The Winds : The Times : The Pace : Nickles, Dimes and Pennies

Change.

Paul never took a shower because he never got another change of clothes. I have not seen him for months.

Gary still smokes crack, but has learned not to overdose on our property (lest he be suspended from our services again).

I am sure Rita's child has been born, and I pray that they are safe. May 12th was the last time I saw her... but not the last time I thought about her.

Rob doesn't pay child support for his son anymore, which has caused his greif to switch from his debt to his son's death.

BobbyJoel's police report successfully secured him a spot in the subsidized apartments he applied to. I hear a rumor that he has a really cool toaster oven that can cook frozen pizzas.

Jarrone and Christina are still together in a "agree to disagree" sort of way, but neither of them have their State ID's anymore.

Gerald came back to my office this week with another gift: a daffodil he uprooted from a nearby highway median. He handed it to me with a shaking hand and said "I'm sorry." Sorry because after almost 2 years of sobriety, he was drunk.

Paulie still drinks as much as he pleases, but has stopped looking for work and stopped pretending to go to school. Never stops smiling.

In this neighborhood, things change, and then sometimes, they change back. But they're always moving, and three years of employment in one place shows you much more than a month, or a year. I've seen the full run of a relationships, what happens after a stint in jail (and what doesn't), sobriety and relapse, and if I've learned anything, it's that change is a constant state, not a single event, but this doesn't mean that it doesn't count, or it's not effective. It's like the turn of a screw--you may look like you're at the same point as you were a year ago, but you're just a little bit deeper; a little bit closer to your destination.
Relapse is part of recovery; sometimes you have to step backward to maintain your balance.

Change.

Door, way

This morning I walked to work in the blizzard because I knew people were sleeping in it.

Yesterday, I tried to convince all of the regular campers, the die-hard-below-the-bridge-dwellers, to stay inside for the night. I told Gary and The Girl that they would only have to be apart for 10 hours, and they would be unconcious for most of them. I told Mr. Bentley he could make it a night without a drink. In insufficient Spanish, I argued with Guillermo that sleeping around a lot of other dudes wasn't so bad, and they would leave him alone. The funny thing was, they all seemed to be trying to talk each other into staying in as well--either caring more for each other than they did for themselves, or claiming that their reasons were better, that their addictions and phobias were stronger.
When I left, I hadn't pursuaded anyone.

So I walked to work this morning, with one specific detour in mind: Guillermo's doorway. I imagined finding him blue and cold and breathless, half-covered in snow. I imagined this so vividly and consistently that by the time I was on his block, in front of his hole, I just stood in the wind and the snow and stared at the mass of blue and white blankets, hardly believing he was there. Standing on the sidewalk, in the way of the relentless weather, I was so mad that he did this, that he insisted on staying here, that he was so stubborn and foolish. And then I stepped in his doorway, around the bottles and the box of doughnuts, and a shoe, and it was... warm. I turned my back to the door and looked out at the blowing snow and realized how safe a doorway could feel, especially when it was yours, and just yours. I bent down close enough to make sure Guillermo was snoring, and left him to sleep.

Clean

Latisha is finally clean.
She has been clean from crack for 6 months;
clean from lying for at least 2.

"When you's addicated, you don't care about nothin but that crack. It's all your damn brain can think about. You's going to say anything, do anything to get more. You even surprise yourself sometimes. You look at yourself, what you're doing, what all's comin out of your mouth, and you do you best to pretend it's not even you, because if if is, you's in big trouble. 'Cause to get crack, you'll say the craziest things, you don't even know how you came up with it.

You'd say you had a newborn baby and no diapers jus' so you could get some cash from some lovin' person who thinks babies is important and special.

You'd say you had no food or water or anything, and you probably don't, and then when you get a dolla or two, you still don't have no food, but you don't care--you know that dolla ain't goin to buy no sandwich and chips.

You'd say you's stranded and you're whole family's dyin of some aweful disease over in Georgia and you really just want to make it back for their funeral--and you hope maybe they'll give you even part of the money for the ticket so you can be high for a night.

You'd even say that your six kids all have this vision problem where they can't see shit, but they all's want to go to school and make somethin of the world, and won't you support our country's suffering youth so they can get some education? Won't you jus' give some money to get them some glasses?

Sometimes, I'd walk around with that cash in my pocket, and get halfway to an eyeglass place, lookin' for my six kids before I realized I made it all up. Crack makes you crazy, Anna. It makes you downright nuts, and if anyone deserves a crazy check* the most but needs one the least its people like me.

I'm tellin you this so you can see how good'a lies are out there. Somehow, Anna, you gotta see the lies and love the person anyway. But that don't mean you give them no money. That means you love them best by givin them a firm smack in the face.

Anna, maybe you shouldn't smack em in the face after all. I don't want you to get hurt or nothin. But I'm just sayin. I know what I'm talkin about. I tol' ya, I havn't lied for two months."