A Hot Meal (But No Bed)

Was it how I PLANNED to spend a chunk of my Wednesday evening??  Well…  No, not really.

And yet – here I am smiling and glad that I did.

I finished work today and as I opened the front door to go out and get some sunshine and fresh air, I saw my friend, the pantry guest who cries so easily and “knew my mother” (in his mind, though in my reality the two of them could never, ever have been in the same place at the same time).  I rushed out to greet him – had to hurry as he was walking his sky blue bicycle away from our house (having already stopped by the Little Yellow Pantry to pick up some food).

I hollered his name and said, “Come on back – have a seat on the steps.  I will make you a hot dinner!  You hungry??”. 

I have been working on how I speak to him.  In our interactions, I have come to realize that my “need to be polite” leads to me asking a lot of questions.  And questions are something that my friend cannot handle.  Even what seem like a simple question – “Hey there!  Which would you to eat tonight – chicken noodle soup or chili with beans??” presents an overwhelming choice for him.  So, this evening I carefully just put it out there – dinner would be served soon, come sit (though I fell back into my old questioning habit with, “Are you hungry??”.  That damn midwestern female need to be polite…)

I rushed inside carrying a pantry donation that had just been unpacked from one of five or six huge Amazon boxes that got delivered today:  a Velveeta cheesy chicken alfredo dish.  I bunged it in the microwave (“bung” is a term of art that only refers to microwave cooking, isn’t it?  I like it) and ran downstairs to the pantry storage area to get his favorite – a fruit cup – and a Gatorade (courtesy of the amazing mystery donor who is so, so, so supportive of the pantry).

When the food was hot I went out to deliver it and sit with my friend as he ate.  He deemed the meal “very good”, and I bragged about my excellent cooking skills. 

He and I had a meal like this yesterday, too.  Same location:  our front steps.  Different main course:  hot vegetable beef soup.  Same dessert:  fruit cup.  And same conversation – about how “things are different” now, about how he “has he had a car…”  The same conversations we have each time.  And when I chime in a point that I know about his stories, one he hasn’t gotten to yet, he looks at me with sheer confusion and said, “How did you know that???”.  Ahhh sir, because you have told me this story 300 times…

His friendship has taken on more of a sense of urgency lately, as I have learned that he is unhoused…  He told me when we first met (when I asked “where are you staying?”) that he was sleeping at a friend’s house.  It seemed factual, not like one of the confusing statements that he makes.  I was relieved to know that even though he seems to wander the community all day on his blue bicycle, at least he had a couch somewhere to sleep on (and a blanket, I hoped).  But a different friend told me the other day that she really thought he was homeless.  I begged to differ (I wanted it not to be true), but have driven by the little spot where he snuggles in for the night 3 or 4 times now and he is there every time.

Tonight he and I had a long conversation.  We talked about the usual stuff, and we even got to laughing.  He remembered some new details tonight!  He remembered that his father worked in a store in DC, and that if someone got caught stealing from that store, the security guards beat them up.  He has mentioned his father before, but never his mother.  So I broke my rule of not asking questions and said, “Hey, do you remember your mother??”.  That stumped him.  He thought and thought and couldn’t for the life of him recall his mother.  (Odd, isn’t it?  His memory can serve up images of my mother quick as you please, but ask about his own mother and he draws a blank).  “Maybe she died when you were young, and that’s why you don’t remember her,” I offered. 

He talked again about how he used to sleep in the basement of this house, the one we call The Big Yellow House.  He was stumped by that…  “Your mother…  Why?  Why did your mother???”…  He had us both laughing at one point when he decided that the reason he knew my mother was because she sold him marijuana.  “What????” I guffawed, “MY MOTHER SOLD YOU MARIJUANA???  I don’t think so!!”.  “Well, it wasn’t COCAINE…” he stated. 

At one point he lifted his pant leg to scratch, and I saw that he had a lead from the hospital stuck to his ankle.  “You have been in the hospital!!” I declared.  It felt like I was solving a mystery.  Only, the it was a mystery to us both, as he had no memory of being in the hospital.  Well, he DID tell me the story (again…) about how he was in THREE HOSPITALS, and he doesn’t know HOW he got there but he didn’t like it.  “Well yes, you were in three hospitals.  But that was a long time ago (I have pieced that together from his stories).  THIS hospital visit was recent – look – you still have the thing stuck to your ankle!!”.  Nope.  That rang no bells.  No recollection at all about having had a hospital visit recently.

Empty fruit cup, and the hospital lead I convinced him to peel off 

I explained to him tonight that I think he is not staying with a friend at night but is sleeping outdoors.  He wasn’t sure about that…  “Well, where are you staying?” I asked.  “I don’t really know…”. 

And I believe him.  He doesn’t really know.  I don’t think he is lying. When he told me he was spending the night at a friend’s a few months ago, he thought that was true (and maybe it was at the time…).  But now, now he is definitely on the street.  But isn’t it a strange trick of the mind that I know that fact but he, the person who it is actually happening to, doesn’t?

I talked with him about the local shelter and played up how nice it would be:  a bed!  A shower!  Hot meals!!  He seemed to think it sounded like a good idea, too, and asked if I could call them.  I did call but it was after hours and the staff couldn’t answer my questions of how to get him a bed.

So here is our plan:  I will call the shelter tomorrow.  I will try and understand the system and how he might fit into it.  And for his part?  He agreed to come back tomorrow after I have the information.  “What time??” he asked me 6 or 7 times.  We agreed on “oh – around 2:00 pm”.

Will he remember to come?  I rather doubt it.  But I will have the information and we will take it from there.