Day Seventeen

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

I wake up because I can't breathe. I hack and cough and sneeze but to no avail. I cannot breathe through my nose and through my mouth I wheeze. I take a few puffs of my inhaler then Jesus offers me a nasal spray. I'm so tired I accidentally shoot myself in the face. Once I finally get the spray in the proper target I leave a booger on the nozzle. I wipe it on my clean underwear and shrug. There are worse things to happen to your nasal spray I suppose. I hand it back to Jesus. I can kind of breathe now but my throat itches and I'm still miserable. Sleeping outside did not help my asthma or allergies.

I need to pee and obviously I need tissues so we pack our stuff up, storing the blankets back into their hidden spot and rounding up lose clothing and belongings that got thrown around in the night. We climb down and off balance I almost fall. I am trying so hard not to hurt myself with this stupid concussion that I am hurting myself more than I would if I wasn't trying.

Jesus and I pretend to be guests at the hotel across from Hell so we can use the bathroom. The hotel is expensive with fancy chandlers hanging from the ceiling. I feel lost and out of place and people stare at the giant bag on my back. I pee and blow my nose then blow my nose again. I try to wash the mucus out but my nasal passages are swelling. There is no hope for me.

I tell Jesus I want to get snacks since there is no breakfast for us until 1pm. He mopes and says he doesn't want to getting into his pissy stance.

“Really?” I ask as I cannot believe he would act like this after I stayed outside with him.

He shrugs and I decide to just leave him before I strangle him and walk to Safeway by myself even though there are places closer. I need to breathe. I buy a muffin and walk back slowly pondering if I want to just leave Jesus by himself to mope or try to include him in the day. I decide to do the latter because I figure it's the right thing to do even if I'm frustrated.

I find him reading a comic book in the same spot I left him in and say, “I'm going to the water front. You can come if you want.”

He marks his page and says he wants to go. We walk past some people begging for money and he starts ranting about how beggars are wallowing in too much self pity and they should get their shit together and stop living off of others' sympathy.

“What about you? You've been here for six months. You could be off the streets if you wanted to but you don't do anything.” I say, irritated by the self righteousness he is displaying.

He begins ranting about how he is different. How he doesn't want to have to work in a dead end job to get little money. “Do you have your GED? You could go to school. They'll give you money to live off, more than $100 a week and you'll be setting yourself up for better jobs in the future.”

He starts yelling about how he doesn't want to school. He would rather have the freedom of living on the streets than to try and change his situation.

“Then stop complaining about it.” I say, I am so tired of the daily rants, “You wallow in more self pity than any person with a sign asking for money. All you do is talk about how hard your life is. If you don't like it change it. You say you have no friends. That no one cares about you but here I am sleeping outside with you, getting you hotel rooms, and doing everything I possibly can for you. It's never good enough. You still say you have no friends and no one cares about you. What am I chopped liver?”

“Yes you are.” he screams at me.

I grit my teeth. I want to punch him. I clench my fists and bite my tongue. I will not give in to his attempts to push me away. I will not. I am stronger.

“I try Jesus, I try. It's never good enough. It will never be good enough. Everyone has problems. Everyone. Not just you. You aren't the only one with the past and nightmares and flash backs. They aren't an excuse. There is always some one who has it worse than you. Always.”

“You don't know that.” He screams in my face.

“Yes I do. No one has a monopoly on pain. I had a mother who looked me in the eye and told me I had to sleep with my step father because he paid the bills. No kid becomes homeless without having a story. We all have histories and pain. Not just you.”

“I don't care. That's nothing compared to what I've been through.” he yells.

I cannot believe this.

“You're honestly going to tell me only your problems matter? That nothing I've been through means anything to you?”

“YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT I'VE BEEN THROUGH. NO ONE HAS IT WORSE THAN ME.” he screams. The self-centeredness is infuriating me. I listen to him all night and all day about his shit. I will not have him look me in the eye and tell me my own struggles are meaningless to him. I treat him with compassion and understanding I deserve the same.

“I don't care. There is always someone worse off. You don't get to decide your pain is more important than anyone else's.” I shoot back.

“Do you know how many people I've killed?” He's yelling and he grabs me by both shoulders and shakes me. I throw up my arms and swing them out wide and then jerk them narrow as I was taught in self defense. I feel an adrenaline rush.

“I don't care. It's in the past. Do not grab me.” I say evenly but fiercely, “Do not ever grab me.”

He drops his hands to his side.

“I can't live this way.” I say, “I can't do it. I can't live with this much negativity.”

