Crack Goddess
The temp agency sent me to landscape and clean up around an inner city school. It covered one square block of a notoriously bad neighborhood. I wondered why they would send a big white guy.
I was a little uneasy at the perimeter sidewalk repair since it brought stare-downs from slow moving cars, panhandling and too-close encounters in general but I kept my head down and busied myself as best I could, avoiding eye contact.
She passed by several times each day, sometimes with groceries or beer, offering, a "Good Mawnin' " or "Howyadoin' " depending on how high she was. Sometimes she passed silently, her glazed eyes straight ahead as if sleepwalking.
One day she finally stopped within several feet and engaged me about how hot it was. It was indeed in the nineties and humid. I waited for the pitch for money but none came.
She was trim but disheveled, about 30, maybe 40 years old, dressed in blue toreadors, flip-flops and a stained sleeveless blouse. An old cut jutted her lower lip and a high cheekbone was puffed. Her front teeth were absent. Scores of dark punctures and sores covered the insides of her arms, which she self-consciously folded in front.
I noticed that as she spoke, she lacked the hardness and bullshit of the street. Her name was Shaquila. Her people were from Mississipi. She'd moved here with her mother earlier that year, met a man who introduced her to crack and moved in with him. He obviously beat her up. Her speech was a torrent of profane history; her man beating her and taking her money, her kids neglected, her mother's blistering judgements and her addiction to crack, alcohol and heroin.
I offered that I too was cross-addicted and managed to free myself for quite a few years. She seemed to take a more hopeful tone and asked how I did it. I told her that the kicker was coming up with a 'higher power' than myself after 'quitting' hundreds of times. In a melancholy voice she volunteered that she used to go to church and was prominent in the community, took care of her kids. I offered that it was all possible again though really difficult and not for the faint of heart. The danger was bullshitting oneself and not changing the environment that keeps you using.
When we parted she seemed more animated and enthusiastic.
The next day she returned with her head high, eyes clear, her hair washed and styled. Her clothes seemed clean neat. She announced she was quitting and returning to Mississippi with her mother and kids. I marveled at her new confidence and sense of purpose, laughing and animated.
The next day was Friday and she returned wearing a dress and heels and said she'd just returned from church. I suspected it was a private fashion show but complimented her on the make-up and style. She was semi radiant, confident and lucid. I told her this was my last say at the school and her face darkened a bit but she smiled. She said goodbyes, shook my hand and thanked me for the 'kind words'. I told her my prayers were with her and thanked her for walking through my life and watched her walk away.
This one's for you Shaquila from Mississippi. Keep on keepin' on.
I was a little uneasy at the perimeter sidewalk repair since it brought stare-downs from slow moving cars, panhandling and too-close encounters in general but I kept my head down and busied myself as best I could, avoiding eye contact.
She passed by several times each day, sometimes with groceries or beer, offering, a "Good Mawnin' " or "Howyadoin' " depending on how high she was. Sometimes she passed silently, her glazed eyes straight ahead as if sleepwalking.
One day she finally stopped within several feet and engaged me about how hot it was. It was indeed in the nineties and humid. I waited for the pitch for money but none came.
She was trim but disheveled, about 30, maybe 40 years old, dressed in blue toreadors, flip-flops and a stained sleeveless blouse. An old cut jutted her lower lip and a high cheekbone was puffed. Her front teeth were absent. Scores of dark punctures and sores covered the insides of her arms, which she self-consciously folded in front.
I noticed that as she spoke, she lacked the hardness and bullshit of the street. Her name was Shaquila. Her people were from Mississipi. She'd moved here with her mother earlier that year, met a man who introduced her to crack and moved in with him. He obviously beat her up. Her speech was a torrent of profane history; her man beating her and taking her money, her kids neglected, her mother's blistering judgements and her addiction to crack, alcohol and heroin.
I offered that I too was cross-addicted and managed to free myself for quite a few years. She seemed to take a more hopeful tone and asked how I did it. I told her that the kicker was coming up with a 'higher power' than myself after 'quitting' hundreds of times. In a melancholy voice she volunteered that she used to go to church and was prominent in the community, took care of her kids. I offered that it was all possible again though really difficult and not for the faint of heart. The danger was bullshitting oneself and not changing the environment that keeps you using.
When we parted she seemed more animated and enthusiastic.
The next day she returned with her head high, eyes clear, her hair washed and styled. Her clothes seemed clean neat. She announced she was quitting and returning to Mississippi with her mother and kids. I marveled at her new confidence and sense of purpose, laughing and animated.
The next day was Friday and she returned wearing a dress and heels and said she'd just returned from church. I suspected it was a private fashion show but complimented her on the make-up and style. She was semi radiant, confident and lucid. I told her this was my last say at the school and her face darkened a bit but she smiled. She said goodbyes, shook my hand and thanked me for the 'kind words'. I told her my prayers were with her and thanked her for walking through my life and watched her walk away.
This one's for you Shaquila from Mississippi. Keep on keepin' on.
posted by Blue at 7:14 AM
1 Comments:
I've been so protected, all that you mentioned abt what she faced.... almost robbed me of my sleep last night. On the other hand, it equally feels good to see a few moments of contact with someone change a life. Hers, in this case.
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