Leon tells me this man has a house close by and a sister far away....
It's hard to believe, but I do believe him. He's seen everything.
This is the most amazing soup kitchen I've ever been to and as of late I've been to quite a few, certainly more then I ever could have imagined.
I went back to work amist the Covid chaos and the tremendous need for nurses. I felt guilty not returning to a profession I'd spent so much time preparing for, especially when the need was so great, but the truth was - I hadn't worked in a long time, not as a traditional nurse and I was, quite frankly, scared to death that I'd accidentally kill someone.
It all came rolling back to me; like riding a bicycle, or maybe more like riding a bicycle up hill in a rainstorm, over stones, barefoot. But it came back and here I was in the middle of a city, in a church built in the 1800s, surrounded by homelessness and strife, talking to my new friend Leon who worked here.
I'd applied for a job with the county where I live. Months later they called me about a different position. I gave it a shot. Literally. I became a vaccination nurse, part of a small group of nurses and medical assistants who brought the vaccine out to the streets, to those who'd weren't able to go and get it for themselves. Not that I'm a strict vax-er... many of my coworkers were unvaccinated, but this was about equity and accessibility to all people, no matter their circumstance. Seems like it might be an easy thing to do, yet I found that it was anything but. Not easy to do, not easy to deliver on, not easy to rationalize, not easy to talk about even with friends and family, not easy on my poor feet, my mind and more then anything - not easy on my breaking heart. You think you've seen a thing or two when you get to be my age, but boy oh boy, was I ever wrong.
Leon says, "Schizophrenia and street drugs...", then Leon says nothing and I don't either. Three weeks ago the man we were refering to had sat at my table, drinking a Snapple and eating BBQ chips. Some of my coworkers and I had begun to loot the plethora of snacks that sat piled high in a storage room at the county headquarters, meant to keep the mass vax workers happy. We'd fill our cooler with sugary drinks; cokes and teas and gatoraid. Chocolate went quickly on the street and in the jails and so did savory things. No one wants a granola bar or fruit snacks. When at the kitchen, I'd take a shopping bag full each day and walk for blocks, handing them out to anyone who'd accept them, trying to make sure to reach even the least reachable. This job had become more about the people and far less about the vaccine.
He was usually alseep, but I'd place a drink and a snack beside his shopping cart. Then one day he approached me and we spoke. He was articulate and clearly clever. Talking with him was easy and listening even easier. He'd shaved, I might not have recognized but for his trusty, highly piled shopping cart. He had a warm smile, strong voice and used words that made me think. He smelled like mothballs, but that was far more pleasant then his usual urine soaked odor. I gave him the vaccination he asked for and he stayed beside me, talking and talking, under the tent, at the table with all the information pamphlets and the "I got my shot" stickers. He took one of each before he left. He was the only person I vaccinated that day and I considered it a victory. This was what I was here for afterall, to reach the unreachable. It was a good day.
I looked for him the next time I worked at that kitchen
and the next and the next.
and then one day I finally saw him again...
I left him the same Snapple I'd given him the day we spoke and a pack of peanutbutter crackers. I put it on top of his overflowing shopping cart, quietly and carefully. I waited a while. I longed to ask him how he was, but he was sleeping, more then sleeping, he was practically unconscious. I surveyed his cart and deep down beneath many other things, I saw the sticker and the pamphlet he'd taken, stored like the other things he seemed to value.
There were these gifts that came from the pandemic, I'm sure you know what I mean, but for me, they were things like; more time with my kids at our house, less shopping and dining out, more finishing up home improvement projects, less socializing, and then this job opportunity and the ensuing friendships that formed at work - many other things, but none so precious as my experience on the streets and in the shelters, with the homeless, the homebound, with addicts, in prisons and with those so lost they might never be found. I'd gone to places I'd never have gone before and likely never will again. I'd gotten past a fear I would have never, ever attemtped to, not ever. I was honestly so afraid of so many different people, but I learned that you never know who someone really is, not until you get close enough to see their halo...
