After Gold died I found KL in the
county jail. I sent her a letter to let her know that Gold died and
that I missed her and wanted on her visitors list. She called a few
days later to let me know I had been approved for visits. I did my
best after being approved to visit every weekend. I think the first
visit was the hardest. I hadn't visited anyone in jail in a looong
time and I didn't know really what to expect now. I was intimidated
by the cold and harsh atmosphere in the jail and the cops. I still
really, really hate cops. Seeing KL was surreal. Unable to touch her
through the glass it was hard to believe it was really her.
After that first visit I became
accustomed to it. All of our visits were like very little time had
passed. We spent more time laughing about the dumb shit we did than
anything else. Visiting KL brought my street life back to me and made
it real, instead of just some silly story I wrote. It was
bittersweet. It felt so good but painful at the same time. I don't
think anyone laughed so much in that jail before though.
Something I never realized before
visiting KL is on the building there is an Martin Luther King Jr.
quote carved in the cement. It's one of my favorites and says, “An
injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” It made me
sick to my stomach to realize those words were etched into a building
so filled with injustice.
Did you know it costs money to put funds on an inmate's books? I tried to put $10 on KL's books and it was going to charge $4. Then you can pay for longer visits that you can have on your computer at home and you can spend $15 for a ten minute phone call. Our “justice” system is so broken you have to buy time with your loved ones. If that's not the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard of I don't know what is.
I didn't want to support this system so
I refused to do any of those things but I was always torn. Do I cut
out time with KL to prove a point? I was about to cave when I got the
best wake up call of my life last night. KL had been early released
into treatment.
She now gets to call me every day and
we get to visit without glass between us (starting next weekend). In
two weeks she'll get passes to go out with me. I get to bring her
clothes and books and a copy of the blog. Most importantly she gets
to get the help she needs so that in three months she can start a new
life. I can't wait to show her how good life can be after.
When my best friend Nat came to visit
for my birthday two weeks ago I spent the first day showing her
downtown Portland. I pointed out other landmarks as well but I took
her to all the places that meant so much to me as a street kid. I
showed her the day programs and pointed out the building that the
shelter is in. I took her to the library and told her about all the
time spent there. I showed her the church where KL and I slept; Hell
where I napped, everything. I even showed her the blue wheelchair we
stole.
She said it'd all make a good movie,
especially the connection between KL and I. Being able to share all
the intimate details with her about all experiences was incredibly
healing for me. They were no longer secrets. They weren't a burden I
had to carry alone any longer.
Since Nat visited I have been thinking
about the differences and similarities of those relationships. I call
them both my sisters. Nat is my sister from before. KL is my
street sister. I was saying while she was visiting, that without Nat
the rest of my life doesn't feel real. Nat has been there to be a
witness to most of it, and she keeps me grounded that way. We
remember different things. She can remember who I had a crush on when
I was eleven and me dragging her to the Pentecostal church whereas I
remember the look on her face when she opened her Christmas present
in 2009 and dragging her to Unitarian church.
KL makes my street life feel real. It's
hard to keep everything that happened straight even with the blog. So
much happened in such a short amount of time. In the aftermath of
getting off the street I buried everything that happened. I had a lot
of harsh reality checks. Having KL back has caused me to have to face
these things. This is proving to be good though, I think I'm
beginning to come to terms with things.
Outside of those who lived through it
(ie: KL, Nat, anyone else around at that time period) I have two
friends who know vaguely of my street life. They don't know a lot of
the details, just that it happened, that KL was missing and now she's
in treatment. They have been hugely supportive. I've been able to get
a fresh start. I have been able to erase my past and start over. KL
will get this too.
Sometimes I miss sleeping outside. I
miss waking up with the sun on my face and the way Portland smells in
the morning. I miss the lack of responsibilities and all the time I
had to write. I miss the feeling of community there was between the
street kids. I miss waking up to every day being an adventure.
Even so, the street life is not one I
would willingly go back to. I don't miss the way my body ached, not
knowing what to expect, living in fear that those I loved would
vanish or get arrested or get killed. Life before the streets wasn't
easy. Life on the streets was brutal. Life after the streets can be
good. It's not easy but it can be.
I had to fight for the life I have now.
The culture shock when I moved off the streets was jarring. I didn't
know how to have regular relationships or how to act in normal social
settings. I was still hyper vigilante and ready to attack and fight
on a moment's notice. I was suicidal. I had survivor's guilt.
It took years to learn I don't have to
fight everything. Shit, I'm still learning that to some extent. I am
learning how to have healthy adult relationships. I'm learning how to
let other people take care of me, instead of being the one constantly
taking care of everyone else. It is the first time I've had the
opportunity to allow that role reversal. I still have a hard time
with certain relationships but I'm learning.
My life is good and happy. It's hard to
believe it was only a few years ago that I was so close to giving it
all up. It just goes to show it does get better.
Before the streets I was naïve (as hard
as it is to believe), I was hard, I was unloving and untrusting. I
was broken and angry. After the streets I'm probably still a bit
naïve, a bit hard but I'm learning to love and trust. I get to be "Auntie" to baby (now toddler) Cire. I have a chosen family. I'm really, truly, happy for the first time in my life.
While Nat was in town I played this
song for her and told her it summed up my experiences for the last
two years or so since I got off the streets. It really captures
everything I could say about my life the last few years much better
and much more concise than I could.
Finally, I want to say that I feel I
offered a rose tinted view of the homeless life. I had a lot of
support that others didn't have. I had two years of college when most
of those kids didn't even have their GED. I had the resources to
escape on those occasions when I couldn't take any more. Those are
things the average street kid does NOT have. So as difficult as my
experience was it was a lot easier of a reality than what the average
street kid is living in. I guess what I'm saying is I am not a
spokesperson for street kids. These are my experiences and mine
alone.
I'm not sure what else there will be
for me to say on this blog. My life is very removed from my street
life. I've come to acknowledge that the life I lived then is a past life. It was something I lived while I was a different person. I'm finding healing and closure now. I'm moving on, though
these experiences and those kids will come with me.
I leave you with two quotes:
“Love isn't a state of perfect
caring. It's an active noun like struggle. To love someone is to
strive to accept that person exactly the way or she is right here and
now.” --Mr. Rogers
“My responsibility in the past when I
was sleeping outside every night was just to survive. My
responsibility now is to stay real, stay grounded, and just tell the
truth.” --Jimmy Wayne
**I actually got into two spats with
the police officers. The first was when they tried to say I wasn't on
KL's list because it wasn't under the name on my ID. This was
resolved when I called the cops' boss and explained that the name on
the list is short for my birth name. He told the idiot cops to let me
in.
The second spat happened when I was
told my shirt didn't fit their “dress code”. It's absolutely
ridiculous that there is a dress code to visit inmates. It's as
frivolous as saying your collar bones cannot show and you must be
wearing underwear but that underwear cannot be visible. When they
pitched a fit about seeing my collar bones I went and bought a new
shirt but then I refused to wear underwear to every visit there
after. I have to have my little rebellions somehow.
