Day Twenty-Eight

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

The first thing I do now when I wake up is ask for an update on Baby Girl. Part of me dreads the thought that she might die in the night. Another part of me wishes that would happen so we wouldn't have to put her down. I cannot believe the strength of this kitten. So many times she should have died. It's painful to see her in so much agony. Neither of us want her to suffer. Yet, all the same I think both of us secretly hope one morning we will wake up to find a peed and walking kitten. We know it won't happen but can you blame us? It's really a terrible predicament.

When we leave in the morning Kitten Momma asks someone for a cigarette. The guy says he doesn't smoke but asks her if she has money to buy smokes. When she says she doesn't he hands her $6. She looks at him and asks, “Really?”
“What goes around comes around.” He says.
I'm always amazed by the kindness of strangers, “You're a good person sir.” I say.

While we are outside waiting for her boyfriend Kitten Momma notices she is missing the bag with the morphine in it for Baby Girl. She goes back up to look for it while I wait with the stuff. Some staff person I don't really know comes out and starts telling me to move because standing outside is not two blocks away. She sees Baby Girl broken in my arms. We've concocted an excellent story for staff saying that she stays with someone in the area at night so they don't suspect anything when she magically appears in the morning. We just insist that we walked one block over to pick her up. No one even asks anymore. Possibly because they know she is dying. Anyone who hassles someone with a dying kitten has got to be a heartless asshole.

I explain I can't move because I can't carry all that stuff. She demands I walk to the max station. I blatantly say no. I will not walk to the max station with all of that crap. It's too much to carry and to attempt to would hurt Baby Girl as she would be thrown around. The lady keeps telling me to go. That's like telling someone in a wheel chair to walk. Okay, maybe not that extreme, but it's just not going to happen. I'm not going to abandon her purse or Baby Girl. Who gives a fuck about policy? I've got a baby kitten in pain. Their policies can suck my nonexistent dick.

When Kitten Mom comes out she reports someone stole the kitten's morphine. We are both livid. Why would you steal feline morphine? We ride the max to the library and then Kitten Momma gets off to get her dose from the Methodone clinic. I head to OI. We were behind on getting out because of the missing bag and I don't want to miss my oatmeal. As I pass the pet shop I notice a kitten about Baby Girl's age in the window. She looks just like her. She's playing and jumping around in the cage. I know it's cruel to think about replacing Baby Girl already but I know Baby Girl kept Kitten Momma going. In all honesty it helps her stay clean. Well, her and my beautiful face. So, she needs another kitten.

After breakfast I ask Mother Goose if we can do the test for my OCLL. I was supposed to do it days ago but with the kitten fiasco it didn't really happen. She throws me on a computer and it takes three tries but eventually we get signed up for the course. She puts me in an office to take the course and OCLL test.

“Not going to lock me in an office and forget about me again are you?” I ask her.

I know, I know I'm hilarious.

With computer glitches and stupid tutorial videos the course takes an hour. When I finally finish I ask if I can get ready for the interview while day services are closed so I don't hold up the bathroom when it's crowded. Beard Man tells me this is of course no problem. I believe they are thrilled just to have someone motivated enough to go to a job interview at all. I get a razor and shaving cream from him and shave my legs on the chair in the bathroom. This is actually quite the task because I do not trust homeless people bathrooms. I can't even tell you how many times I've found pee on the floor and that's not even the worst I've seen. Thus, I don't want to step on the floor at all with bare feet. Still, wearing socks when you shave is kind of awkward. And I'm not exactly graceful. In the end I do touch the floor with bare feet. My foot hasn't fallen off yet though. That Tetnus shot probably helped a bit.

I brush my teeth and straighten my hair then do my makeup. I cover up my scabbed ear with foundation. It hides it pretty well all things considered. I step into my interview outfit. It's a white skirt and blue blouse a friend gave me. The skirt has stains and the blouse doesn't fit right. I'm pretty sure if my gay stepbrother saw me he'd scold me. I wasn't able to get interview clothes with the voucher like I was supposed to. I was too busy with the kitten. I knew if I had to I could wing it in this. My friendships are more important than clothing. I don't care what anyone says.

I'm stressed about the interview more than I thought I would be. It's a pretty solid deal but I'm so afraid the manager will get wind of the living situation and second guess his decision. Any number of things could happen. Not only that I forgot to take my Cymbalta yet again. I can tell because my tremors are so bad I'm struggling to walk. Ever since the incident with Bitch Lady I've avoided taking my meds in shelter. This is really not good because I forget at breakfast. Plus, I can't always find my back up med bottles in the bottomless pit that is my army backpack. I don't like to completely unpack it to try and find it because that screams “Hey look at the stupid homeless kid who can't find her shit.” I don't think there is anything more humiliating than dirty underwear falling out when you're trying to find your wallet.

