Day Ninety-One

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

I have a busy day ahead of me. I need to go out to Clackamas to meet up with my friend who is going to give me hand me down bras. We were supposed to meet the day after I got arrested but for obvious reasons that didn't happen. I didn't tell her the real reason I missed her; I tell her we thought my friend was going into premature labor. I don't normally lie like that but she is not one of my friends who reads my blog and she definitely wouldn't look too kindly on my stealing habit.

For those who don't know, Clackamas is about an hour max ride from downtown Portland. It truly is an all day affair. The, I also need to go to Savior Man's house to visit Spencer and drop off his things. Then, I want to meet up with Baby Mama and her boyfriend to try and get him to steal me some clothes. He already said he would, it's just a matter of going out and getting it done.

I don't need to start all this until the afternoon though so I go to #1 and ask Bernard for bus passes. When I tell him I'm going to Clackamas to get clothes he asks, "In the legal sense?" I roll my eyes and say, "Yes. My friend is giving me bras she's grown out of." He gives me several bus passes so I can get around without getting a Trimet ticket. The last thing I need is more legal trouble.

I go to the library to get caught up on Dance Moms and the internet until it's time to head out. I work on my friend's book as she wants the edits by the end of the day so she can upload it tomorrow to publish it. I try out some of the stitches I didn't get from her old tutorial and find it to be a better teacher and I pick up a few of the stitches.

I go to Clackamas to meet up with my friend. She has a little pink Victoria's Secret bag with three bras inside. I swear, having a friend that works at Vicky's is one of the best things that's happened to me. It's the only place I can really find bras that fit. I cannot believe how much my bahoochalas (as my aunt called them) have grown in the last year or so since I went bra shopping. Thankfully, my friend is a 36 when I'm a 34 and her letter size tends to be one above mine so for the most part the fit with just a little extra room around the band.

We don't really talk or hang out. She has to take her fiance to work and I have to start on my other errands. It's awkward to me. She knows where I'm at and what's going on and has still been a friend to me but I feel embarrassed by how little I've accomplished in ninety-one days.

I go to Savior Man's house once we're done. Baby Mama has ended up babysitting her cousin. At Savior Man's house I get the cats high. They roll on the carpet until they pass out. "What do you think they think about when they're high like that?" I ask Savior Man.
"Cat things like mice and chasing things."

Spencer decides he's not quite high enough so he picks up the bag of cat nip and carries it in his mouth to Savior Man and waits patiently for him to open it and give him some.

"My cat the drug addict." I say as I'm laughing.

I want to eat something that's not pasta so I tell Savior Man if he drives me to the store I'll get stuff to cook dinner for him and his roommates. I have just enough food stamps left to make a nice dinner since they get refilled tomorrow. He takes me up on this and we go to Winco to buy groceries.

I make french fried onion baked chicken, corn on the cob, scalloped potatoes and cupcakes with purple cream cheese frosting. I stuff my face then pack up some left overs for future meals in shelter. Then I have to run out to get to shelter. I'm late but I'm in the window to get up at least so it's all good.

I have to move dorms so I can get away from the Ginger clan. Instead of my one big locker I now have three little ones which I find to be much more convenient. for organizing my things. I sign up for dishes but when I realize I have really over estimated my capabilities for the night I ask if I can skip on the dishes. Bitch Lady tells me if I do the dishes for them she'll help me move everything in the morning. I know better than to take her word for it but I do anyways and do dishes then pass out.


In the night I have a dream that Baby Mama's baby is dead inside her. I cry and cry and cannot be consoled. Baby Mama holds it together better than I do but I sob and sob. I keep telling the doctors we need a second opinion. I tell them we need to remove him from her stomach now so that he can come out alive. They refuse to do so. I can't withstand the thought that the baby is really truly dead.

Every time she goes into the doctor to make sure the baby's heart is still beating I get nervous. Each time I'm afraid he'll either already be dead or need to be delivered now to even stand a chance. She is at a very high risk to have a still born. That's why she goes in twice a week, to make sure he's still alive. It's also why she'll have to deliver early.

See, most people wouldn't worry, they'd just say that that only happens to other people and as long as they do what they are supposed to do it won't happen to them. I know all too well that's not true. A few months ago my former teacher/adviser for the paper lost her baby a few weeks before she was supposed to deliver. The baby's heart just stopped beating. Last year, while I was dealing with doctors telling me I may lose an ovary a former high school teacher had his first daughter. She was born with a birth defect and died the same day.

My aunt had five miscarriages. It doesn't just happen to people in horrific movies. It happens to real people too. With all the babies that have died around me in the last year or so I'll feel much better when he's out of her tummy, whole and alive.

--mm