Day Nineteen

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

In all honesty I'm beginning to lose track of the days. They're starting to all blend together in some sort of sleepy spell. The only days I can tell apart from one another are the weekends because they are the worst with nothing to do.

It's been quiet not having Jesus around. It's harder not to think of unpleasant things. I have less distractions. Less fun. Less laughter. The negativity has rubbed off on me and I have a general feeling of melancholy.  It's not that people are unwilling to hang out with me. I get plenty of offers. I just can't bring myself to join with them. I find excuses not to go.

Jesus and I glance at each other but we don't speak. Pot Head tried to get us to play a board game together but to no avail. I saw Jesus picking his hair while he was watching the movie. I wanted to say something but I turned away instead. I don't feel lonely but I miss his company. I stay inside my own head now which is okay but sometimes my thoughts scare me and I'm more conscious of my need for weapons.

There is a Bible story in which God tells his lone family of followers to flee from their city as God intends to destroy it. He instructs them to runaway and to not look back. The family does as they are told but the wife takes one short glance back and is turned into a pillar of salt that very same instant.

I don't believe in God so it's highly unlikely anyone is going to turn me into salt for a backward glance at my old life before the streets. Still, looking back is dangerous. That BBQ with my old life and old friends was borderline a bad idea. It gave me a glimpse of what I should be worrying about: comma splices, misspelled words and un-witty headlines.

Instead, I pray to the Flying Spaghetti monster at night to keep all the wandering street kids safe. I fear staff is going to steal or withhold my medication. I fear being kicked out of shelter for little or no reason. I worry about when one of the kids might turn on me. I have to focus on getting through the day on little rest, strength, comfort.

Everyday has the same dreadful routine. Try to find a place to sit where I will not be disturbed. Try to not walk as much as yesterday. Try to power through physical pain and exhaustion. Try not to lose myself in my own head. I miss problems about school or homework or training a hopeless writer. I miss working myself to death juggling three jobs and school. Now, I am worked to death by the physical hardships of being homeless and the mental draining that comes with it.

It's enough to kill a person, remembering what used to be.

And it's not like life was great then. I had all sorts of ovary problems and bitchy roommates sometimes but at least I could distract myself with coma splices. I'm not depressed or angry or anything. I am simply resigned. I have accepted that this is my life right now. I keep my eyes focused on nothing but what is right in front of me in the present moment. The future is too shaky. The past is unbearable. Even as recent as Playdate PDX is too much.

I do my laundry and some of Jesus' that I happen to have. When it's done I fold his clothes and set them in front of him. He doesn't bother to look up. I stay plugged in to my laptop and my music, thinking if I have the sound turned up people will think I'm busy and not talk to me. Mother Goose keeps asking if I'm okay. I say yes again and again. She sets me up with the A/D counselor I need to meet up with for housing on Thursday morning. She gets me set up with the real counselor for youth on Thursday afternoon. She asks what I miss. I tell her I miss movies and dancing. I have to think. I don't remember what I used to do for fun anymore. She says she'll get me a movie ticket.

I meet with my case manager, Beard Man, for the first time. It's brief. I need to be productive but we don't know what productive things there are for my to do right now. There's more asking if I'm okay and I nod. I am fine. I am fine. I am just in my own world. I work on my resume. I tune out everyone and everything.

When #1 closes I see Kitten Lady walking down the block from me. I catch up to her so I can see the kitten. The kitten is wet because she had an accident and needed a bath. She's shivering. I ask Kitten Lady if I can take her to warm her up. She hands her over and I unzip my hoodie and ease the kitten between my bra, "It's much warmer in there." I tell the kitten.

"She likes boobies." Kitten Lady says.
"I bet. I used to do this with mine too. I'm so big that I don't really have to worry about her sliding down."
She laughs, "I guess you do have big boobs. I never noticed before."
"What are you doing?" I ask her.
She shrugs, "They kicked me out of shelter so I was just going to go to Fred Meyer until it gets late."
"Why'd they kick you out?"
"They found her." she points to the kitten already asleep nuzzled against my right boob with one paw stretched up to my neck.
"You got her in last night? They checked your bag!"
"I had her in my boot."
I laugh.

I take her to the spot Jesus showed me to sleep. I tell her we have blankets there; that she can hop the wall and be safe because no one will see her. We go to Fred Meyer and she gets rice pudding and cookie dough and eats it at the tables without going through the check out line. She doesn't have any food stamps left. I think about paying it for her but she does it so easily that I just follow without realizing what we're doing until it's done.

I tell her I'll try and help her find a place for the kitten. She's attached to her the same way I am to Spencer. I decide to ask Savior Man because he is my go to person but I also post on Facebook asking for anyone who can help. She just needs a place for kitten to sleep and then pick her up in the morning.

We go to McDonalds and I watch as she struggles to keep her eyes open. She is physically incapable and I watch as she and the kitten both nod off and wake each other up. I tell her I'll be back and go to the Dollar Tree where I buy her a drop cloth and some snacks. The drop cloth is just cheap plastic but it will keep them dry should it rain. I really need to invest in some emergency blankets. I give her the snacks and tarp when I get back.

