Day Thirty-Eight

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

Fuck Sundays. I really hate Sundays. There is nothing to do. Everything is closed and #1 doesn't open until 1pm. Half the day is spent just trying to kill time. When I wake up in the morning I down three oatmeal packets then head down to find Kitten Lady and figure out what we are going to do to keep ourselves sane.

"Let's do something different today," I say while we scan the cookie dough options for the day at Fred Meyer.
"Like what?" KL asks. 
"I don't know just something different. We do the same thing every day. Let's think of something new."
"Okay."
We both try to think of something. Finally KL says, "Let's get sandwiches and have a picnic at water front. That's new."
"I love that idea."

The picnic proposal is so new and exciting it wakes us up better than a cup of coffee. Crochet Buddy calls me so I invite him along. He comes up to Fred Meyer to meet us. We run up and down the aisles looking for snacks and finger foods, making several trips back and forth from the opposite sides of the store. I use my cart like a scooter, running with it then jumping on it and wheeling down the aisles. Doing so I barely advert a crash into an innocent bystander, slamming my feet down just in time to stop it. "Want to race?" I ask him then speed away. When I look back he's laughing.

I go to the bulk food aisle to get some granola for my yogurt. I slip and drop the bag and the granola rains down from the container on top of me and a little old lady who was standing innocently by me. "Oops, sorry. No one saw that." I whisper to her. She laughs and tells me I should probably tell someone though. I kick the granola under the bins and then scooter myself away on the cart. I pass an employee so I stop and say, "I heard a rumor that someone had a granola accident."

We are obviously not efficient at grocery shopping. It takes almost three hours. We walk to the $1 Tree where I buy playing cards, sidewalk chalk, and a table cloth to sit on. We take the max to the water front where we grab a spot under the first large tree we can find. I lay down the table cloth and we spread out the $60 worth of food. We eat like pigs and offer passersby sandwiches. Two take us up on the offer.

I socialize with the dogs that pass by while KL asks Crochet Buddy how he ended up homeless. He tells the saga of how his parents kicked him out at sixteen for being gay. He lost his job and moved in with an ex-boyfriend and you can guess the rest from there.

"God, Houdini and I always used to say at least we are homeless with a drug addiction then I met M."

I smile in nocently and shrug. I rip the crust off my sandwich and throw it in the dirt next to me. CB has to go to #1 for something so he ditches us. We stay for another half hour or so, bullshitting. I decide to push KL to go to #1 so I can sneak in in time to get oatmeal.

"How can you be hungry after all that?" She asks.
"I'm not I just like my oatmeal."
She laughs at me.

Much to my dismay we don't make it in time for me to snag oatmeal. There aren't even any cool people hanging out. I sit in the corner and read while KL does her thing in the bathroom. To be honest, I'm not sure what it is that KL does in the bathroom that takes so damn long. Shooting heroin takes up a big chunk of it as does constipation caused by her Methodone. Even so that girl can hold up a bathroom. Staff has threatened to unlock the door on her and go in more than once. Once they did so despite KL telling them if they did they'd see her ass. Mother Goose opened the door and saw her spoon, not her ass. So, I know when she goes in it'll be awhile before I see her again. Getting lost in a book sounds wonderful anyways.

When she does come out Beard Man hands her her mail. The majority of the envelopes refer to a phone bill she can't pay. She's talking to Beard Man when I find an envelope from the court system. "You may want to open this one," I say.

When she does she starts to cry. It's a statement from a judge waiving her bail fee from a previous arrest. Attached is a letter she wrote to a judge talking about getting clean, getting her GED, and going to cosmetology school.

"I was doing so good," She bawls, "And I threw it all away."
"It's not thrown away," I say, "Relapse is part of recovery, you said so yourself. It's not over yet."
She sniffles.

I tell her about my uncle who was the biggest addict I can think of. He did every drug in the book. He used to write on the back of his photos about taking acid and going down water slides. Today he is clean and sober and a damn good uncle. He was addicted for years; the ultimate lost cause but he made it out okay.
"How'd he do it?" She asks.
I stop and realize for the first time I have no idea how or even when it was my uncle stopped using. You would think that would be pertinent information but I've never even asked, "I don't know," I say, "I honestly have no clue."