Putting my backpack in Mother Goose's office and going out in decent clothes and make up is so freeing. I'm wearing my swing dancing boots. God, they hurt my feet so much. It's been so long since I've worn heels my feet aren't quite up to the task anymore. I hadn't worn them in quite awhile before I ended up homeless because let's be real, when I was with my uncle I was surrounded by gay people. I didn't exactly have reason to dress up often. Plus, his roommate kept me good and stoned so not much walking in heels in that state. I feel like going dancing right then. It's not exactly an option but I realize how much I miss in the minimal dressed up state I am in. I don't tend to know I miss things until presented with something similar. I forget sometimes that I had a real life before this.

Maybe I would remember my real life if I actually talked to my friends outside of street life but that's just too god damn hard. I can't bring myself to do it. Even when I think about friends I miss. Talking over phone or internet is just fine. Seeing people in person is excruciating. I don't like appearing weak and vulnerable. It doesn't get more weak and vulnerable than homelessness. And I don't know how to explain away the army bag and clothes and Spencer separation.

Once, before all of this, when I was with my friend Jelly Bean she and I passed a homeless man with a dog. His sign read “Begging Sux. Compassion doesn't.” I looked in his eyes and I couldn't just pass him up like that. It was hot out and we were in Clackamas where there are a lot less resources (to my knowledge) for homeless people. We went to Coldstones to get ice cream. I had Spencer with me and little kids squealed and ran up to pet him. I insisted we eat our ice cream in Walmart where I bought the man and his dog food and a giant jug of water with my food stamps. I never eat the full amount on food stamps. I get $200 and I'm tiny. I could afford to spend $20 on him. It's not like I was losing out on anything.

Jelly Bean used to run an organization that she called H20 something. I think she actually still does some of it when she's not busy with music and her church or boyfriend. She would keep packages of nonperishable food and other supplies with her all the time for when she ran into homeless people. I believe she also passed them out to other people to give. I told her once that I used to be homeless when I was in high school. I just can't bring myself to tell her now even though I miss her. She's not a friend I hung out with all the time but I never failed to appreciate her company despite our religious differences. I know eventually I need to suck it up and hang out with her but it's just not all that easy. Especially when four months ago I was handing out care packages to homeless people with her.

Can you believe that was only four months ago?

When we handed that guy the shopping bags I looked him in the eye. I've always had trouble meeting homeless people in the eye since I used to be one. I saw his hands were dirty and being a germ-a-phobe I tried to curl my fingers away so they wouldn't brush his. I felt guilty for this when my soft hands brushed his rough and dirty calluses. I looked at him and the dog and said, “You better share some of that with your dog.” I've always been a sucker for animals. His face broke in a wide smile and he said “Of course.” He was digging in the bags as we drove away. I don't think I've ever seen someone so damn happy over beef jerky before.

Was that really four months ago? It's impossible to believe how fast things like that turn around. Four months. So much changed so fast. I passed someone with the same phrase on their sign in downtown a few days ago. I instantly thought of that man on the corner. When he brushed my fingers I wanted to tell me I understood where he was at in life. That once I was there before. I didn't though. And I never expected that I would end up there again.

Wow, I'm really getting side tracked on this one. Back to the story here: Job Interview Day. Not nostalgia day. Okay so, anyways. I finished getting ready for the interview right at one pm when services open up. I emerged the old me. Dressed to impress (well, with low standards), make up, hair straightened. I put on my boots and god damn. I did not fit in at all walking around day services. I swear people didn't realize it was me at first. I felt foreign and people stared. I've spent so much time frazzled without decent hair I forgot what I look like when I put effort in my appearance. Not only did I instantly age 5 years (now I look 15 woohoo!) but I remembered I don't always have to look so...unattractive.

I know I discuss this transformation in way too much detail every time I bring back the old me but goddamn it's shocking for me. Appearance may not be everything but it makes a difference in how I feel about myself and where I'm going with all of this.

For lunch it's Toll House cookie dough with Crochet Buddy. This is after four separate trips up and down the elevator for things forgotten upstairs. (I refused to take the stairs because, “I'm too pretty for stairs right now.”) After three or four trips I remembered everything except my antibiotic prescription in the pharmacy but I wouldn't remember that until much later.

The interview took less than five minutes. The only other interview I had that went that fast I already knew I had that job. I told him I hoped to hear from him Monday and he said, “Oh, yes.” I don't want to say that I've already got the job or be too confident. I know that can bite me in the ass fast. But, I feel pretty promising. Maybe the interview went that fast because he decided he hates me between now and offering me the application. Who knows? I don't.

After the interview I met up with an online friend . This was our first time meeting in person though we've talked for awhile and they've been following the blog since it's been up. (No, not from PSC). He bought me a coffee and let me smoke his cigarettes. Marlbrol (yuck.) Like everyone else he got on me about the whole take care of yourself thing. And how I should be in school yada yada blah blah. I have so much potential. I'm a decent writer. What the hell am I doing in a shelter? I could recite these speeches in my sleep I swear.

He slips me $30. I wasn't really sure if I should take it or not. I knew that to be socially acceptable I should try and put up a fight before I took it but I threw my cigarette butt on the ground, stomped on it and took the money. He said he didn't think it'd help much. If you've never been homeless you don't realize how far money can go. $30 to a homeless person is like $100 to a normal person. Especially those who don't do drugs. So far I spent $5 of that money. On cigarettes and a lighter. I splurged and got camel crush cigarettes. I fucking love popping them. It's the best thing ever.