I ask Jesus to bring us the sleeping bag, telling him that a girl is sleeping alone outside. That should be illegal he texts back but we both know it doesn't matter what should be. We are the illegal ones not shelter. I take Kitten Lady and her boyfriend to the spot and make sure she has all she needs to get through the night alone. Her boyfriend can't stay out with her because if he does he will be kicked out of shelter because he's upstairs. (It's a complicated shenanigan on that one). She hugs me and tells me I'm sweet. I tell her I'd do it for anyone. It's true. Even if Vampire Girl needed it I would. But, it doesn't hurt that she has a needy kitten with her. I give the kitten kisses then head to shelter.

At shelter there is a feast on the table. Wednesdays are food bank days so we have more variety. I'm not hungry though so I just help myself to a glass of chocolate milk. Pocahontas, however, is starving. As staff is busy checking people in she grabs a piece of chicken with the tongs (you are not supposed to serve yourself hot food) saying "Can I have this piece of chicken?" over and over again. She eats it still holding it with the tongs. I tell her I missed her. I did. I forgot how funny she is.

I beat the guys at a round of Bullshit then head to bed. I realize that being around Kitten Girl lifted my spirits quite a bit though I'm not sure if that was a matter of having a problem I could actually fix or being around a kitten again.

Nazi Man is in shelter and he's taken his funny pills again. Vampire Girl is doing all she can to be nasty to him. I don't mind. Nazi Man is one of the few staff who while he is a neurotic squirrel his heart is in the right place. And his neurotic-ism may come from the fact that he's been doing this for six years. I like when Nazi Man works because that means besides Vampire Girl picking fights with him there won't be any drama.

What does that say then, that we know how much drama there will be based off which staff member is working?

--mm

For your Entertainment

I've been wanting to post this on the blog for awhile. I've posted it on Facebook but I don't get to explain why I love it so much on Facebook. I know my friends love making fun of me for my uncanny obsession with Dance Moms but I love this dance so much because I think it is a very good representation of what it feels like to live on the streets as a kid. We are trapped.

I know I should be busying myself with looking for a job or buffering up my resume but I, like many of the other kids, have a feeling of why bother. We have to lie on our addresses on job applications because the addresses we can use through the shelter are black listed. We can't just go out and pass out resumes: no one will hire you when you can't come in in nice clothes and you have to carry everything you own with you. I've lost touch with most of my business references. A lot of kids don't even have their GED. 

We are trapped in a world where we aren't even seen as people. Where police are called to harass us just because it's fun for people in $1600 apartments to watch from their windows while street kids are searched. 

As a kid I could watch fictional shows about murder and terrorism (ie: family obsession with 24). I didn't blink an eye at "America's Most Wanted" but I would cry anytime my parents put on "Cops". No one ever really knew why. After watching the cops search us just for sitting at the fountain I understand now why "Cops" upset me so much. I hate the whole idea of the show. I hate that the less desirable people in society can have their weakest and most vulnerable moments broadcast-ed to millions of people simply for entertainment. To make people who have homes laugh. 

Why bother trying to get or stay clean? Why bother trying to get back into school? Why bother trying to get a job? Why bother trying? We aren't even seen as human beings. Our very existence is illegal. We're trapped and the only thing that stands a chance at helping us is compassion from our fellow human beings when they are too busy being entertained by us to help us. 

--mm


Here's the truth about street kids:


*We are forced to be independent on average about a decade before our housed peers.
*There are up to 2,000 of us in Portland alone. 
*12-17 year-olds are more at risk for homelessness than adults
*43% of us report being beaten by a parent or caregiver before we became homeless.
*44% of us report having a parent with a drug or alcohol problem.
*20,000 of us age out of foster care each year.
*75% of us will or have dropped out of school because of homelessness.
*Our substance use rates are at 85%.
*1/3 of us have witnessed a shooting, stabbing, or rape.
*1/4 homeless adults were in foster care as a child.
*40% identify as LGBT  youth
*1/3 of homeless people are under 18.
*Half of all runaways are abused before they flee their homes.
*A third have been forced to perform sexual acts.
*A third will attempt suicide.
*We are ten times more likely to contract HIV.
*People hate us simply because of where we sleep.


http://www.myfriendsplace.org/whoweservestats.html 
http://www.dosomething.org/actnow/tipsandtools/11-facts-about-homeless-youth 
outsidein.org

Day Eighteen

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

I wake up tired as is to be expected. I feel like it was years I was away from shelter rather than just one night. I'm out of sorts. I think shelter may in fact be the hardest place to sleep. I take my time getting ready then remember I'm supposed to meet Drummer Guy to learn how to play street drums. I don't want to. I don't want to be rude but I want to be alone. But, a promise is a promise and I said I wanted to learn drums and he said he would teach me. I'd feel bad if I didn't go.

I find him at the crosswalk and tell him I have to go to DHS and eat breakfast at OI. He says he can show me where DHS is and just hang out. I kind of cringe. It's nothing personal. I want to learn the drums. I just don't want to right then. But, I agree. We go to OI then I say I want to go to the library before DHS.

As I sit on the computer I struggle to keep my eyelids open and often doze off on the top of my keyboard. I run out of library computer time so I set up my laptop at the table and start watching Netflix. I use my jacket as a pillow and fall asleep watching The Patriot. I wake up a few times during the movie to find drool on my jacket.

San Fran Man appears next to me at some point and we pass Pistachios and candy back and forth while he plays games and I get lost in other people's lives on Netflix. When lunch comes around he asks if I'm going. I shake my head and get started on some documentary about how schools are ruining American children. I stay awake for that one.

