I BELIEVE something wonderful is about to happen!
Safari for the Soul
I BELIEVE something wonderful is about to happen!
Safari for the Soul
Have you every fallen, and the impact not hurt?
Nope; me either.
Some falls hurt less than others.
Sometimes we can break the fall,
Sometimes we brace ourselves for the fall.
Sometimes we can roll on the impact…it still hurts.
Some falls will have you laying in the rocks unable to move for a moment easing self up, shaking inside.
Other falls allow us to jump up survey the damage, brush self off and keep moving, yes.
Feeling the pain, seeing the scars, watching the blood drip; the soreness, the hurt the morning after.
Why the fuck would you fall in love when you can walk into it?
I walked into the meeting, paused for a moment scanning the room to locate an empty seat.
A voice said, “Hey you.” I felt his tone; glanced down in front of me; saw the look in his eyes. I felt one of the four brick walls surrounding my heart crash to the ground…the smoke made my weak.
He moved his briefcase from the seat next to him motioning for me to sit next to him.
I exhaled as I sat back; relaxing into this feeling of complete ease.
He put his arm around me drawing me closer to him. Almost whispering in my ear, “I love your hair.”
The chemistry strong undeniable–the ease of the conversation that followed.
Our exchange of glances; eyes sparkling; getting lost in his grand piano smile.
Exchanges of calls and texts. Such laughter sharing life moments.
I woke one morning remembering those that I have been forced to love from a long distance.
The brick wall suddenly built back now surrounded with a moat.
Jayne slid into driver seat of her 2015 white Lincoln MKZ, plugged her iPhone 6s Plus into the USB, selected R.H.R.’s CD from her play list, added her destination to her GPS, put on her seat belt, took the ponytail holder out of her hair; checked the time on her two carat diamond studded Bolova, started the vehicle, opened the panoramic roof, and pulled out of the airport parking lot headed towards her new home along Kalanianaole Highway; a 23-minute drive.
The feel of the trade winds rushing though the open windows was exhilarating, Jayne exhaled. In her excitement she turned right instead of left; the traffic light ahead of her changed to red. Jayne looked around then smiled when she saw the marina.
This would make a great photo shoot Jayne thought. She looked around for the street name to make a mental note when a rusted chain linked fence surrounding a vacant building caught her eye. The fence ran the length of the block on the main street then wrapped around the corner down the side street. The sign read Dead End. Blue tarps and tents tied to the chain linked fence, lining the sidewalk as far as Jayne could see.
A rusted five-pound coffee can sit on the sidewalk with a sign leaning against the side of the first tarp. It read, “I am a veteran; any amount of money you can spare will help, thank you, God bless.” Next to the blue tarp stood a red tent. An old woman swept away leaves and picked up paper out front. A younger Hawaiian woman stood on the sidewalk brushing her toddler’s hair back into a ponytail. Two other small children were racing down the street.
The sound of car horns jolted Jayne. The red light was now green. Jayne pulled off—the sun no longer bright and warm against her skin, the trade winds felt thick. Jayne pulled out of traffic into a gas station, parked and turned off the car; turned off the music. Jayne sat there in silence; her mind racing. She had been on the island several times for work over the last couple of years, but she had never seen anything like that. Jayne grabbed her red Prada Galleria bag off the floor next to her. She mindlessly walked down the isles of the gas station, headed to the refrigerator section and bought a bottle of Fuji water. She leaned against her SUV sipping the water and gathering her thoughts. She took a screen shot of the GPS, then headed home.
“Turn left onto Kalanianaole Highway, your destination will be on the right,” the GPS instructed. Jayne stopped at the gate entered her security code and smiled as she watched the white wrought iron entry doors slide open. She left her luggage in the laundry room then paused in the doorway of the den to appreciate the curved staircase made with iron balusters.
Jayne headed to the lanai, slipped off her ivory and grey Prada sneakers and laid down on the blue chaise lounge allowing her head to sink into the pillow. She closed her eyes and listened to the waves of the tide roll into the beach then back out.
It was dark when Jayne opened her eyes. She had been sleep for hours. The flight from the East Coast had taken eleven hours. Groceries would be her first priority in the morning.
Jayne strolled into Safeway grabbed a red cart, put her reusable bags in the basket, her grocery list on top, then scanned the store for the dairy aisle. Jayne searched the refrigerated shelves for her favorite brand of orange juice. As she reached for it her arm stopped in midair—the price affixed to the shelf read $12.99. Jayne stepped back and looked at the rest of the price tags on the shelf. They were all the same give or take a few cents. She rolled her eyes and sighed. “I am not paying $12.99 for orange juice,” speaking out loud. Jayne’s stroll turned into a slow walk as she pushed her cart down the aisle headed to the produce department.
