomorrow. Or the next day. But, one day at a time.

--mm