When I finish it's time for dinner. I pack up and walk back to OI alone since San Fran Man left shortly before. Dinner is one of those don't ask meals. I always know I shouldn't ask what the meals are supposed to be but I can't help it. Curiosity gets to the better of me. I ask what the dish is and they tell me it's supposed to be something it does not remotely resemble. However, since I didn't eat anything besides Pistachios and candy since breakfast I figure I better eat something even if I'm not hungry.

I get two or three bites of the suspicious dish down my throat. It helps not to look at it so I read Steinbeck while I eat. It doesn't taste bad. It's just very, very, very, very bland. And I'm a picky eater who likes food to have flavor. Maybe, I'll eventually get over these picky eating habits. They aren't doing me any good.

After dinner I don't know what to do with myself with the library and DHS closed so I go to Fred Meyer. I have been longing for a notebook so I can write when I can't have my laptop with me. Since this is productive I can justify $1 on a notebook. I stand in the school supplies section for a long time oogling and pens and pencils. I open a few pens to see how they write just for the hell of it. I know it's less than legal but I don't feel guilty about it. I should feel guilty. I just don't.

I think about how in a few months the stores will be flooded with back to school sales. Will I be able to partake in those sales this year? It is honestly my favorite part of the year and I always end up buying more notebooks and pens than I'll ever use even though I haven't used up the previous year's supply. I love the feeling of a fresh notebook. It's my very own favorite drug.

I would love for nothing more than to be not only buying school supplies when fall comes but to be buying them with the intent of using them in school. Whether or not that will happen is another question but right now things aren't looking good.

I go to the fountain to wait for shelter to open. I am engrossed in my new notebook when police officers randomly appear. I'm lucky enough that they don't notice me but they take down everyone else's names and run checks on them. They search one of the guys I don't know, sliding their hands up and down his body and digging in their pockets. They find a needle on him. It's clean but they threaten to arrest him anyways. In reality they can't; it's clean. When they finally leave they tell him, "Tell your people we aren't here to cause trouble for them. We came because there was a call."

I know who called because I watch them the entire time the cops are there. A couple are watching from their $1600 apartment, laughing hysterically. I wish I had eggs and good enough aim to shoot some through their open door where they are craning to hear what the cops are saying. I can see and hear them laughing. We were just sitting waiting for shelter and we are treated like criminals. Our only crime being where we sleep at night. We are entertainment for everyone else, who watch and laugh behind the glass of their comfortable, secure, and always open homes.

In that moment I hate them as much as they hate us. I dare you to look me in the eye and say we don't have class warfare in America. Equality is a joke.

The cops leave but that wretched couple keeps staring at us. Jesus does a jig and then starts waving. One by one we start waving at them until they turn their backs and go into their apartment away from the windows. I light my second cigarette for the night. Jesus comes by and asks for a drag.

"You don't smoke." I say but hand him the cigarette anyways.

It's all we say to each other for the entire day. Angry Gay Man comes and asks for a drag too. I give him the cigarette. He asks about the cops and I tell him about the searching and the couple laughing.

"We just have to be better than them." he says, "We have to better ourselves to get off the streets and make ourselves better. Then we can teach him."

It's something I would say so I nod lazily, too many times. I keep my gaze forward at the same spot on the ground. Pot Head keeps ranting about how he's scared Nazi Man or some other staff are going to come and give us nights out for sitting at the fountain. Since it's not a full two blocks away we aren't supposed to wait there, even though we aren't doing anything wrong or illegal. His paranoia isn't ungrounded as a staff from upstairs comes down to yell at us and we scatter. I run to keep up with Pot Head.

"Let's go stand at the warm up spot," he says.
"Warm up spot?" I ask.
"You've never been to the warm up spot? You've gotta check it out then."

We go back behind the Chinese restaurant on the corner of the next block. Pot Head points up to a vent that is blowing out air that smells like old Chinese food and wet dog. He stretches his arms over his head to feel the heat against his finger tips. He instructs me to sit in the corner. I obey and am hit with the warmth of smelly air. It's amazing. It doesn't take long to get used to the stink and I feel my goosebumps on my arm dissolve in this wonderfully warm air.

"How was your day?" Pot Head asks as I sit on my army bag.
"Shitty." I say. I sound like Jesus.
"Why?"
"I'm homeless for one."
"Yeah, but that's just temporary."

He's high on meth but there's a glimmer of that once intelligent Pot Head there, "You've just got to try and have fun with it until you get off the streets."
I nod. It's my old philosophy that I seem to have lost somewhere while trying to keep Jesus happy.
"I'm not a bad guy," Pot Head says, "I'm really not."
"No," I say, "You just do stupid stuff when you're high."
He shuffles his feet, "I know. I just try to have fun. Then when I'm in a shitty mood I take it out on everyone else."
It's a common trend among street kids I see.

We walk together when it's time for shelter to open. We play a few rounds of rummy. While we are playing a girl who was supposed to be in treatment comes in the room. I keep staring at her because I'm not really sure it's her. She has her hair in four french braids. I ask her what she is doing back. She says she didn't like rehab because all they did was sit around and do packets about why they shouldn't do drugs.
"I could do that here with you." she says.

I'm happy she's back and in one piece but I worry. She's two weeks clean but I'm finding it's hard for anyone to stay clean in shelter. The majority of kids shoot up then warn those of us who never have to never do it. "You'll like it too much," Pot Head tells me. I do my best to stay away from those doing drugs but we're surrounded by it all day. I know more about drugs from eighteen days than I ever did growing up with a brother who sold drugs.