The bright yellow letters outlined in red over the tomatoes read, SALE! As she approached the Roma tomatoes she frowned, removed her head phones and laid them on top of her bag “$5.99 a pound,” Jayne sighed a long sigh. “This is not a sale!” A woman with blonde hair, bright red lipstick, wearing a white maxi dress standing behind her giggled. “You are new to the Island,” she asked. Jayne shook her head, yes. “You will get used to the prices, darling,” she spoke with an accent. “I had the same experience when I started coming here, that was 25 years ago.” Jayne responded, “I refuse to pay $5.99 for a tomato.” This time the woman laughed and extended her hand. “My name is Alyssa, I am from Queens, New York.” Jayne shook her hand, “It is great to meet you Alyssa.” “I’m Jayne, from Brooklyn.” Alyssa smiled, “We are family!” Alyssa pulled out a pen and paper, “We must get together for lunch I have a condo in Waikiki.” “I am headed to a friend’s this morning for breakfast.” Alyssa continued, “If you want good prices on food you must shop in China Town, but go early.” “Most of the shops close before noon.” “Parking over there is hell—Lower Manhattan style, darling.” Alyssa smiled again. “It is cheaper to eat out if you know where to eat, I will teach you when I have time, I better run I don’t want to be late.”
Alyssa was right—Lower Manhattan China Town on the Island of O’ahu. The one way streets, looking out for the pedestrians, and trying to find a parking space—so New York.
Blocks away from China Town Jayne found a parking space. There was a park on the corner; Aala International Park. Jayne could see China Town in the distance. She headed to the walkway that snaked through the park. It was early spring the trees were in bloom, playground equipment for the children and large open spaces with park benches throughout. Suddenly Jayne was overcome with the foul smell of urine. She held her breath and picked up her pace. As she got closer to the monkey bars she saw towels and clothing hanging over the bars to dry, a couple was sitting on a bench nearby.
Cardboard was in a pile and tied with rope it laid in the grass alone side several plastic grocery bags. A man sleeping, a woman sitting across from him, a pile of cardboard underneath her, in one hand a brown paper bag, it was rolled down neatly and hugged a can, a cigarette in the other, she smiled at Jayne as she rushed by. Many people were sitting in the grass, some gathered in a small groups talking, others off to themselves; a few engaged in conversation with the wind or an imaginary person sitting next to them. At the end of the park people were sitting on the concrete walls that surrounded the public bathrooms. There was a small hill just beyond the edge of the park, a canal at the bottom–Nuuana Stream. Jayne remembered the tents and tarps on the dead-end street. Jayne forced to stop at the corner—oncoming traffic. As Jayne reached the other side she said out loud, “This is not my problem.”
Finally home after a long work day, Jayne flipped the channels until she found the local news. A brunette with dark eyes was reporting; with a tone of seriousness and a look of concern she said, “Tom Brower, The State Representative, was attacked by a gang of homeless people while walking though one of the camps.” “He was taken to a nearby hospital, and later released.” “Representative Brower states he is not going to press charges against his attackers.” Jayne turned off the television, showered and got in bed. She laid there remembering the dead-end street and the top of the hill of the canal by China Town. They are all alcoholics, crazies, and drug addicts she thought, and drifted off to sleep.
Jayne woke at four twenty-three a.m. The story of the homeless attackers still on her mind. She searched the internet for the story, mapped her route, put her camera batteries in the charger, went through her morning routine waiting for daylight.
She found a parking space on Lana Lane across from the Porsche of Hawaii dealership. She could see tents from the car. She put her Olympus point and shoot in the back right pocket of her white denim shorts, pulled the baby blue shirt tail out of her shorts to conceal her pockets, slung her black camera backpack over her shoulder and ran across the street. Jayne’s stride slowed when she turned onto Cooke Street by Kaka’ako Makai Gateway Park.
A little girl with uncombed brunette hair emerged from a tent. A long pink My Kitty t-shirt hung to her knees, a blue and red beach towel draped over her shoulder; a white plastic shopping bag swung from her left wrist, she clutched clothes against her stomach. She walked past a couple of tents, stopped and waited. A taller girl in blue shorts, white Camisole top and blue flip-flops emerged from the green tent. The taller girl also had a towel, tan plastic bag, and a change of clothes. As the two of them walked towards the street other girls in their age group joined them. Jayne walked on. She could hear someone sweeping up ahead. The sun now in her eyes.
