Not Just A Story

“What am I going to do?” I asked myself.

Here I was with less than $20 in my account, $20 in my pocket and nowhere to go. And it was 3am. I looked down at my feet and noticed a slip of paper had fallen near my brake. When I picked it up I saw that it was a flier I had gotten earlier that day with the information for a shelter for women called Star of Hope. I called them up and asked if they had room for me.

“Yes we do. We have mats and blankets for tonight. You can sleep on the floor. Regular intake isn’t until Monday.”

“Ok, please give me directions and I will be there as soon as I find it.”

It’s just a place to sleep tonight until I can figure out what I’m going to do next. No big deal. It’s cold out. I’m sure it’ll be okay.

When I finally found the big building I parked my car and walked in. They asked for my ID and I signed a paper and they called me back into a large open room. The wallks were beautifully decorated with murals dedicated to Christian quotes.

A black man walked me to the area where there were about 15 women fast asleep on plastic mats on the floor, their personal belongings nearby. It was eerily quiet as I chose a mat by the wall, sat down and looked around. I spread my sheet over the mat and put my pillow case over my pillow.

I didn’t take off my shoes.

My eyes were so tired. My body ached. I needed rest but it didn’t come. I put my head on the pillow and closed my eyes. I couldn’t believe it. It was as though my life had become this story that led me instead of me leading it.

This is unreal. But for real.

I managed to lie still for two hours until some of the women began waking up. The emotion that coursed through my body as I watched them arise, one by one and head to the bathroom is nameless.

“Am I faking this?” I asked myself. “Why am I here?”

There’s no reason for me to be in a homeless shelter for women. I have plenty of family and friends. Why did I choose this?

I know. It’s pride. It’s pride that made me leave Atlanta. I didn’t want to have to start over there and depend on anyone’s help. I wanted to struggle on my own because I didn’t want to continue to be a burden to my friends. So now..I choose this for myself? Who am I to worry everyone to death because I can’t humble myself and admit I need help? Why the hell do I keep missing it? I try and try but damn..I keep missing whatever it is that keeps people functioning.

A blonde woman with a short sleeve shirt and black pants looks over at me. She doesn’t smile. She stares at me with hollow eyes. I can’t imagine what the story is behind them. My journalistic instinct wants to question her but the human side..the side that realizes that these women are more than just a story- causes a moment’s pause.

I’m here by choice. These women are not. If there was something I could do for them…Something I could do for them…Nothing I can do for them…I can’t even do for myself. I have a nice car outside. I have a sidekick. I have a laptop and a car full of clothes, some of which I had never even worn. I’m such a pretender! I’m so dumb! I hate myself!

Before my emotional side began to overwhelm me I stood up, grabbed my purse and rushed past the group of awakening women. I walked up to the front desk and asked the woman there if I could give my clothes to the women here.

“Sure. Just put them in the bin out front. We’ll sort them later and distribute them.”

I pulled my car to the front of the building and opened my trunk. I grabbed armful after armful of clothes and dumped them into the big bin. My old pin striped shirt. All of my suits. My favorite capris. My jackets. My dresses. All gone in a matter of minutes.

I cried as I said goodbye to half of my wardrobe. How do I fix this? This isn’t a social experiment. This is my life. I have to pull myself up out of this.

It’s easy for me to be hopeful because I KNOW that my end will be successful. I can wake up in a shelter and still smile knowing that this is only a leg of my journey and the uncertainty will not last forever.

I drove away in tears toward Downtown. I found a well lit spot at a gas station and pulled over. It was nearly 6am. The streets were still dark out. I turned off my headlights and looked at my cell phone.

Who could I call? Who could help me figure this out?

I’m so embarrased.

Shit.

I texted JB. Can I trust you? I asked him.

He texted me back. Ofcourse.

I called him back and told him what happened. He was quiet.

“I’m going to the hostel for the night. After that I’ll see what’s up.”

“Tee, tell me what you think the word humble means?”

“Huh? It means that you don’t think you’re better than someone else. What are you saying? I don’t think I’m better than anyone but I do expect more than most people from my life.”

“Just think about the word and decide what it means to you. That’s all I’m saying…”

I head over to the hostel and say hello to the woman at the front desk. I ask her if I can trade my stereo for a few nights at the hostel.

“I don’t see why not,” she tells me. “But you’ll have to check with the owner first. She’ll be here in two hours. Hey…You look tired. Why don’t you go ahead and take a nap on the couch. It’s okay. Get some rest.”

~sigh~

Thank you.

I walked over to the couch, removed my shoes and placed my head on the arm rest.

And then I slept.

Hard.

Even more deeply than Snow White after the dwarfs got her drunk.

When I woke up it was 12:30. I hopped up and walked over to the office where there was a sign that read: BE BACK AFTER 5.

Well…At least I can take a shower here. I went out to my car and go a change of clothes, showered and got dressed.

“I know..I’ll head over to the internet cafe and hang a little while until the lady comes back.”

Before I could pull off I get a phone call from Kia, the woman from Houston who had come to help me with my car and take me to dinner.

“What you doing?” she asks.

“Girl,” I say and laugh as if I have a juicy story to tell but I’m secretly embarrassed. “You won’t believe what happened.”

I cringe and relay my story to her. She interrupts when I get to the part about the shelter.

“You WHAT? Uh, uh! I know you are not acting like that when I TOLD you that I have a big four bedroom house that I live in all by myself. You are welcome to come and stay with me, Tee. You have to get over yourself and accept help!”

“Yeah.” I say aloud. Maybe this is what JB was getting at when he suggested I define the word humble.

“I’ll call you after the half time show. If you feel comfortable I will come by the hostel and you can follow me to my house.”

“Ok. I’ll think about it.”

I hang up and ride to the internet cafe. I chat with JB for most of the time I’m there. He is amazing. Sometimes I want to strangle him. But then…and this is weird…at the same time I want to have sex with him. I want to choke him and ride him simultanesously. Am I weird?

I wanna beat him up because he challenges me. But I love him for it.

“Tell me something,” he whispers into the phone. I love it when he says that!

“Um..” he pauses. “Do you think that you embrace struggle so that your story will turn out
better?”

“You don’t have to answer that now,” JB said slowly. “Think about it and call me later. Ok?”