For the third night Gang Banger doesn't appear in shelter or services at all. There are rumors going around that he was jumped. Even his best friend has not seen him. I worry.

I watch Ducktales on the stairs with San Fran Man. Nazi Man tells us we have to watch it on ear buds so I turn down the volume until the red chairs open up. Then we watch it with the volume up. We sit in the chairs, not on blankets on the floor. It feels foreign to me and after the second episode of Ducktales I say goodnight and head to bed, where I dream Spencer is a fluffy kitten again.

--mm

Meet the Cast

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

I don't feel like I properly introduce everyone in this crazy nut house I'm living in. Each entry is usually just a brain dump of what's been happening and I'm always in a hurry so I don't take the time to explain the people and things happening which is really cheating you guys out of the homeless kid experience. So, here are the majority of people I live with:

Streetkids:

Kitten Lady: KL is one of my closest friends on the streets. I adore her and her kitten and boyfriend very much. We are a family.

Houdini: Houdini is KL's boyfriend. He has a tendency to disappear on us. He has some issues particularly of the anger management variety. I still care about him very much.

Jesus: If you've read one of my other posts you already know all about Jesus. He and I have this very strange relationship that isn't quite siblingish or parentish but we definitely aren't dating either, despite others insisting we are. My dear friend Spock calls him my "fake boyfriend". Whatever our relationship is it works for us and we don't feel the need to define it. Jesus is called Jesus due to an old inside joke between us where I am God, his father, and he is my disobedient, often crucified son. Before becoming homeless he was a youtube star. His youtube channel had thousands of subscribers. Obviously, I can't post what the channel was as I need to be fair in protecting each person's identity. His father occasionally sends money but not often and not much. Jesus can be a very difficult person. He has mood swings and gets pissy for seemingly no reason. He has depression and often takes it out on me then complains he has no friends. I've tried to explain the phenomenon of friends not wanting to take the way he can act like a bully when he doesn't get what he wants but it goes in one ear and out the other. When I feel impatient with him I remind myself that I am a difficult person too. I spend 90% of my time with him. A lot of this has to do with the fact that he's more straight edge so I know I don't have to worry about him pulling me into gangs, drugs, or alcohol. His family is trying to convince him to move to the coast with them. He doesn't want to go even though that means a stable roof over his head. I don't pretend to know or understand all the reasons why but a lot of them have to do with freedom. I think I've built up trust so easily with him because he reminds me of an old friend that used to be dear to me.

Emo Kid: I'm not a fan of Emo Kid so my description of him will be clouded in my bias but whatever. Emo Kid is your stereotypical emo kid in most respects. He wears all black and an array of over sized safety pins stuck in his skinny jeans. He bleaches his hair then dyes in black about every other day but claims he won't change his looks for anyone. Most of his bleaching attempts end in a horrible fashion and Jesus and I are just waiting for his hair to fall out. He dresses in that obnoxious fashion that is supposed to mean he doesn't give a shit what people think of his clothing arrangements when in actually this over the top costume wearing is just an attempt to make people think he doesn't care because he cares too much. I'm honestly not sure if it is because he is just overly insecure or if he is deep in the gay closet. He always has to have a girlfriend or he cries and threatens to cut himself. At best these relationships last a week.

Vampire Girl: Vampire Girl is one of Emo Kid's exgirlfriends. She is ADHD and Bipolar which is a frightening combination for her. She talks a million miles a minute and the subjects of conversation bounce around so quickly it is impossible to make sense of anything she says. Her moods change at the rate of half a heart beat. One moment you are her best friend. The next she is threatening to shank you for calling her a kid. She exhausts and confuses me then exhausts me again so I try to avoid her. That sporadic-ness is just more than I can handle. She is dubbed Vampire Girl because people say she enjoys cutting herself and having guys drink the blood or vice versa. She takes a lot of pride in being Russian and goes to church on Sundays. She has a child (son I believe) but I'm not sure who is raising her son or what her relationship with him is.

Drama Girl: Drama Girl is quite the character. She is constantly fighting with her boyfriend/exboyfriend/boyfriend/baby's daddy/exboyfriend/I'm confused. She insists every girl that comes into shelter is trying to get with him. Then, she sobs hysterically about how she should treat him better and then they fight until they make up and repeat the cycle again. She hits her boyfriend/man/thing when they fight which staff overlooks and all the street kids are disgusted by. She became attached to me after accusing me of trying to get with her man and I set her mind at ease and tried to help her out. She is one I actually have compassion for because I think she has the potential to change and turn her life around if she were to seek out the proper medication and counseling. She has a daughter who is about 3 months old and being raised by a foster mom who sends Drama Girl pictures on a regular basis. She will be moving into her own apartment soon at which point she can have her daughter back. This scares but also encourages me. It's a motivation for her to work on her shit but the thought of her lack of anger management raising a child is no doubt scary. Still, I hope she does what it takes to get her life together and moves on up from here.

Dreadlocks: Dreadlocks is Drama Girl's boyfriend/exboyfriend/fiance/boyfriend/ex-everything. He is literally a battered man despite the tough exterior. He gets his relief in pot and meth. Overall he is incredibly chill and never has a problem outside of Drama Girl. No one else ever complains about him. He's put his best effort into his relationship with Drama Girl but nothing is good enough so he has reached the point of giving up. If I feel compassion for Drama Girl I feel ten times more compassion for him and hate how staff overlooks the abuse he has taken while they have stood by and watched.