In the middle of the block there was a woman sweeping. She had long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail with a yellow scrunchie, long loose strands of hair fell down her forehead. She was wearing a yellow sun dress with white plumeria lei flowers on it. The center of the flowers matched the yellow background of her dress. As Jayne passed her she smiled, and said “Hello.” Jayne watched her sweep the trash onto a piece of cardboard then she dumped it into the black mesh aluminum trash can lined with a white plastic bag at the side of her tent.
Two teen-aged boys on bikes stopped in front of a large heavy-duty black vinyl tarp tent. The front of the tarp rolled up and tied off. There were several black vinyl tarps attached to each other; a back, two sides, one used as a ceiling and the rolled up one in front. Inside of the tarp there was a man standing behind a counter (it was a door placed on top of two tall wooden stools.) A boy sat on a wooden stool at the end of the counter with a bowl of food in front of him. He swung his legs back and forth as he ate. Red, blue, and green ice coolers stacked four coolers high and three coolers long were behind the man standing at the counter. He opened one, handed each teen a can, the taller boy handed him money and they left.
There were wood flats stacked with cases of bottled water, soda, and juice. As Jayne slowed her pace, the man rushed from behind the counter came outside, smiled and said, “Good morning,” then disappeared into the tarp next to the first one—identical in structure. The next moment Jayne heard Donnie McClurkin singing Stand. The volume at a level that could be heard for blocks. Jayne stopped and looked back at the tarp. At the end of the second black tarp were five portable generators, pots and pans, three four burner hot plates and two grills for outdoor cooking, car batteries, jumper cables, and two stacks of green plastic chairs. Jayne walked on, discretely taking pictures.
She found herself at the end of Ohe Street. A muscular middle-aged black man was taking his trash to a dumpster at the edge of the grass. Jayne approached his light blue vinyl tarps. The front was tied back to allow the trade winds to pass through to the second tarp that was open on the far end. Inside the tarps framed art hung from wire grid panels. The art spaced to divide one area from another. The largest framed art work was a picture of Jesus knocking on a door holding a lamb. Across from the picture there were three leather computer chairs. The first two chairs had red rectangular milk crates sitting between them. In a stack of four. The bottom shelf was full of CD’s. The two middle shelves housed family photographs; a couple were antique. The top shelf had books, writing tablets, and a pencil holder full of pencils and markers. The third high back computer chair looked like it was a Herman Miller Mirra Chair, it sat alone facing the other chairs.
There was a mattress and box spring on the floor with a thick black throw rug in the middle of the tarp. His bed housed a red comforter with five pillows all with a red pillow sham. Against the back of the tarps were rows of jeans on hangers hung on wire grid panels. Three rows in all. Shoe boxes were stacked six rows across and four rows high, giving the jeans enough space at the bottom to hang free.
There was a bookcase facing the bed, the bottom shelf had sweaters and sweat shirts folded neatly. The fourth shelf had t-shirts folded in rows of three stacked to the top of the shelf; all color coordinated. The third shelf housed wife beaters and shorts. The second shelf was for his boxer briefs and socks. On the top of the book-case sat a white Big Ben alarm clock with silver trim and bells, glow in the dark hands and numbers, and an open bible.
Outside the end of the second tarp there was a stainless steel step trash can, a two burner hot plate, three generators, gas cans, iron skillet, and pots and pans stacked in black milk crates. He also had a silver Cannondale bicycle locked to itself with several chains. He was walking back from the trash dumpster, their eyes met. He smiled and said, “Good morning, it is another beautiful day in paradise, isn’t it?” Jayne smiled and said, “Yes, yes it is!” As Jayne got closer to the edge of the park her nostrils filled with the foul smell of garbage. She moved quickly into the grass and half way up the hill. The girls that had disappeared out of her view earlier were returning to the camp site. Some with wet hair, all of them in fresh cloths; several conversations were taking place between them. Two of the smaller girls were racing down the hill. One of the older girls was yelling after them to stop before someone got hurt.
A group of women of various ages had gathered in the park at the bottom of the hill. Some of them were sitting on blankets, others were standing; waiting for the girls to join them. Jayne stood there and watched the winner run into her mother’s arms almost knocking her down from the impact of her speed. They hugged. Jayne could hear the mother scolding her daughter for running down the hill. The little girl, “Oh Mommy I won, I won today,” she continued to laugh.
Milk crates in various colors were stacked against the back of the tents. Each girl hung her towel over a section of a milk crate. One of the towels had the words The Beverly Hills Hotel and Bungalows written in blue on it. A group of boys started walking towards the hill. Each of them with a towel, change of clothing, and white or tan plastic shopping bag in their hand or thrown over a shoulder. Jayne walked through the middle of the park. As Jayne passed the women, each one acknowledged her with a cheerful “Hello,” smile, or nod.
