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| LOVE IN THE WETLANDS |
| There were other things happening in that industrial zone in the spring of 1998. Love was about to find its way back into my life, in the person of another of the vehicle-dwellers I'd seen driving and parking around that area of West Eugene. He drove a Toyota Chinook motorhome that I'd begun to recognize. For a while John and I were eyeing each other from a distance with equal amounts of curiosity, each having perceived the other as being single, middle-aged, and living the same mobile-homeless lifestyle. The day the fates arranged for our first conversation was the day a slight misfortune befell my truck in late March. An employee of one of the neighboring businesses had momentarily lost control of his company vehicle and smashed into my left front fender. I was miles from the place at the time, running my daily errands on foot as always, so I knew nothing of the accident until I returned and saw the mess. As I began to pick up the items that had been thrown on the floor of the camper, a tall fellow with a black beret approached me and expressed his sympathy. At the time I was in such a daze, I didn't even recognize him as the same guy I'd seen only in profile through the Chinook window. He didn't introduce himself, but merely commented on the damage and said I should be able to collect a fat insurance check for this, as the guy who had caused the accident was clearly in the wrong. I said absently, "So this might be a blessing in disguise, huh?" as I put the cassette tapes back into their case. Little did I know what a blessing it actually was. This was the first of many meetings with him that were to blossom into a romance as that spring in the West Eugene wetlands progressed. My life would now take a radically new turn that spelled the beginning of the end of my homelessness. And most of my writings from then on would reflect and be influenced by this new relationship. (click here for next page) |