Pot Head: I've never seen Pot Head not high. The majority of us smoke pot but he takes it to an extreme. He doesn't smoke to get through the day: he gets through the day so he can smoke. There was a time in his life when he was actually intelligent though you could never tell it. He doesn't actually mean everything he does that makes people hate him he's just really that stupid. Even so my tolerance for him is drastically low. I was trying to have patience until he gave me a concussion while being his stupid high self. Pretty sure that knocked any patience I had right out of my head. Still, he can sometimes be good company when he's not acting stupid.

Rocky: Rocky is dubbed Rocky after the Rocky Horror Picture Show. He is lanky and tall with bright pink hair. He dresses in girl's clothing including a flashy Hello Kitty necklace. As far as I know he considers himself a gay male though none of us girls would bat an eye if he said he wanted to sleep in the girl's dorm (you are allowed to select your own dorm based on how you define your sexual identity). I rather adore him even though he shows up to dorm drunk more often than sober. He is flamboyant and fun with or without booze. He is part of the mini-clan that is watching out for me under Gang Banger's instructions.

Gang Banger: Gang Banger is never caught wearing anything but his gang colors. Even though this means wearing the same clothes everyday he wouldn't be caught dead with a dot of any other color on himself. He reminds me of my brother with a bigger bone structure and ginormous ears. He is the same color my brother was when he was a gang member and he has the same style of muscular features, facial hair, and attitude. I tried to avoid him when I first got to shelter as I do not wish to get caught up in anything of the gang nature. However, after the incident with Bitch Lady he decided to adopt me as his little sister. He now hugs me before bed and calls me “little sis” instead of by name. He has a group of guys and gals who are supposed to look out for me as he assumes I am to meek to resolve issues on my own (which is kind of true). His way of resolving matters usually end in violence but I'm beginning to learn this is part of street life. For the most part, I'm okay with this protective figure. I miss my brother in a way I cannot explain and having this pseudo brother both makes this all the more obvious and helps to numb it. I take comfort in knowing people want to look out for me though I do not have complete trust in this nor do I know exactly what is wanted of me in return. I fear I may be naive in allow this or even using it but I will take my chances and learn from my mistakes.

Stripper Man: Stripper Man is the stereotype of being ridiculously hot but not always the brightest. I can stare at him for days but conversation is not as easy. I think there is a significant difference in this based off his drug intake however. He is Gold's boyfriend so obviously off limits anyways. He tried his hand at stripping in a local strip club (he looks very much the part) but gave up after less than a week because he didn't like the feeling of old men hitting on him. (What a shame!) We joked about going to his opening night. He said they made him shave everything because gay men don't like hair. I think this whole shenanghan is hilarious. He works out with Gang Banger and they share protein shakes and what not. He is also another that is part of the banner of protection I fall under.

Gold: I named this lady Gold because it is a play off her name. She is another part of the Gang Banger clan. She is one of the first friends I made in shelter. People either love her or hate her though I am somewhere on the in between. I think sometimes she can be mean without reason from the second hand stories I hear sometimes but she was there for me when I came in new and awkward. She will kick ass when she has to as I've personally seen the aftermaths of some of her fights. She is spunky and spontaneous and a shit ton of fun to hang out with. She's bold and determined and takes no one's shit.

Pocahontas: Pocahontas was amongst the first friends I made when I came to shelter. She had beautiful long black hair and was trying to come clean off heroin when we met. She has a son and went to rehab so she could get clean and stay clean for him. This was a difficult decision but I admire her bravery for it.

Yougio: Yougio is another one of the shelter's adorable gay men. With Gold and Pocahontas when I first came in he quickly befriended me. He told me I was the easiest person to get along with in shelter because I'm so “chill”. A few days later he left to stay with family or friends in SE. He occasionally makes a random appearance. I appreciate his company when he does.

Queer: Queer is Queer not only for his sexual identity but for his personality as well. I really adore him when I can find time to spend with him (he can be a hard one to catch). Most nights he sleeps outside out of his own free will as he likes the feeling of sun on his face when he wakes up. He says it reminds him of going camping as a kid. He is one of the most intelligent people I've ever met and I love talking to him as a reprieve from the mindless and idle conversations that often happen in shelter. Sometimes I tell him to rant to me about politics or philosophy for no other reason than to just listen to him talk about something he is passionate and knowledgeable about. He's also crazy funny and endearing. If Jesus or someone is being noisy in the shower he has no fear yelling, “I'm masturbating in here have some respect.” This of course only makes for more laughter and noise but he is very appreciated all the same. He also recently celebrated his 24^th birthday this week so he has only one year left before shelter closes their doors to him.

God Man: God Man is the bane of my existence. All that ever comes out of his mouth is something along the lines of “give praise to God”. He consistently tries to convert me and talks about how he's madly in love with me. If he's not careful I'm going to ring his fat neck.

Bible Thumper: More or less the female version of God Man I don't see Bible Thumper often. With her thumpy-ness I don't really try to either. She sleeps upstairs. From what I understand she is a recovering drug addict with a son.

Nerd Boy: The newest addition to shelter Nerd Boy is a difficult phenomenon in all of his nerd boy wonder. I want to try and have compassion for him but he stalks Jesus and me like a lost puppy making it hard to remind myself to be patient. We are sure he has autism which makes things doubly difficult. He talks all the time about nothing and makes outlandish statements and requests. Under the false impression that shelter is a five star hotel I sometimes want to smack him for the way he talks to staff. In the end I try to remind myself social awkwardness is not his fault and that compassion is the best way to be. Easier said than done. Though I'm sure more time in shelter will either break him or toughen him the fuck up.  