There was a couple sitting at a park table across the street, they spoke to Jayne as she approached them; the woman white—in her early fifties, the man, Latino about the same age. She said, “Good morning!” “How are you today?” Jayne used the opportunity to ask if she could sit with them for a moment. Jayne introduced herself and extended her hand. The woman introduced the man, Oliver, and then herself; Fiona. As Jayne removed her camera backpack and placed it on the bench next to her Fiona said, “Did you get some good pictures this morning?” “Yes, I believe I did.” Jayne responded. Fiona continued, “We’ve been watching you all morning.” A little surprised, Jayne said, “You have, why?” Oliver spoke, “A new face, and no belongings other than your camera bag, are you a reporter?” “No,” Jayne said. “I am a photographer.”
Oliver studied Jayne’s face for a moment then said, “We figured after yesterday we would have reporters and more police over here, is that why you are here?” Before Jayne could respond Fiona said, “We moved here from California over a year ago.” “We were having a hard time keeping a place in California.” “The landlord kept raising our rent.” “The woman at the housing office told us things were better here in Hawaii, so we used our SSDI checks to buy plane tickets.” “SSDI checks, what is that?” Jayne asked. Oliver responded, “Social Security Disability Insurance.”
Fiona continued, “After we got here our social security benefits were cut in half.” “In California our income was $2,299.00 a month.” “They put us on a waiting list for housing too.” “Said people with children would get housing first.” “We been here 18 months now, the woman in California lied.” Jayne’s head turned toward Fiona. “It cost more to live in Hawaii than in California, why would they cut your money?” In unison they said, “They said the state of Hawaii does not pay that much.”
Fiona went back to her story. “I have been homeless most of my adult life.” “My mamma put me out when I was 15 because her boyfriend was trying to have relations with me.” “I ain’t got no other family so all I could do was live on the street.” “When I turned 16 I got a job working fast food.” “I was doing okay too.” “Me and two of my coworkers moved into a studio apartment together.” “I kept saving my money and working, I was going to be the manager some day.” “Then one day I fell on a count the floor was slick from grease.” “I was hurt bad.” She raised her shirt to show Jayne the scars on her back and right side from the surgeries. She went on, “I got addicted to pain killers, couldn’t stand for long periods of time anymore and I couldn’t pay my rent so I had to go back to living on the street.” “Then I met Oliver.” “He got me to stop the drugs.” “He helped me get SSDI too, Oliver is a veteran.”
Oliver spoke, “We been together 20 years now.” His weary brown eyes glowed when he looked at Fiona. Fiona grinned from ear to ear, she had no front teeth upper or lower. Her finger nails were long, uneven, chipped, and caked with dirt underneath. Fiona has long blonde hair and green eyes. She stood about 5’5”, and skinny as a rail. Fiona was wearing one of those cheap tourist t-shirts, (you can buy 9 t-shirts for 20 bucks at most of the tourist shops on the island.) It was red with an iron transfer that said, Hawaii in the black brush script font, a pair of non-designer black gym shoes with a pair of jeans, the thighs frayed, the white strings blew with the breeze.
A younger white woman was walking by. Fiona stopped talking to greet her and asked her how her mom was feeling this morning. She stopped just long enough to update Fiona and Oliver, said she had to get back then disappeared into a tent in front of them, it was off by itself.
Fiona then turned her body to face Jayne and lowered her voice. “Her mamma just returned from the hospital, she dying from cancer and needs to be in hospice, but won’t no place let her daughter come too, so she came back here to die.” “They been homeless a long time.” “How did they become homeless?” Jayne asked. “Her daddy died, wasn’t no insurance money to bury him, wasn’t no money left for her and her mamma.” “When Simone was in 10th grade her mamma got sick.” “Simone got a job at a Times Supermarket.” “It wasn’t enough to pay all the bills so they ended up on the street.” “Simone’s mamma didn’t know she could get SSDI or public housing.” “Simone didn’t finish school and now she won’t work because she got to take care of her dying mamma.” Tears began to fill the wells of Jayne’s eyes. She cleared her throat. Fiona caught her breath. Oliver patted her hand. They sat in silence, then Jayne asked,“Fiona, are there a lot of families here?” She looked over her shoulder and said, “See those tents going up that street, we call that Family Hill.” “We try to keep all the families close together and in the middle of the camp, most of them take turns watching each other’s children while they at work, looking for work, go to a housing appointment, the food pantry, or to use the shower up over the hill.” “The street behind it in both directions full of families too; we call it Family Alley.” “Four or five mamma’s will go over the hill early in the morning to shower.” “We go in groups so we can watch out for each other, then the girls, then the boys and they dad’s.”