I walk away and plant myself under a large tree to read. I text him and tell him I can listen and be there for him but I can no longer do so at my own expense. I am drained beyond reckoning. I cannot take it so I escape into another world with someone else's fictional problems.

After I finish the book I decide to find a spot to watch the Pride parade. I know that I will see a lot of people I know both from my old life and this new street life I am stuck with. I scan the crowds for Rocky or some of the other street kids. I can't spot Rocky's bright pink hair anywhere so I pick another spot under another big tree and write until the parade begins and my laptop dies. I spot a number of people I know both in the parade and spectating but I refrain from talking to them as much as possible. I want to call out and say hi but I resist the urge all but one time. The one time I can't stop myself I regret it. I don't look like myself in baggy sweat pants with equally baggy under eyes.

After the parade I make my way through the maze of people to get on the max to go to OI for my favorite meal: breakfast. I call Spock because I need to talk about this Jesus situation. I'm not even mad. I'm just resigned. I feel as if this is my fate, to mother everyone else while no one even considers me. She tells me the same thing people have been telling me for years, “Take care of yourself first.” Unfortunately, I am defective. Despite the millions of times I've been given this advice I cannot turn away when someone asks for my help. Even when I have no control over the situation or strength to handle my own problems. I do not ask for or expect anything in return. I give until there is nothing left. It's a disease I can't stop.

“You can't give what you don't have,” Spock tells me, “And you don't have what he wants.”

Spock is right (naturally). I have little to nothing left to give. I am drained dry. I am empty. I am suffering in my own silent torment. There is nothing more I can do for Jesus. But all the same, it's not easy for me to walk away. I cannot turn my back on someone that needs help. I'm a sucker.

Jesus doesn't show up to OI for breakfast. That's just fine. I talk to Queer for awhile and he goes on a rant about some crazy idea he came up with that I can't follow. My head is hurting more than it has in days. I ignore it. I feel a heaviness and tiredness in my chest as if someone has literally sucked every bit of strength I have out of me. Flippy Hair Guy comes and sits next to me after Queer leaves. I play with my cup of water moving it around the table. My hands are shaking more than usual. I fucking hate tremors.

“Did Jesus come in at all?” I ask him.
“No, which is weird. Really weird.” He answers.

I look him in the eye and nod once, “Yes, it is. Very weird. If you do see him you should talk to him.”

Drummer Guy, who I know on an acquaintance level but not much deeper than that sits with us and asks, “Where's Jesus?”

I shrug, “Off throwing a pity party somewhere.”

Drummer Guy laughs, “I believe it. I tried to be that guy's friend for a month. It's impossible. He beats himself up too much.”

I weakly shake my head, “He beats everyone around him up to make himself feel better. I can't take it anymore, I just can't. He looked me in the eye and said only his problems matter. Everyone comes to me with their problems. No one gives a shit about mine." 

I eat but not much and to me it is tasteless. I go to the library until they close then I continue to hide out at OI. Drama Girl comes in complaining about Dreadlocks and asks to hang out with me. I don't want to hang out with her. I am too tired to want to go and do anything. Still, I can't be rude and say no so I follow her out, dragging my feet. 

There's a group hanging out outside of OI. I pull out a cigarette from the stash Stimpy gave me and light up. Someone asks to buy a cigarette for a dollar. I would give them for free but I have no issues taking people's money from them. Another wants one for a bus pass which I agree to. A third wants one with the offer to smoke a bowl later. I did not realize cigarettes would be such good currency. I think I may just need to keep smoking. 

Dreadlocks comes out and starts rough  housing with some of the guys. Drama Girl tugs on my sleeve and asks to leave. Dreadlocks has his butt hanging down in my way. I guide it gently but firmly away with my foot. Drama Girl laughs but Dreadlocks doesn't notice all that much. He looks back but doesn't say anything. 

Drama Girl makes me watch behind myself to see if they are watching us go. She insists they are going to follow us and no amount of convincing could  reassure her that they are not going to follow us. She rants about how he treats her bad and cheated on her. 

"He told me that he slept with someone else last night." She is ranting and I close my eyes praying it will stop for five minutes, "He is so mean to me. But, I'm mean too. I hit him and call him a nigger." 

I try to breathe but I can feel my heart exploding in my chest. I cannot take this anymore. I cannot keep counseling every boo-boo in the shelter. Focusing on breathing I say, "You two are a bad combination. You bring out the worst in each other. You should just stay away from each other." 

She says she knows then begins ranting about how Dreadlocks has started doing meth again, "Can't you tell by his face? It's all sunken in."

