3:30 pm
Today's been a day of bounty - worthy of Thanksgiving. Old adage - be grateful for small blessings - deceptive. Sometimes the smallest of blessings are the most momentous of all.
I've remembered something important - cherished. It's odd, since I woke here, I've never not known who I am, nor what I was, nor thousands of other things - but there are blanks, seemingly without rhyme nor reason, except that as they get closer to those missing days, the blanks become larger, deeper, blacker, more frightening. How do I reconcile what I've heard & read with the snippets that I recall, & the vast holes that I do not? Must start a list - but not on this happy day - & to think, only hrs. ago I was in the depths of despair - damned near self-pity. Never that! Been there - too hard to dig out, once you're in.
I remember this street! I was looking from the window & suddenly the memory was there. I've been here before. Yrs. ago - Xmas - we all had plans - elsewhere. Philip, Julia, Alex, & me - a yr. or 2 before Nick came. The airports were socked in. I'd dismissed the staff for the holidays. The house was cold - cupboards bare. Luna had provided funding for the Salv. Army's dinner, so, hypocrites that we were, we came to help out in hopes of freeloading a good meal in sociable company & chalking up a good deed - all at once. It was one of the best Xmases ever. We went caroling afterwards - made fools of ourselves - even the good Fr. Callaghan - too much nog in the egg. How can I remember that and not what happened? Never mind - that memory alone is worth a dozen others. On to other blessings:
Despite these ridiculous flowers in the corner & each page's color being more hideous than the last - pink > yellow > orange - I have something to write on, a pencil with which to write, a left hand that can once more scribble, & eyes that can now see well enough to read & write, at least for a little while, & ears that can hear, sort of. It's a blessing to have something to do other than sit in semi-darkness, plagued by vertigo, whirling in confusion, contemplating my own lonely pain & misery. AND, for the moment I'm not itching! Thank you, God.
People are good - deep down. Even if on the road to self-destruction, they still try. It makes all those years of fighting for the Innocents worthwhile. I wish I could help these Innocents, even if it was to merely put them up for a night of luxury - as I did with - What was her name? Another memory. I picked her up on a corner in the Mission district. We spent the night at the St. Francis. I gave her money to go home. I doubt she did. Why do I remember this? I was writing then too - something long - on my laptop. Lori - that was her name - Lori Smith. Never mind - I shan't think about it today.
The girls went across the street for free turkey. I didn't ask them & might have paid them had I known, but they returned bearing gifts. Bambi came back with a pocket full of cornbread crumbs. I think it went into her pocket as a muffin, but it didn't emerge in the same condition. Carmen provided a carton of milk, a little warm, but still OK. Poor kid - in dire need of a fix & will be on the street before dark. How can I stand by? Do I let her suffer or give her the money so she doesn't have to go in search of a John? The last one slapped her around. I can't give her the money. I need it. I can't pretend to be the world's savior any longer.
Brittany managed to squish a piece of pumpkin pie into her very sml. purse. Doesn't matter - it all goes to the same place, squished or not. But the leader of the pack, a seasoned woman of 19, who calls herself �Xena' (odd name), handled the turkey & dressing. Bless her heart. She got one of the volunteers to "make up a plate for a sick friend" - something evidently not to be done - the point being to get the homeless & invisible to come into the facility. She laughed & said the woman wasn't a soup kitchen regular & bought the sob story hook, line, & sinker. She said she got lucky a couple minutes later. The same volunteer - "a classy, black chick with earrings to die for" - got sick & caused enough commotion to draw attention. So Xena grabbed whatever didn't need a bowl or a plate - wings, drumsticks, rolls. Quite a haul - enough for them, me, & Charlie as well. Apparently, she always takes a big, plastic, shoulder bag to "charity feeds." She says those of us in Hell's Annex need to stick together, but she felt bad about using that "nice lady's" troubles to her advantage. I know the feeling well.
To top off an afternoon of gifts - Charlie stopped by. He'd been dumpster diving. Brought me a broken, but serviceable, lawn chair, so now I have a chair. He found a coat too. It's small, but I thanked him. It is, indeed, the thought that counts. He also brought a bundle overly ripe oranges & apples that he found in a restaurant's refuse bin. They're perfectly OK & will go nicely with Xena's prizes. The damned oranges smell so good, I'm not sure I can wait. "Mind over matter," I tell myself.
Charlie brought the fruit wrapped in this morning's paper. I've not read it yet. I want nothing to ruin this meal & I am going to endure the sweet anticipation of it for as long as I can. I can't recall the last time food so consumed my thoughts & desires.
"Discipline, sir," as Mother would remind me when I was small. "Once it's gone, it's gone - the wait prolongs the ecstacy."
Guess whose picture was plastered on the front page? Right there in front of Charlie's eyes & mine, when he handed me his present. I'll admit he was flying high, but he never noticed. I would have noticed, but perhaps that's because I'm aware of the connection. Would someone not expecting to see Derek Rayne alive, even someone following the story, see any resemblance at all between that photo & this sorry visage?
I'll not think of that now. I'll wait a while before I eat. It's sitting in the sunlight so, with the heat through the glass, it should stay warm for a while. I just wish the girls had thought to bring utensils. I have a small plastic fork, but with these clumsy hands an adult sized model would have been nice. Oh, well, what's a fork to such a day of kindnesses such as these?
1st, though, I'll sit at the window too - for a while - in my new chair, with my new
jacket draped around my shoulders, savouring the aroma & warmth, with my radio
tuned to all classical - no news. I shall "people-watch" for as long as my eyes hold
out, empty my mind, and allow God to fill it as he wishes - perhaps, if I'm lucky,
it will be with the blessing of another memory - sweet in the recollection, agony in the
longing.
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