Surprised, “The city provides showers for the homeless people?” Jayne asked. Fiona laughed. “Just over that hill is the beach.” Public parks and beaches have bathrooms and shower stalls, you know for the swimmers and surfers or whatever.” “That’s why we stay close to the beaches or parks—at least we can shower every day and we can fill up our water jugs when we can’t buy bottled water.” “The city did bring over a portable toilet, they come clean it every day too, but that’s one toilet and there’s hundreds of people over here.”
Jayne pulled herself out of the slouched position she had fallen into and said, “It is my understanding a lot of people are homeless because they on drugs or alcohol.” Fiona cut in and said, “Don’t forget the crazies!” Then Oliver said, “This is a family community.” “If we know you over here because you got a drug or alcohol problem, we make it known we do not want you here, we don’t need that bad element—it’s babies here.” “The drug addicts and alcoholics stay over by China Town where they can beg the tourist for money.” “We back here trying to survive and stay out-of-the-way of the police.”
Oliver paused for a moment, “Listen, most of the people over here hardworking law-abiding people.” “Many of them have jobs.” “There are many reasons people came to lose their homes.” “Some loss their job because the business closed and the unemployment check wasn’t enough.” “Seven families over here because the owner died, left his properties to his greedy daughter, she sold the properties and the new owner raised the rent, some here because they mate left them for someone else, taking half the income with them.” “It’s a family with five kids living over here because the dad got hurt on his landscaping job, he couldn’t work any more, the landlord raised the rent, so they moved into their SUV to save enough to move, then the wife got fired because she wasn’t getting to work on time, trying to get the kids to school from over here, now they stuck.” “Some here because they were one paycheck away from being on the street and the one paycheck ended.” “It’s a lot of reasons people become homeless.” “Some here are veterans, like me.”
Fiona added, “Its people over here working three jobs, saving to get the rent, security, and application fee, it takes time…it just ain’t enough.” “When our money runs out for the month I go beg, Oliver can’t go, people won’t give him money because he’s a man.” Jayne asked, “How many tents are here?” Oliver spoke. “At the end of May it was 198, see those three tents over there?” “They just showed up yesterday, but the last time I counted we had 219 tents.” “See all the people starting to gather in the park, the county going to bring all of us a hot lunch soon.” “The shelters don’t have enough beds and those that do want to force you into a drug or alcohol program just to sleep there at night and sit through their classes during the day when you don’t have a problem other than no job.” Jayne sighed, Oliver and Fiona sighed. Jayne said, “I was watching the news last night a State Representative was attacked by a gang of homeless people over here.”
Oliver and Fiona laughed out loud. Oliver said, “He lucky we didn’t string him up for supper,” “They said a gang of people,” Oliver laughed again, “It was two of the teenagers that recognized who he was.” “He’s a mean man, he was walking down the streets with a video camera in his hand, pointing it in people’s faces, and talking.” “He the same man that came through here a while back with a sledgehammer, took all the shopping carts, he tore a lot of the tarps down, and had a garbage truck trying to take all of our stuff, told us he didn’t want us in his ward, we should move to the other side of the island.” “The dirty bastard.”
Fiona said “Oliver we best be getting across the street before the truck comes so we can line up otherwise we won’t get a lunch.” The three of them stood at the same time, Jayne thanked them for talking to her. Fiona said, “You can come visit us anytime, you welcome here.” Jayne thanked Oliver and Fiona, crossed the street back into the park and over the hill towards the bathrooms. Jayne used the GPS on her phone to measure the distance from the homeless camp to the bathroom…it read 0.5 miles.
Two hours ago I settled down at my desk to work. Positive attitude, positive energy flowing. The phone rang. I smiled so the caller would feel my joy.
Within four minutes I got annoyed. After five minutes I was pissed. 30 seconds later I was angry. By the time seven minutes rolled in I was ready to draw my sword and take the caller’s head off. We ended the call. I tossed my phone on the bed, mumbling to myself, “There is a difference between being hard headed and being stupid!” I walked out of my room feeling rage.
Suddenly I caught myself and said, “I prayed not more than 30 minutes ago to accept those things and those people that are what and who they are, please give me the wisdom and peace to know the difference.”
Instead of allowing the stupidity of another’s actions to throw me off my game, I put my things in a bag–all my quarters, my singles, and my camera; took the stairs four flights to the ground floor and out the building. I held the door for someone entering.
Took my camera out, and shot a piece of nature. By the time I walked across the baseball field to reach the other street I had calmed myself.