San Fran Man: San Fran Man moved to San Fransisco about the time I left it. He is smart and chill mannered but he can get boiling hot I think. He is an ambiguous race and not all that bad looking. He is fairly smart despite getting discharged from the military for illegal drugs.

Ginger: He was the one to help me find shelter on my first night. I liked him at first but now I cannot tolerate his self righteousness. He enjoys telling anyone who is not in the upstairs program they are doing something wrong and are not up to par with his awesomeness. He believes he is less homeless than the rest of us. He no longer tries to talk to me because I called out his self righteousness to his face.

Ginger's Girlfriend: That's pretty much all she is. She never talks and her sole identity is in being Ginger's girlfriend. She dated Jesus prior to getting with him.

Drummer Boy: Drummer Boy is one of the street drummers in downtown Portland. He tried to befriend Jesus but had the same problems I had. He has agreed to teach me street drumming.
                                                                                       
Chalk Boy: Chalk Boy is the guy on the max who gave me chalk. Since then we've been talking.

Sally: Baby Doll is 22 but she looks 15 at most. She is a heroin and meth addict. She has three children with two different guys. The first two are with their father and the last is in DHS. I worry about her a lot.

Staff: 

August: August is the staff member that gave me the orientation when I came into shelter. She is petite with tattoos and a soft voice so you actually have to try and listen to what she is saying. I have no complaints about her. She does her job and goes home. She tries to help people out when they are freaking out and crying, which let's face it happens a lot. I don't think I've ever seen her give out a BLA. As long as you aren't being terribly out of control she spends her nights with the attitude of live and let live.

Flippy Hair Guy: Ode to the flippy hair. :( :( Flippy Hair Guy is one of the staff on the lowest part of the totem pole. He is a recovering addict and I believe his drug of choice was heroin. He wears his sober pendant around his chest even though it's just a cheap plastic gold ring (He is at 18 months). He used to be a street kid too. He was adopted and when he was 18 his adoptive parents kicked him out with nothing but the clothes on his back. He hid in their van until 2am when everyone was asleep so he could break in and get his things. I think that's such a horribly sad story. Why adopt children if you aren't going to care for them? He is one of my favorite staff because he is clearly not in this job for the money. He often plays games with us and rarely gets bitchy about rules. When he does have to he always says, “Please I hate having to get on people. It's the one thing I hate about this job.” He is good at connecting with the kids and when he has nothing to say he just sits back and observes. I think he genuinely cares about what he is doing which makes me like him. His one flaw is that when I walked in to OI at the end of last week I found that his poor flippy hair had been butchered mercilessly. He now wears a buzz cut. It is the saddest thing I've ever seen. I told him I was mourning being able to call him “Flippy Hair Guy.” “You could always call me by my real name.” he told me. “Unacceptable.” I said. I still don't know what to call him without his hair so until I can dub him with a new name he shall be Flippy Hair Guy.

Mother  Goose: Mother Goose has been my point person for a long time. I spoke to her about services before I ever even came to OI. Overall I like her. She seems to go out of her way to make wrongs right and looks out for the kids without being a push over.

Bitch Lady: Bitch Lady is a bitch and I am determined to get her fired.

Boss Lady: Boss Lady oversees all of the shelter. If shit hits the fan she is the one to talk to if you can catch her. I find her to be very sweet and compassionate. Some say she is of the "too nice" variety.

Nazi Man: Nazi Man is our adorable neurotic friend. He does everything by the book from counting pills to wiping down showers. He is so obsessed with enforcing every last t and i written in some unknown rule book that the poor kid never sits down. He gets frazzled and his crazy mop of hair on the top of his head goes flying in all directions. I always kind of want to pat his head and say "it's okay friend." If anyone needs anything he runs to get it and says, "I would be happy to." If someone feels bad for pestering him it's, "I'm happy to do it because it's my job not yours". Even though I get stressed out watching how stressed out he is trying to get everything to be by the book I appreciate him very much for this because I always know what to expect when Nazi Man is working and few things ever get out of control on his shift.

Outside of Street Life:

Spock: Spock is one of my most dearest friends. She is that friend I know I can count on even though she's states away. She's not afraid to get in my face when I'm wrong nor does she fail to be a listening ear when I need one. She is also my favorite movie buff. We watch movies together over live stream quite often (with our dearest sleepy, ruby, rabbit, and other friends as well). Generally, I'm too lazy to be decisive to pick a movie so she picks and I obediently stream.

Savior Man: Savior Man is the type of friend people dream of having. He is my lovable gay pal who will drop anything and everything to help a friend in need. We used to work together on a newspaper, which is an even crazier nut house. He helped me when I was bottle feeding kittens which is when we really bonded for the first time. Then he was my carpool buddy. I paid him doughnuts and coffee for rides to and from school. While he may need a wake up call or two he is always dependable. Since I've been on the streets he has been caring for my kitty and holding onto my stuff for me. He also helps with rides and just keeping me sane. Anytime I have a need he is usually the first one I call. On top of that we share the same sense of humor, which generally happens when you survive journalism together. I'm so grateful for his friendship and often feel I'm indebted in a way I can never return.