Somehow I get to telling her my family history; how we're all crazy except for grandma who somehow manages to stay sane despite dealing with all of us. I tell her how my brother sells drugs, my mother is addicted to prescription drugs, my father is an addict, and I've heard rumors about how his sister and brother-in-law snort coke. I tell her my mother's sister was banned from my life but a very good aunt when she was allowed to be.

"Who do you look like your mom or your dad?" she asks me.
"Neither." I say.
"Do you have any picture?"
"Online."

We say we are going to go to Starbucks to use wifi but KL starts popping my face bumps. "Ooo!" She squeaks when the pus comes out, "You have such nice skin you don't have a lot of bumps."
"I apologize about my lack of bumps."

She says she's going to the bathroom then we'll leave. Forty minutes later I find her with Drama Girl bent over the washer the washing machine popping the bumps on her back. No, I don't find this weird. I know we're going to be awhile so I decide to sleep on the bench in the hall. Beard Man comes through saying, "Okay M, you're approved to sleep out here." Haha, he's so funny trying to call me out for not asking permission to sleep. (Technically we can't lay down on the bench unless approved by a case manager.) "I'm about to go take a dump now," Beard Man says.

I mumble something half asleep.

Ten minutes later Gauges Guy asks where Beard Man is.
"Taking a shit."
"Usually he sends me a picture," GG says.
"Co-dependent much?" I say.
"Look who's talking," he says referencing to KL. 
Beard Man comes back out and GG asks, "Where's my picture."
"That one  wasn't even worth a picture."
"Gross." I mutter.

I fall asleep hard after trying to get KL to leave again. I dream but it's not pleasant. Gauges Guy bangs on the wall behind me, startling me to wake me up. I hate when people do that. Who wants to wake up that way? Staff is hustling us to get us out the door as they are closing up. As is to be expecting KL is taking her time. Staff yells at me about it. Meanwhile, I'm trying to think of a way to pick up KL's rig off the floor without anybody noticing. Staff is bitching at me telling me to leave so I say, "I was trying to leave two hours ago." I'm worried about them finding that stupid rig. I'm liable for it too, I knew it was there.

We finally get out the door and I'm feeling bitchy. I'm pissed I got rushed out. I'm pissed I was rudely woken up. I'm pissed I'm the one who packed everything up while KL popped bumps. I'm pissed I was the one to worry about the rig. I'm snappy with KL and she's offended saying, "You've never talked to me this way? What's wrong?"

I can't stop being snappy so I go to Whole Foods for an attempt to get caught up with the internet. I know somewhere deep inside I should feel bad for my snappiness but right now all I can think of is internet and sleep. I have less than thirty minutes but it's a reprieve. I go to McDonalds to meet up with KL and Houdini. I splash cold water on my face. I don't feel good; I feel nauseated and drained. KL feels my head, "Are you sure that was cold water?"
"Yes."
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
"You're burning up."

A few minutes later I'm sitting down and KL runs out of the bathroom yelling for me. The kitten has spewed out nasty, running poop, and KL doesn't know what to do with it.
"Make her finish pooping; you're the only one who knows how."
"I don't know how; I was totally winging it when I did it before."

I try but no more poop comes so I give her a bath to get the poop off instead. We start towards shelter but my wallet is missing. I go back to McDonalds and ask the girl if it has been turned in. She automatically says no without looking.
"Well could you at least actually check please? It's the least you could do for some fucking customer service." I snap.
"You tell 'em girl," a guy says behind me.

In the end Houdini finds it in my bag. By this point though I'm damn near crying. I just want to go to bed. I make it to shelter just before 9:30pm. One minute more and I would have been considered late and had an extra chore. There's only morning chores so I grumble and take what I can get. I shower and go straight to bed with the help of Amitriptiline, Clodine, Hydroxizine, and Zertec.

--mm