There are some harsh realities that people need to understand. One of these is that our decisions have consequences. In the tunnel, just like everywhere else, not everybody seems to understand that. A lot of people do, though, and most people have a story to tell. I meet new people everyday in this effort, and these are some of the folks I met last Sunday…
Sparky– He’s gone. I don’t know, for sure, that it was meth, but his teeth are gone, so he’s hard to understand. He talks fast and quietly, making it even harder, and he doesn’t care anymore. Guessing, I’d say he’s probably in his late fifties. I had to walk alongside him to have a conversation because he wasn’t going to stay in one place despite the 100+ degree temperature. Sometimes I wonder why I spend time with people like him, but I’ve been surprised enough times that I still look under every stone.
Doug– I felt… I feel bad for him. A look of hopelessness is easy to find, but Doug’s look was different–more like regret. He’s been homeless, on and off, for twenty-three years, has an estranged brother who lives a few blocks away, and doesn’t like to talk about his father who passed away when Doug was pivoting into adulthood. He is not disillusioned about his circumstances or the life decisions he made which led to them. That’s not conjecture; we actually talked about how he ended up sitting under a tree on that Sunday morning.
Jeremy– He used to work in architecture and development. Forty-five years old, he knew Doug, but didn’t know me, so he came over from beneath his own shade tree to see who he was talking to. Joining in in the conversation, Jeremy shared that he, too, was not disillusioned about his past choices. “I’ve been snorting, shooting, and smoking since I was a teenager, and every time I did, it was my decision. I’ve detoxed a dozen times and they were my decision, too. I decide to get sober and I decide to get f’d up. I am 100% in control of my decisions, and so is every other m*** f*** out here.”
Linda– She never said a single word to me. She was strung out and passed out the entire time, splayed out on an asphalt bike path, baking in the sun. Now and then, she’d move, revealing a puddle of sweat wherever her bare skin had contacted the asphalt. I don’t need permission to take and publish pictures of people in public places, but I always ask for it anyway. I’ll make an exception for Linda just to illustrate how glamorous life is when you’re on meth well into your forties. Show this to your kids if you’re worried about them. The threat isn’t just that you could wind up like this, you also have to worry that some schmuck might come along and take a picture of you and post it on the internet. I blurred her face-that’s not the drugs.
Alex– I had high hopes for her. She’d lost her dog earlier in the day, and that can be a pretty sobering event, but that didn’t stop her. I let her borrow my phone to check the county animal shelter for strays that came in. She used the opportunity to create a digital Lost Dog poster, but couldn’t contact any friends who might have had pictures of him. She also registered with the shelter to be alerted to dogs of similar size/breed/sex/description when they came in. She used my email address to sign up, which wasn’t the brightest move, but at least she signed up. I felt bad for her, of course. Losing a pet is awful. Then she pulled out a wad of foil and asked someone for a lighter. My hopes weren’t completely dashed–there are a lot of users who just need one sobering event to get back on track. Then she started telling me how this was CPS all over again–how she’d had her daughter stolen from her by the government “… over some b****t that happened.” Completely dashed. Her daughter’s in foster care and she’s worried about her damn puppy?
David– He’d been sitting in the sun for hours, unable to walk due to terrible swelling in his lower legs and feet. He’d been perched on a short wall alongside the street, and he’d amassed some bottled water, snack foods, and ice from passers-by. At first, I thought it was a pretty good gig, suffering through some heat in trade for sympathy donations, but after an hour sitting in the sun, I asked about him. They said he’d been there since morning. It was after 2 p.m. I went to check on him and discovered his ailment, condition, and general circumstances. He’d soaked his t-shirt in a styrofoam cup with water, but it had fallen off the wall and couldn’t reach it. His speech was so slurred, it was difficult to understand what he wanted. I deciphered his rambling mumbling and grabbed the cup for him. Next issue: getting him out of the sun.
Reuben– An amputee, Reuben spent most of his time in a wheelchair. Graciously, Reuben allowed me to use his chair to move David beneath a shade tree. He traded places with David, assuming his spot on the low wall in the sun. Such selflessness is uncommon whether in the tunnel or not. Unfortunately, he was in no mood for conversation when I brought his wheelchair back, other than to say that it was the second time he’d actually received his chair back in the last five times he’d loaned it out. Recurring selflessness in the face of past betrayal–I’ll be keeping an eye out for Reuben to see if I can get that chat.
Sammy– A retired gang member from a very large city, Sammy came to the desert in an attempt to live beyond thirty. He’s out of the gang, but still doing drugs on occasion. He has nothing and nobody, but he’s happy not to be looking over his shoulder all the time. He’s fit, young, and may have a future if he can kick the habit. I gave him the number in case he decides to become something nobody thought he’d become. I pray I’ll hear from him sometime soon.
Chewy– He’s a small, brindle Pug/Chiweenie mix. They emailed his picture from the shelter this evening. Another casualty of the war on drugs we’ve been losing since long before Nixon declared war. Alex’s step-mother’s phone number is in my phone, but she has no idea how to find her.
