She didn't know if it was the knowledge that her long journey was almost over, or the sense that she was returning to a place a slice of her heart considered home, but something clicked in her chest and she could breathe deep again.
Friday, June 27, 2014
Monday, May 26, 2014
The Girl Who Watched
They were sitting on the coner of the street. The busy intersection thrummed with noise, but they lay there, propped against the wall, staring. Staring listlessly out at the people that passed by. If one of those people looked like they might be kind, or afraid, the boy would stir himself and ask if there was any spare change to be had. Mostly there wasn't.
She had been watching them for a couple days now. She'd take her daily walk at lunch and see them, supine and baking in the heat on the busy corner. The girl was a junkie, she never roused herself for anything but the little packets the boy bought for her with the money he begged. The boy didn't seem to use any drugs. Or alcohol. Or food. He took all the money he collected and bought the little baggies of powder and handed them over to the girl. Thankfully the people downtown were distrustful of homeless people, and gave the boy food instead of money sometimes; the girl wasn't interested in anything but the powder. The gir who watched thought maybe he'd never eat otherwise.
The girl who watched had made her decision a week ago. The boy could be saved, maybe even the girl junkie. She would save them.
People thought it was a bad habit. Finding homeless or broken people and giving them hope and a chance at a normal life.
But they were wrong, the true bad habit was her inability to hear what she had inside herself under the din of everybody else's truths and lies. Saving people was the only thing she knew for certain was all her; the only truth she had was that this was the only thing that made her feel good.
So two days later she walked over to them. Hands on hips she feigned outrage at their state.
As expected the boy was defensive. Until she held the money out. Money almost always buys the truth. And his truth spilled out. The truth she had already known, or guessed at. Teenage lovers, disapproving parents, and a vow never to leave one another. Except the girl had, she'd left him for the drugs a year ago; and, thinking he could lead her back, he followed. And wound up hungry and sunburned on the busy,noisy street corner everyday.
The girl who watched knew now that the boy would be saved. She added more money to the bill already in her hand and the boy swallowed hard. His eyes never flicked to the girl junkie. The girl who watched added a business card to the money and said it was all his if he and his girl junkie took themselves and that card to the addressed listed on it.
The address was for a halfway house that specialized in cases exactly like theirs. Drugs, mental illness, or just hopelessness. They provided a safe place to stay, detox if necessary, food, and classes on resume writing and information on getting one's GED. It was by referral only, but the girl who watched was listened to by the man who ran it. It seemed that her referrals always made it. Were saved.
The boy agreed and took the money and the card. He seemed confused. He asked why. Why them. The girl who watched told him that the truth was that he could be happy, that happiness wasn't just a wish in his heart. She told him that it wouldn't be the teen angst story that was the start of his journey with the girl junkie, and it wouldn't be the grinding pain of their life now, it would just be a life. A regular life full of sandwiches, and television, and buying groceries, but also at least one genuine smile everyday that he wasn't forcing to thank somebody for their spare change.
The idea that a life like that could exist seemed to be beyond him, but the wad of cash in his hand made him trust that what she said was true. He thanked her.
As she walked away the girl who watched thought to herself that he wasn't really any different from any other person she'd ever met. The noise she walked through every day had a single theme, no matter how it was approached by the person feeling the thought. We all just want to be loved, she mused to herself. We all just walk through life waiting for someone to tell us that we're remarkable. That we're loved.
The girl who watched felt grateful that she could see that, and wanted to find a way to tell all the people who needed to hear it, you're remarkable and you are loved.
She had been watching them for a couple days now. She'd take her daily walk at lunch and see them, supine and baking in the heat on the busy corner. The girl was a junkie, she never roused herself for anything but the little packets the boy bought for her with the money he begged. The boy didn't seem to use any drugs. Or alcohol. Or food. He took all the money he collected and bought the little baggies of powder and handed them over to the girl. Thankfully the people downtown were distrustful of homeless people, and gave the boy food instead of money sometimes; the girl wasn't interested in anything but the powder. The gir who watched thought maybe he'd never eat otherwise.
The girl who watched had made her decision a week ago. The boy could be saved, maybe even the girl junkie. She would save them.
People thought it was a bad habit. Finding homeless or broken people and giving them hope and a chance at a normal life.