Spencer: Spencer is my beloved and missed son and kitten.

Sleepy: Sleepy is my dear Asian friend who sends me Asian care packages and keeps me happy. He's an awesome friend.

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

Day Sixteen

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

I knew it was going to be a hard day from the moment I woke up. There was a BBQ for the staff of the newspaper I worked on before I was homeless. It was meant to be a reunion of all the years of staff and had been talked about for at least a year. I was torn. I wanted to go but then I didn't want to mix my old life with this street life. I didn't want people to know what I have been reduced to.

I debate for a long time but in the end I decide I need to go. I need a reprieve from street life anyways. 

Savior Man picks me up fairly early so I can see Spencer and get myself ready so I don't have to look homeless. Jesus doesn't make any sort of appearance before I leave so I call and make sure he's in one piece and see if there is anything he needs. 

"What are you? His mother?" one of the guys around me asks. 

"I'm everybody's fucking mother." I say then I leave telling them to be safe. 

Savior Man picks me up from the transit center then we go to Winco to get food to bring to the BBQ. I grab chips. He gets stuff to make an Asian salad and cookies. I get a bulk bag of Bits-oh-honey and Tootsie Rolls  for myself and the other kids. I think of getting a bag of sour gummies, Jesus' favorite but none impress me. 

I immediately grab Spencer when we arrive at Savior Man's apartment. I scoop him up and stroke him, overwhelmed with the feeling of his fur and kisses. I realize how much I've missed him since we've been separated. It is intolerable. On the streets I try not to think of Spencer or any of my life outside of shelter and the street kids. I can't let myself think about the outside and the life I used to have. I had a good life. If I focus on everything lost I will lose my mind. 

Savior Man offers me a shower telling me, "There's everything a girl could want in there." 

"Are you gay enough to own a hair straightener?" I ask. 

"Not quite that gay."

He has a blow dryer and I find a curling iron in the bottom of my suitcase. Good enough. At shelter we have one bottle that is our shampoo, conditioner, and soap. Savior Man's shower has four different kinds of shampoo and just as many conditioners. Overwhelmed by that much selection I wash everything twice and come out an hour later with skin as soft as a baby's butt. My hair is slick and smooth, dandruff free, just like my hair used to be before I was homeless. I run my hands through it, I cannot believe how amazing it feels to finally have soft hair again.

I picked up make up at Fred Meyer while I waited for Savior Man, even put hemorrhoid cream under my eyes (Miss Congeniality taught me that this hides bags under your eyes). I plaster on ten tons of concealer to hide the bags then do my eyes and even put on lipstick. I slip into a pink sundress and blow dryer my hair. I use my curling iron to straighten it then step back and look in the mirror. For once I see myself. My real self, not my street self. Who I used to be when I worked and went to school and had friends. I realize how much I am losing myself. 

"Do I look homeless?" I ask Savior Man for the gay stamp of approval on my outfit. 

"No, you look great." he says.

"Thank you." I used to ride to school with him in the morning and ask for the gay stamp of approval on my make up. I miss this. 

I lay down on their couch and am just about to doze off when Savior Man's roommate asks, "Hey girl who likes cats too much do you want to smoke pot?"

I leap up, "I always want to smoke pot."

I ask for the straight opinion on my looks, "Do I look homeless?"

"No you look like a cute girl in a sundress." 

We smoke until we are choking. I take a few puffs of my inhaler and decide to call it good. I want to be somewhat sober for the BBQ though I don't think I could make it without a little help. I help myself to Savior Man's cookie dough when he is not looking then sit with him on the porch.

"So how did our teacher know I'm staying in downtown Portland?"  I ask him.

"I told her."

"Did you tell her I'm residentially challenged?"

"Yeah."

I groan, "Who else knows?"

"Fish."

"FISH?!" I shriek. 

"Yeah well he was there."

"He's the last person I want to know. Last thing I need is giving him something to gloat over."

"If he says anything to you just tell him at least you don't live with your mother."

"That's right; I forgot he lives with mommy."

Fish is that person everyone hates but I hate him on a much deeper level since he ruined my job while I was in the hospital. Kind of. We have a complicated history to say the least. He is an awkward 22 year old virgin who lives at home with Mommy. 

Savior Man goes inside to work on his side dish. I fall asleep on the couch and he has to work to get me up. I didn't want to wake up. The couch was just so damn comfortable. I give Spencer a kiss goodbye and we head out. 

Fish arrives chaperoned by Mommy. Not only does she hang out awkwardly at the BBQ for awhile she even fixes his plate for him. I look at Savior Man, "You're right I win." I tell him and feel a little bit better that Fish needs his mommy to make his plate for him. The BBQ is foreign to me now. I want to weep when I find out who is hired for my old position. The new chief nods in agreement. My old section is being sacrificed as an act of desperation. I curse my debt preventing me from going back and saving it. The person in charge of what used to be my baby had to be taught how to write a sentence.

Who taught him? Me. No one else wanted to deal with him. The copy editor would  beg me to take his stories for her. Now he is the head of my section. My world is ending. 

I get to sit in the shade and talk all day. I don't have to carry my bag. I forget for a few hours that I am homeless. The only time I remember is when people ask me what it is I'm doing now and I don't know how to answer the question. I had intended to answer, "Kicking ass and taking names." but in my marijuana fog I forget this was my plan and instead lamely say "nothing." 

My old teacher and advisor asks, "I heard you were homeless in Alabama or something."