I can't tell. I haven't looked at Dreadlocks in awhile. I don't pay as much attention to him as keeping distance from him is probably a good idea to save me from Drama Girl's angry mood swings.

"He shoots up in front of me. I did some last night because he was tempting me too much."

I run my hands through my hair, I am too tired, "Make that your last time. You can definitely lose your daughter over that." 

"I know it's just so hard not to do it when he shoots up in front of me."

"All the more reason to stay away from him."

The whole way to the mall she checks herself in each window saying she thinks she's pretty but needs a bigger butt. She wants to go to the mall which is the last place I want to go. I do not have any desire to go  look at nice things I can no longer have. In fact, I'd rather hide at OI and nap or check out the Pride shenanigans at the water front. But mostly hang at OI. I saw way too many people I recognize during the pride. I do not need two glimpses at what I used to have. I do not want to explain my army bag or why I'm wearing dirty clothes. So I follow her to the mall, despite wanting to do anything but. 

We spray perfumes then try on make up at the Benefit make up counter. It's make up I couldn't afford even before I was homeless. I try on some eye shadow and lip gloss. I look in the pink hand held mirror. I stare at my reflection. I start to feel dizzy so I tell Drama Girl to watch my stuff while I go to the bathroom. The hallways to the toilets feel like a bright white maze in the looney bin. They make my head spin and I think I might pass out. I drink water. I use the bathroom. I'm still dizzy and dazed and my head hurts. Where the hell did this come from out of nowhere?

I sit in the plush arm chair outside of the bathroom and wait for the spell to pass. It doesn't so I go down and tell Drama Girl I really need to rest, that my head is bothering me from Jesus shaking me. We make our way back to OI. We pass Kitten Girl who is holding a sleepy kitten. I stroke the ball of fur and miss when Spencer was that small. She needs a dollar for the bus so I give her the dollar I made from selling cigarettes. I stroke the kitten one more time and we leave. 

When we get to OI I collapse in a heap next to the bookcase. We technically aren't supposed to lay over there but most times we get left alone. Mother Goose asks me if I am okay. I explain my head hurts and she offers me an office to sleep in. I'm so happy I want to hug her. There's a lover's spat going on in the hallway  but we step around them. She takes me to an office with a sunken in green arm chair and I curl up in hopes of rest. I can't sleep because I can't stop thinking about Jesus and the fact he didn't show up to any meals. I worry he has hurt himself or run off to go somewhere else without saying goodbye. 

On the way to shelter I stop by the pigeon fountain to take an oxy and Tylenol. I am shaking so much that when I open the pill bottle the pills go flying. I pop 4 Tylenol then an oxy and suck them down with water. My head to my feet ache.  My back is surely going to snap in half. My head is halfway from explosion.

A black boy I've seen but don't know helps me picks up the pills that have landed on the ground. "You homeless?" he asks.
"Yes." I say.
"Thought I saw you around."
"You stay in shelter?"
"Yeah. All I want to do is go lay down," he says, "My feet hurt, my back hurt, this sucks."
"I know. Eventually you start to get used to it."

When I head to the fountain to wait for shelter to open I see Jesus but we do not talk to each other. I need space away from dealing with his selfishness. Drummer Guy and Chalk Guy talk to me, ask what happened and why I'm all shaky. I tell them I just can't help Jesus or anyone else anymore. That I cannot give what I do not have: the solution to every person's problems. I smoke a cigaratte then push off the ash on the trash can. I hold it against my wrist to put the flame out. Breathe in. Out. Endorphins thank god. 

I shower then come out to Drama Girl and Dreadlocks arriving, and of course fighting. Dreadlocks yells that Drama Girl spit on him and he wants the staff to call the police, "I agree with you," I tell him, "But, screaming isn't going to solve anything they won't listen to you when you yell." Drama Girl sits next to me crying. Here we go again, I think. She shows me a bruise on her arm that looks strikingly like Dreadlock's hand print. 

"File a police report, get a restraining order and get him out of your life." I tell her. 

Instead, when staff kicks Dreadlocks out she follows him. I swear and Chalk Guy hugs me. 

"I can't take anymore of people's problems right now." I say.  

I take a Lorazepam which is a rare occurrence. I haven't touched those since October but I'm shaking and can't get my brain to shut up to I take one and swallow it dry Then I take half a sleeping pill. I sit up and play Sonic then watch Flippy Hair Guy and San Fran Man play it on two player. 

I go to bed and for the first time in what feels like weeks I don't dream. Finally. 

--mm