Standing at the red light I saw more of God’s beauty and captured a few more shots. Went to the bank, made my deposit, then back on the sidewalk seeing even more beauty on this windy 48 degree spring day. I took a few more shots then found myself taking the long way back to the apartment. I realized as I shot that I am in control of me. As long as I remember that I am blessed with an open mind.
I cannot, I should not get angry with one less fortunate. I need to embrace that person with love, hand them over to God and move forward so I can maintain a clear head and a close to pure heart.
I remain a work in progress.
Play nice with the other children on the playground of life. Do not get angry, do not get even. Hand them and you over to God.
A homeless man laid on the ground against a gray concrete building in the City. It was 37 degrees this morning. He was sleeping, suddenly his body jerked hard wakening him violently. He sat up and started yelling, “Get away from me.” “Get away from me.” As the passersby moved to the far end of the sidewalk, he motioned wildly with his arms and hands, still yelling, “Get away from me!”
After a few moments he reached behind the marble pillar he was using to shield his face from the street and pulled out of fifth of SMIRNOFF vodka. It was a quarter full. He took a swig then slowly screwed the top back on it, gently put it back in it’s hiding place. When his hands could be seen again he removed a Newport 100, and lit it with a black bic lighter. He sat in silence taking an occasional drag from the cigarette. Again, he started jerking his arms and waving his hands for the imaginary person to leave his space. He was speaking in a volume that could not be heard beyond where he was sitting on the ground against the gray concrete and marble building. Just as suddenly as he started jerking his arms and waving his hands he stopped. He finished his Newport and flicked it towards the street.
At least one hundred people had passed by him on the sidewalk by now. Many not looking in his direction. A young blonde haired male with black earphones looked at him with disgust as he passed, slowing his stride as he got closer to him to get a better look.
A man in a navy blue wool hat and matching parka strolled down the street. He was carrying a metallic blue stainless steel water bottle in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other slowed his walk as he approached the homeless man. He stopped and smiled at him, handed him the brown paper bag, bid him a good day and walked on. The homeless man looked in the bag then placed it on the outside of the marble pillar. He reached behind the pillar to retrieve the SMIRNOFF bottle, took another swig and put it back, again with a Newport in his hand. He sat and smoked in silence.
People walked up and down the block some rushing to work, a few carrying gym bags, others walked holding a dog leash, their dog at their side. A woman in a mink, a man in a navy pea coat using a blind person’s cane as his guide.
A small girl wearing a pink coat, white scarf, colorful beads adorning her braids looked into her father’s eyes as they got closer to the man, neither said a word. He handed her something. When they got to the man sitting on the cold ground against the building they stopped. She handed him money that was carefully folded in her hand, tears in her eyes she said, “I love you.” The homeless man said nothing as he accepted the money she held out to him. The father fought back his tears, they walked on in silence. The little girl looked up at her father and smiled. He took her hand and they walked on down the street.
The homeless man turned to watch them until he could not see them any longer. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a stack of folded bills. He unfolded his money exposing 20’s, 10’s, 5’s and one dollar bills. He unfolded the money the girl with the braids handed him. He separated the five dollar bill from the single one, put them in their proper place in his stack and put the money back in his pocket.
Just then another man walked up and handed the homeless man a large iced coffee from Starbuck’s and a straw and walked on without a word. The homeless man discarded the white paper from the straw beside him on the ground took a big sip then placed the iced coffee on the window ledge above his head.
As I sat in the warmth of the car ten feet from the homeless man I looked closer at his clothing. He was wearing brown and white suede sneakers not worn or dirty other than the heel of the shoe where it rested against the sidewalk. He had on black socks, a pair of black jeans, not worn or dirty other than the dirt acquired from laying on the ground. He had on a black sweatshirt that appeared to be dirty from laying on the ground as well. His hands were ashy from the cold dry air of the morning.
I looked at the clock on the dash of the car as I turned the key in the ignition to warm the car again. It was 8:50 a.m. I had been sitting there since 7:08 a.m. waiting for my friend to return from her early appointment. The homeless man laid down, crossed his his left leg over his right leg. He rested his left arm over his forehead, and his right arm across his stomach. Five feet away from the homeless man, a man stopped with his dog so he could pee and take a crap on the sidewalk. The homeless man never moved.
The street of passersby began to get quiet as it was now nine a.m. Those that did pass him speeded up their pace as they got closer. A jogger in black running shoes with a white and neon green top flew by the homeless man. He turned on his side shielding his face from the sun and the passersby. He began to tap his foot as if he could hear music.
I saw my girl friend come around the corner. Time to put my paper away and get back in the passenger seat.