Random factoid: Kitten Momma and I both love popping shit. Bubble wrap, zits, you name it. I can't stand it when I see someone with a zit ready to pop. In fact, about an hour ago while she was getting ready for bed she popped a zit on her nose and had to show me how much pus came out. We're fucking weird as hell. Lmao.

I really should stop with the ADD.

Actually no, some more ADD for you. Currently I am typing this on my laptop on my top bunk across from Kitten Lady's top bunk. She is passed out hard. I can't blame here as she's had an awful couple of days. She does the funniest fucking shit when she sleeps though. She puts her legs in the air and does fucking bicycles or something. It's funny as hell. I had to wake her up twice last night because she almost rolled off the bed. She fell asleep on the bus when we went to the vet yesterday and talked to herself. I think it's hysterical even though I do weird ass shit in my sleep too. Right now she has her hands on the back of her head and her right leg spinning in the air. If only they'd let us have cameras in here. I'd love to show her what she does in her sleep. I wish Transgender Roommate was in here so I could have a witness to prove I'm not lying. My friend does bicycles in her sleep.

Alright so, yes, I got another “stop fucking around and take care of yourself” lecture. And it's not like I can lie and say I've been trying or anything. I mean, everything is out in the open. Not that I would lie. I'm not a good liar to begin with. Just ask the boys I play Bullshit with. After lecture and coffee and taking the money  I head back to the library. It's actually really convenient to get back and forth from that area. Street car goes straight through and Mother Goose and Beard Man give me bus passes any time I ask for them. It's actually easier than taking a car considering downtown traffic. Plus I can stare out the window and have some privacy to myself to think. Kind of.

I know so many people want to help me. I know I'm slacking off. I do. But, I can appreciate the freedom street life has to offer. I can just sit and write or read all day long when I want to. I've been able to write so much more than I ever did in school. About things that I think matter. And people read. It feels better than school sometimes as much as I miss it. I don't know quite what to do with myself either. It's not as easy as just going and getting a job or signing back up for classes. There are a lot more complications than that. It's easy to become homeless. Much harder to not be homeless. Much harder to think about school and work in the situation I'm in. I see things day by day. Not the big picture. The big picture is just too damn big right now.

I meet up with Crochet Buddy at the library and hop on the computer to try and update the internet on the mundane details of my life. I'm three days behind thanks to the kitten fiasco. Then I have to go to OI to get my bag and antibiotics. Time to stop the un-homeless act. I find Kitten Momma and Baby Girl. Kitten Momma says she and Boyfriend fought about the money in my friend's car. I tell her not to stress and that if she believes he didn't steal it then I will believe he didn't and if I believe he didn't so will Savior Man. She says she doesn't know. I tell her to focus on baby girl instead. We never found the pain medication for her. Can you imagine having a broken spinal cord and no medicine?

Inside, I get a lot of comments on my appearance. Compared to the old me this wouldn't be so attractive but compared to how I've been living I'm suddenly hot shit. I have Crochet Buddy help me take my boots off my swollen feet. Then we head towards Starbucks because Kitten Momma has us banned from anywhere else. (Seriously, that girl is banned from everywhere.) We get rice pudding and cookie dough then Crochet Buddy heads off to a date with his exboyfriend and Kitten Momma and I go to Starbucks.

She falls asleep with her mouth open. Someone even asks if she's okay. I explain she's been up for days because of the kitten fiasco and stay plugged in to the internet trying to get caught up with friends and caught up on the blog at the same time. I'm not so great at multitasking when it comes to writing and conversation both.

In shelter Blue Eyes sees a needle sticking out from Kitten Lady's mattress. It's an instant BLA and it's not one I can fight for her on. She starts to cry with her back to me. I'm not sure exactly how to help on this one. Should I let her cry alone or go and try to comfort her? I can't think of any possible way to comfort her. There is really nothing I can say on this one. I want to beg Blue Eyes to let her be forgiven this one time considering everything going on but I know that won't happen. How terrible is that? Tomorrow she will likely have to put her beloved kitten to sleep and then sleep outside.

I'm going to make sure she at least has a kitten to keep her company. I know some might think that putting another kitten in homelessness as a “replacement” cat is cruel. Especially so soon. But, I know what she's going through to some extent. If it were Spencer I don't think I could do it. And she needs something to take care of. It keeps her clean really.

I get so much love and compassion from people. I have more than I need. She has no one that really cares about her. Her mother is homeless. Her boyfriend clearly cares more about his next fix than her. If anyone is willing or able it would be wonderful if someone would send her a care package. One that is just for her with love and care from someone else. I think it would be amazing to surprise her with mail from someone even if it is a stranger. I know care packages help me get through this. I think even a small one with a nice letter wishing her support would do her a world of difference.

I can't imagine what this must be like for her to be doing this without anybody.

--mm