But they were wrong, the true bad habit was her inability to hear what she had inside herself under the din of everybody else's truths and lies. Saving people was the only thing she knew for certain was all her; the only truth she had was that this was the only thing that made her feel good.
So two days later she walked over to them. Hands on hips she feigned outrage at their state.
As expected the boy was defensive. Until she held the money out. Money almost always buys the truth. And his truth spilled out. The truth she had already known, or guessed at. Teenage lovers, disapproving parents, and a vow never to leave one another. Except the girl had, she'd left him for the drugs a year ago; and, thinking he could lead her back, he followed. And wound up hungry and sunburned on the busy,noisy street corner everyday.
The girl who watched knew now that the boy would be saved. She added more money to the bill already in her hand and the boy swallowed hard. His eyes never flicked to the girl junkie. The girl who watched added a business card to the money and said it was all his if he and his girl junkie took themselves and that card to the addressed listed on it.
The address was for a halfway house that specialized in cases exactly like theirs. Drugs, mental illness, or just hopelessness. They provided a safe place to stay, detox if necessary, food, and classes on resume writing and information on getting one's GED. It was by referral only, but the girl who watched was listened to by the man who ran it. It seemed that her referrals always made it. Were saved.
The boy agreed and took the money and the card. He seemed confused. He asked why. Why them. The girl who watched told him that the truth was that he could be happy, that happiness wasn't just a wish in his heart. She told him that it wouldn't be the teen angst story that was the start of his journey with the girl junkie, and it wouldn't be the grinding pain of their life now, it would just be a life. A regular life full of sandwiches, and television, and buying groceries, but also at least one genuine smile everyday that he wasn't forcing to thank somebody for their spare change.
The idea that a life like that could exist seemed to be beyond him, but the wad of cash in his hand made him trust that what she said was true. He thanked her.
As she walked away the girl who watched thought to herself that he wasn't really any different from any other person she'd ever met. The noise she walked through every day had a single theme, no matter how it was approached by the person feeling the thought. We all just want to be loved, she mused to herself. We all just walk through life waiting for someone to tell us that we're remarkable. That we're loved.
The girl who watched felt grateful that she could see that, and wanted to find a way to tell all the people who needed to hear it, you're remarkable and you are loved.
Monday, October 14, 2013
Happy Turkey Day: a PSA
Okay, so I will never downplay how horrible substance addiction is. Alcohol and drugs are a hard way to live. No question. But those aren't my addictions, and I won't talk about them.
My name is Nikki and I'm addicted to food.
I have been since I was a kid. And if I'm playing armchair psychiatrist, probably from the moment I came home from the hospital after being hit by the car and mom made me some delicious, rib-sticky, homemade goodness. After a month of being in the hospital and eating nothing but what they literally bribed and tortured me into eating, and being hurt, coming home to my family and eating that delicious food, it was perfection. And I think that's where the connection was made. Delicious food = happy endorphins.
And, as far as an addiction goes, mine is socially acceptable (in that there aren't AA meetings for people who always choose the fries over the salad, and it's easier for a fat chick like me to get a job than a heroin addict), and the thing I'm addicted to is EVERYWHERE. And the more delicious/worse for you it is, the more prolific and affordable it is.
But I don't want this to be a diatribe about the spotlight our society puts on looks, size, or health. I just wanted to remind you that when you're sitting down to dinner with your family and friends, with all that amazing and lovingly prepared food sitting front of you, the warmth and love you feel isn't coming from the food, it's coming from knowing that you're loved.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone.
Friday, August 30, 2013
Flaw
I'm broken in so many ways. Imperfect. Unfinished.
I'm depressed.
I'm manic.
I have low self-esteem.
Thin-skinned.
Naive.
Cry too easily.
Lazy.
Moody.
Closet bitch.
Passive.
Passive aggressive.
Introverted.
I talk too much.
Fall too hard.
But we're all broken somehow. Aren't we? All unfinished and imperfect. Maybe I should just accept my flaws for what they are, a thing that makes me human. A thing that connects me to everyone else. They may get better, they may get worse. But for now, they're just a part of me.
Let me never BE finished. Let me never BE perfect.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
free form: believe the fairy tale
tall, dark, and handsome
rosy lips and rough hands against soft skin
you should know, sunsets are better from the back of your white horse
all the apples are sweet
every ending is a happy ending
Friday, January 4, 2013
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
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