Walking back from the post office with a song in my heart and a twinkle in my eye a man stopped me and said, “If we were in my homeland I would take you.” I stood frozen for a moment processing what he said to me. I responded, “That line may be effective for you with some women, but not this woman.” “You need to thank God this is not your homeland because five seconds after you put your hands on me you would be telling Jesus I said Hi.”
What is wrong with men that they actually believe we find flattery in them wanting to bed us?
Most straight men would have sex with all of us…each time I say this to a man he’s never attempted to say, that is not true.
Someone said to me today, “I wish someone would give to me the way I give to others.” I responded, “It does not work that way.” “As long as you are giving because you expect something in return, you are not giving from your heart but from selfishness.”
I was having an MRI done. When the tech finished she said, “I kept looking at you and looking at your chart, I kept telling the others this birth year is wrong.” I laughed. “No, it’s correct.” She said, “What is your secret to looking so young?” This was a great moment to sell her my skin care line. Instead I said, “Give to others from your soul, in pure love, give because your giving is needed.” She said, “your eyes sparkle, you look so innocent.” Again I laughed, “There is nothing innocent about me, I am pure in that I deal from the love within me or I deal from the evil that is within me.” “I prefer to show love, when it is not accepted I walk away.” I rather people not know me as evil.”
After my dentist looked at my x-rays he began to tell me what his plan of action is to fix the problem. I said, “I appreciate all that you are going to do; however, do not put anything in my mouth that is going to affect my oral skills.”
We got on the elevator at the Trump Plaza Hotel headed to our room. A singing group got on the elevator with us. One of them looked me up and down, then down and up. He said, “You have beautiful legs.” Before I could say thank you, my companion said, “Thank you.” He looked at me, I nodded my head, just enough to acknowledge that I knew he was speaking to me. He smiled.
Then someone else in the group said, “I heard we are working the Donald Trump party Christmas Eve. A couple of the members of the group let out a long sigh.
After that elevator ride when they were doing a show in my state my companion from the elevator would call me and say, “Everyone is asking for you!” “The guys keep asking me, where is your cool sister?” “She is coming to see us, right.” “You have to come see them.” I asked her to give everyone my love but to express to them that I’m really not into that.”
I learned two things from that experience. First, regardless to them being Grammy winners more times than I can count, they are still the hired help. Second, being humble makes me “cool”.
relationships. From the perspective of being a mother. My children are adults. I do not have the energy to be mommy to when I was not the best mommy to my children.
Besides, you see the word mantic in romantic, yes.
mean I have nothing to say.
It means I do not feel you are ready to feel my thoughts.
I am selfish, yes.
“If I die before you do, are you coming to my funeral?”
“Why would I do that?” A look of hurt and confusion came over his face.
“To pay your respect.” He said.
“To pay my respect?” “Respect.” “Hmmm.” “Your actions towards me have not been with respect.” “No, I would not come to your funeral.”
He stood in silence for a moment a look of helplessness came over him. “But you love me.”
She smiled, “Remember when I said, some day I am going to put my feelings for you where they belong.” “That day has come.”
When you see me working. Do not say, “Do you want some help?” Either step in and help without permission or remain silent and out of the way.
Asking me, “Do you want some help?” mean’s you do not want to help me do anything. You are simply being polite. Something that does not fit with one busy with a task.
“Do you touch yourself?” He asked.
“No.” “It only leaves me wanting more.” She responded.
“Come here, and play with yourself while I watch.” He said.
“Why?” She asked.
“So I know how.” He responded.
He leaves me feeling his soul
Is it just me?
When I drink wine, the glass needs to remain clean.
When I drink wine the glass needs to remain half empty.
He said, “You can slow dance.”
“Actually, no I cannot.” “Sure you can.” He said. “It is a two step.”
A friend told me I should write about my New York experiences. I laughed.
All my New York experiences involve men.
He said, “More reason to write.”
“I can tell that I missed a good relationship in you.” He said.
“Why do you say that?” I responded.
“Because I can feel a dose of tenderness in your voice.” He said, “Come here, let me give you a dose of how I feel about you.” His laughter followed.
“Shut up, you are messing up my flow.”
He said, “Come here let me mess up your hair!”
Know what you need to know about me.
I have lied. I have been lied on–learned early that lies hurt.
I have stolen; not because I had to but because I wanted to know I would not be caught. Did it twice to make sure. Took it back–put it back.
I have cheated. I have been cheated on. I learned the pain I inflicted was cruel.
I committed murder too. Yes I did. It was inconvenient to my life otherwise.
Know what you need to know about me.
I tried to bust Hell wide open, more than once. When I walked into a church the walls bled.
