“We’re working our way up to number one
in Billboard’s list of ‘The Ten Greatest Fears
of All Time.’ It’s a hot one hundred degrees
Fahrenheit out in the city today. And on a
more serious note, isn’t it a damned shame
what happened to Kasey Kasem?” And I con
cur, knowing that’s why I haven’t even gone
home for a funeral, at least not my little bro
ther’s a decade or so ago. And when Mom
goes, I’m pretty sure I’ll do the same – which
is celebrate her life in my own private way,
here in this city to which I ran away from home,
albeit circuitously, arriving over twenty-two
years ago. And, sure, I despise the family
politics and bickering and greed that shine
brightest in families around funeral times.
That’s a beacon I’d truly rather just avoid.
But is that the real reason I wouldn’t go back?
Haven’t in over a dozen years now? I did get
my siblings (well, Larry afforded his own, but
Ginger and Gary I treated) tickets to come visit
me after Gary’s first scare (or was it his second?).
That few days together, the four of us, were divine.
Just the best. A couple of years later, no less, and
Gary passed, asphyxiated in his truck after passing
out in it late one evening after he’d said he was taking
off. The story goes that he was obviously too drunk to
drive and so my Uncle (or cousin, or some relative, he
had been spending his time at Aunt Patty’s) was having
none of that, connived the keys from him as each of the
adult family members made their ways to wherever work
was with all of the kids, who were no doubt dropped off
at school. And so Gary, in the truck with no keys, rolled
up the windows, feel asleep or passed out, and was gone
by the time folks started arriving back home from their
various jobs and schools. Maybe I’ve embellished this a
bit, but the truth is, I wasn’t there, I don’t know what
happened, all I know is that he left this life, I was very
sad, knowing that one of my little brothers was gone so
soon, but also happier than ever that I had gotten us all
together in San Francisco for those few days a couple of
years previous. At that time I certainly didn’t have the
means to get back to Arkansas. That was the beginning
of what I hope I’m approaching the end of, the most
difficult years of my life, which included a surprise dis
appearance by a partner of 10 years, a long bout with a
grief so huge that it could be characterized as an overly
long illness, which was followed by a great chasm of
depression (or a continuation of the overly long illness),
an eviction, two years of homelessness, six months of
which I was working while literally living in the streets,
the other year and a half of which I lived in a total of
two shelters and, with help from a therapist, just to get
a roof over my head, a brief stint at a rehab facility be
fore finally transitioning back into the shelter (the only
one in which one might stay within nearly 24/7—except
for the one day in the month when pest control came)
I had left, thinking I had a place to stay and a job (the
job remained, the place to stay retracted their offer
when they found out I’d been evicted – and this was
an SRO – hence the necessity of living on the streets
while holding the cubicle job best I could for the duration
of its six month contract), and then, FINALLY, transitioning
into a home of my own after I had been unhoused almost
two full years, in the place where I now type this up to
toss into the wind in hopes it will get to you. I’ve been
four years here, but I should be in a better place soon.
There are plans in the works, and hopefully a domino
effect of good news that will follow after that happens.
But now I’m sitting here in a bit of limbo, a limbo in
which I’ve become so familiar, knowing how to sort of
ease time along to keep myself from going totally stir
crazy. This limbo was brought about by a sprained knee.
And is it ever painful. I only sprained it a week ago, though,
cleaning my apartment of all things. Oh, the stuff I’m leaving
out of the story which would make this sound so horribly tragic,
but indeed it’s such a normal story these days. And I’m one of
the lucky ones, thus far, which is hard for me to fathom, as the
obstacles have been so overwhelming in getting to here from
there that I find myself amazed all to often, wondering how
anyone does this, and thankful for what I do have, what I have
had, hat I will have, etc. It seems almost as if this took a wrong
turn somewhere, but actually, now that I look back up at where
we’ve been thus far, this is probably where I meant to go tonight.
And I just skimmed the surface, like I said. Because who’dbelieve
me? Because it’s just too depressing or tragic-sounding? I don’t
know for sure. This is more than I usually tell, these days. And
you’re pretty much all I have to share with at present and, well,
for quite some time now. But one thing seems finally all but
certain, and that is that my near decade in the trenches is
soon coming to a close. It refuses to go swiftly and silently,
continuing to create these annoying obstacles, even at this
late date, but I assure you, unless something so unexpected
that it doesn’t bear even being mentioned, I’m about to be
back in more familiar and more economically and socially
feasible territory again. And while I’ve always held onto
such hope, and perhaps have painted such a picture once
or twice before over the years, this time... This time....
I mean, sure, I’m a bit melancholy here by myself on a
Saturday night. And I’ve come out surely, as objective
as someone like me can be, a better person through this
hellish set of trials and ridiculousness. And I have a few
things to show for it. But just you wait. I wonder though,
who’ll be around when I do finally make my way back to
that old familiar life. Or will it be familiar? And will any of
you even recognize me? If not, it’s probably for the better.
Who’s lucky enough for such a fresh start again, anyway?
