Lucky to Have a Home

I have been thinking a lot about the homeless lately. It is colder now. And that brings on a new kind of suffering. There is suffering in the summer too. The heat seems to brings out a rage in people who have no way of getting inside. Now in the winter it is something different. A desperation to get warm and to be nourished. Back in September I wrote about several accounts I had with homeless humans. Here they are now.

I was leaving the Subway Sunday evening, heading home. I was at the end of the crowd exiting. A homeless man ran down the steps and jumped over the enter-wheel to get in, and was screaming at whoever he could see. I immediately went to my normal dis-engaged mode. Don’t acknowledge that he is yelling or behaving aggressively. Don’t acknowledge he exists. -That’s how you protect yourself. My heart goes out to the homeless. When someone is non-aggressive and asking for food- I always give it if I have it. But to get through the day in the city you learn to walk past people. Not so much that I am numb to their pain- but to get through the day, and sometimes for protection, I keep to myself.
This man ran right up to the track and sat down and reached his legs out like he was going to jump. “I’m going to jump! He shouted. Someone talk to me, or I’m going to jump! I have no one to talk to,” he cried. “No one cares that I am alive.”. This made me stop in my tracks. I couldn’t keep walking. I have learned to always keep walking. But today I couldn’t. The people next to me turned and looked for a moment and then headed up the stairs. I looked back at the man and he turned and looked right at me from near the tracks, even though I had exited the turnstyle. I didn’t know what to do. I stared at him for a moment and then kept walking up the stairs. I was shaken. What if this man died? And I could have stopped it. I could have said something. My boyfriend, Joe was crossing the street at this moment to meet me. I told him what happened. “Do you think he’s still down there?” He asked me. Yes. We tried to flag down a cop car that was up the street from us but it was going the opposite direction and didn’t see us. Joe dialed 911 on his phone, ready to call and we headed back down into the subway station. He wasn’t around. I swiped myself back in. I walked to the tracks and looked down. He wasn’t anywhere to be found. I looked up and saw an MTA worker in a maintenance cart that was parked on the middle track. He was staring at me. “That guy- did you see him?” I said. He slowly shook his head yes. “Where did he go??” “He got on the train.” The man replied. He looked slightly unphased and tired. “He got on the train?” I just needed to make sure I heard him right. He slowly shook his head yes. “Okay. I was worried-“ The words got stuck in my throat. I couldn’t speak anymore. The only thing left my body could do was release into tears. So I turned quickly away and walked out of the train station once more, this time with Joe holding me strong.

Saturday night my friends and I were walking to a bar and we walked past five people in sleeping bags lined up in a row. One woman was awake and reading a book. This struck me. I wanted to talk to her. To ask her what she was reading and what she thought about it. Where had she gotten the book and had she read it before. I didn’t say anything. Of course. I kept walking.

Joe has talked to many homeless people. He buys food when he can. I so often feel in a threatening position. That I could be putting myself in danger by interacting. But would I really? Sure some of the time. You can feel the aggression and violence in a person. You never know what kind of illness someone is dealing with and how they might behave. But many times- No. They’re not violent. They are just there. And lonely. And want words. Someone to talk to. I was glad the woman had her book. Had some words.

Monday night I was riding the train home from Brooklyn after a late night of babysitting. A homeless man came on the train to ask for money- but it was unlike most others I have experienced. The majority of his words were not audible. He was shouting gibberish with a few real words sprinkled in. He staggered down the train and dropped an open bag in the middle. There weren’t many people on the train- but enough for there to be about one on each bench. There were three other women near me. I always feel more comfortable on a train late at night if there are other women. I watched the man walk up specifically to each woman. Slightly too close. Getting in their face a little bit. Then he would turn away from each woman and yell “BITCH” with a few jumbled words and few more “Bitch’s”. He came up to me. Same thing. I looked down and didn’t engage. But as soon as he went to the next woman I kept my eyes on him. To make sure the woman was okay. The man got off the train at the next stop and breath returned to the train. I was reminded of why I am so hesitant to approach. Sometimes it is scary.

It is my goal in the new year to get involved with an organization that helps the homeless. I truly feel so helpless.

This is our couch and our tree. How lucky we are to have a couch to come home to. A home to come home to.