You are going to hear many things about me. A lot of it is true.
You want to know me, ask me.
There we were. Sitting in that damn hospital all day, everyday. Waiting. Waiting for Mommy to wake up.
My niece felt it would be a good time to ask me questions about her mom. I sat there asking myself why this child needed someone else to confirm her relationship or the lack there of with her mother. For day’s this child sat next to me saying things about her childhood. Things she remembered. Things that were not so clear. I sat there in silence wondering why she needed me to say anything. After all she was present with that woman far more than I was, right.
I remained silent. One evening my niece decided to tell me things her Mother told her about me. Nothing positive, of course. Still I remained silent. Stupid me, I thought there was a loyalty among sister’s.
Know what happens when you push a loyal person to the point of them not caring?
They take their finger tips to the keys to relieve the stress of the bull shit of all the yesterday’s. Stay tuned folks. It’s my story and I am going to tell it as it actually is-was.
We were pulling up to the ATM when he responded, “Well since we are no longer competing with each other.”
My mouth agape as I processed the words. “Now that we aren’t competing…” I said, “Competing, Michael, competing!” “What were we competing against?” “Which one of us suck’s dick better?” “This is what’s been wrong with our relationship.”
“Motha Fucker, it is not a competition when both parties are not made aware that it’s a competition.”
I got a in box from my sister last week. The reaction of my action.
She called me a “drama queen”. From that moment to this one I search for the drama queen in me.
I do react to hurt rather loud. Probably because I take so long to react. It has taken me 48 years to react to her abuses. I search for a different word but I cannot come up with one.
I am having a learning experience as I write. She leaves me feeling abused.
The part I hate the most, the part that makes me so angry. What the fuck is wrong with me that I took so much for so long? All I come to is Richard and Alice.
“We going to get to know each other in here tonight.” Gladys Knight said that a few times during her performance. She has an amazing energy amazing story. I drift off my…
I say that to say, I cannot afford a shrink so I shall take my pen to hand and then my finger tip’s to keys. Sometimes a life story, sometimes a passing thought. Other times I will share a current life event. A subway ride, perhaps. Going to spend time in the present, time in the past, time in the present.
Did I mention I live in New York? Brooklyn, New York. Yes, a Ohioan in New York. In a few months I will be a true New Yorker. Three years allows me to say, I am a New Yorker.
Things happen. I need to unload, unburden, un care.
I glided along the pier shooting the sunset. The sound of the tide underneath me. The wind blowing my hair against my face causing my locks to blow across my lens. I stopped to drop my camera bags and get another shot.
“Perfect,” I whisper as I raise my head away from my viewer to that of a man approaching me wearing a ivory cardigan stained drips of something that missed his mouth. It was buttoned to expose his waistline bulging though each space between the buttons. In his left hand he carried a cup of food, in the other a old gray and white plaid suitcase that no longer closed properly–dirty fabrics stuck out from both sides. His faded blue pants were frayed at the bottom from resting between his heel and gray corduroy slippers. He did not raise his feet from the ground as he walked, instead making that annoying sliding sound with his feet.
He smiled as he approached me. I smiled back. His dirty blonde curls blew in the wind, a scruffy beard was growing on his face. His hazel eyes met mine–warmth felt. “Can you give me some change or a dollar to get some food?” “Sure.” I reached in my pocket and reached out to him with what I had there. Wishing I could ask him to wipe the corner of his mouth. He put his suitcase down to count it. I walked off the pier onto the sand. He continued onto the pier to ask others for cash.
I returned to the pier to shoot after dark photographs.
The beggar was leaving. As we passed I did not look at him he did not look at me.
I processed the entire moment of his asking me for change again and realized that cup of food he was holding was hot and homemade. The warmth in his eyes was actually a twinkle from the feeling of seeing me as a sucker. I laughed out loud and thought, he’s got a great hustle.
What is that saying, “Don’t hate the player”
I have thought more of you this day than in all the days we have known each other.
I wish we had more time.
The irony of it all.
Had you not let me go–two years seven months later; you are leaving me.
I never told you. My favorite style.
Watching you take your motorcycle helmet off; revealing the blue scarf tied around your head, your dark curls reaching down to touch the nape of your neck; priceless.
The Peace Officer goes thug.
I never told you. My favorite event.
When you rolled around the corner with your friends in that red Jeep and I was sitting on the back of the 325i waiting to whisk you away; hearing all about you strip club experience.
I never told you. My favorite glance.
Each time you looked at me, not then. Now when I remember.
I wish we had more time.
I love you. I want to keep loving you. I leave you now, so I keep loving you.
When our eyes meet again–I leave you now, so I love you then.