"Kind of." I say but don't explain. When she asks about my trip I talk about the culture shock and beaches, not about where I'm staying or how I got in this mess. 

When it is time to go my chips are left over. I can't take them: there is nowhere to keep them. Savior Man doesn't want to keep them nor does advisor lady. Savior Man shoves them at me and says, "Here take these and bargain with them, or sell them for drugs, or do whatever it is you people do with food."

I am dying in laughter and screaming, "You are a horrible person." at the same time. 

"I heard that." Our dearest advisor says laughing. 

We used to be family, us journalist folks. They were my first Portland family. It's hard to balance being with them again and pretending things haven't changed on my end. They make me desperately miss my old life in a way I cannot allow myself to think about. I want to cling on to them and get this life back but I'm in too much debt for school. I cannot go home. 

Savior Man drops me at the max station and we say our goodbyes. I make it just before shelter is due to open. I meet the other street kids at the fountain. Jesus runs and hugs me, picking me up. I'm bloated from cookies and squeal for him to put me down. 

"You look fabulous." he says. 

"I used to be pretty before I was you know, homeless." 

We try to get into shelter but they still won't let Jesus in. As much as I don't want to sleep outside I don't have the heart to send Jesus out alone by himself for the sixth night in a row. I grab a grievance report and go with him to his secret spot. He complains I'm not fit enough to keep up with him. 

"It's not too late for me to go back and get a bed." I warn. 

He boosts me up over the wall to his secret spot. We are completely shielded from view there and he has blankets hidden under the wall. We make a bed out of jackets and blankets then curl up under the sleeping bag together. It sprinkles but it doesn't rain which is good. We have nothing water proof. 

Jesus clings to me even though I don't feel touchy feely, "Thank you for staying out with me," he says, "It makes me feel less worthless." 

I don't really respond. In my head I'm thinking about how angry my friends would be if they knew what I was doing. It occurs to me that I have no weapons and he could secretly be a rapist or murderer. I think it's possible that he may one of those serial criminals who have the need to know their victim before they commit the crime. He could have luered me off to this secluded spot to kill me. 

I know this is a ridiculous way to think about someone I consider my friend but I cannot help where my mind goes sometimes. I fall into a fitful sleep waking up from nightmares and attempts to get comfortable. I dream I am trying to save a sex slave baby. She is naked and the blood between her legs is dripping on me. She is screaming.We are trying to flee slavery. Trying to get her safe. "I can't just leave her." I yell again and again. 

I don't stay asleep long enough to know if we make it out or not. 

--mm

Day Fifteen

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

I'm two days behind and very, very tired. Not to mention I need to pee. So I'm just going to fill you in quickly and make up for lost details later.

On day 15 Jesus was in a mood again and was taking it out on me quite viciously telling me he was sick of me and what not. I decided fine, he could have a piss party by himself so I took the sleeping bag and laid out in the sun at the water front to read. I thought that maybe I could look like any college student soaking up some rays while studying. I asked Jesus if he was mad I hadn't stayed out with him the night before but he said he wasn't and I was more than willing to go with him since Bitch Lady was working.

I fell asleep on the grass, waking up just in time to go to lunch. I found Jesus looking for me by the max stop but I didn't make any extra effort to be in his company. He wanted to be in mine though so I let go of his bullying earlier and tolerated his company. At lunch I received the most wonderful care package from my dear friend Sleepy. I tore it open and Korean candy showered down on me. Along with the candy he sent a visa giftcard and a flash drive. To my dismay Jesus and Dreadlocks helped themselves to the candy. I hate to admit it but I wanted to be selfish and keep the candies to myself as they are specially sent from my friend. But, I know not everyone is lucky enough to receive care packages so I pushed my greediness aside and let them partake in Korean candy wonders. Thankfully, the candy that I found to be the most wonderful is coffee flavored and Jesus has no love for coffee.

I ran to Powells to sit and see what was stored on the glorious flash drive. Being Asian my friend had filled the flash drive with television shows and the old school Sega and Gameboy games. This made me squeal with happiness. However, I would need Jesus to open them (I have no knowledge of computers) and he had run off with a dead cell phone somewhere.

I decided instead to seek out the comforts of Powells. My friend and I used to have what we called "Safe Places," places where we could go when we were plagued with panic attacks and flashbacks. They were places that made us feel calm and secure. Powells is my safe place.  Books are my security. I scanned the aisles for almost an hour soaking up the smell of books, old and new. I decided to let myself indulge in a Steinbeck paper back despite my commitment to stop spending. I lie saying comfort items are a need.

To escape the street life I allowed myself to get lost in Steinbeck until dinner. At dinner I met back up with Jesus and we went from there to Whole Foods to play Sonic the Hedgehog. When it came time to attempt to go to shelter Jesus said he didn't even want to try and wanted to sleep outside instead. I told him I wasn't going to sleep outside for no reason and left him to it.

I knew that I needed to buy weapons with some of the money my friend sent but I was not sure where or what to buy. I was going to ask Gang Banger for assistance but he was off with his girlfriend having what appeared to be the talk so I decided it was best to leave it alone for the night.

Bitch Lady was working again so I busied myself to playing video games on my computer much to the amusement of some of the guys who enjoyed watching me yell at the blue hedgehog and call him a "Stupid fuck face" when he fell on spikes. Once I was fully tired out of Sonic I showered, took my meds, and went to sleep.

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