quiet lady 53

Homeless

“Don’t you just love the prices at this store?” The lady asking the question was probably in her sixties, well dressed, complete with all the appropriate accessories.

"Nothing like a good bargain," I reply quietly.

Conspiratorially, she moved closer, "My husband and I love these frozen shrimp for lunch, you just put them in the toaster oven for a few minutes and they are wonderful!"

"I'll have to give them a try, they really do sound good." I smile. "Where did you find them?"

Following her directions, I move to the frozen food area, but I do not place shrimp in my cart. I do not have a toaster oven.

I look like a typical middle-aged southern Christian lady you would see anywhere in South Carolina grocery stores. My Skirt reaches mid-calf, my blouse doesn't dip too low, I don't wear much make-up and my hair bounces neatly around my head. Although I look typical, there is a big difference between myself and most of the ladies wearing similar attire- I am homeless.

If you would have told me fifteen years ago that I would be where I am today, I would have thought you had a real problem. My husband and I were studying to become missionaries, our children were doing well in school, we weren't perfect, but we were basically happy.

Then the troubles started. Although they were typical, they escalated beyond my wildest fears. Teenagers going through rough times, mid-life crisis, divorce and other issues invaded like an army. Their roughshod boots tromped over my heart. I was alone.

Years as a homemaker logically pointed to becoming a cook at local restaurants. Educational opportunities presented themselves and I went back to school as a “displaced homemaker.” I became a secretary, office manager, then went back to college for more education. Other opportunities knocked: a friend taught me professional photography and graphic design.

Three years ago I was hired as a staff writer for a small newspaper. During that time there were wonderful experiences, such as having lunch with the Governor, interviewing celebrities such as Josh Turner and Lee Ann Womack and writing about the many local attractions of the area.

Although the job perks were really fun, I was still basically alone with no family in the area. I missed my kids, and now grandkids. Then my oldest son asked me to come home to Greenville.

“I’ve had years of experience in the office and with the newspaper,” I thought. “Finding a job probably won’t be that hard.”

A month later I was still looking. I applied to more than thirty newspaper in a 50 mile radius, employment agencies and graphic design shops. Nothing seemed to be happening. I decided to accept it as a spiritual test, since I believe in a sovereign God who is able to do more than I could ask or think. I will hold up my head and keep trying.

Any mother who loves her children knows they need their space. There is only so long you can live with your family without tensions creeping in. So, I started sleeping in my car part time.

My personal goal as a homeless person was not to look or act like one. Family members allow me to use their washing machines and showers. I have also perfected the ten minute wash-up in public restrooms, when necessary.

Thankful for an easy to style haircut, I carry a small tote filled with conditioning shampoo, a washcloth, towel and a variety of personal maintenance cosmetics. In a brusque and businesslike manner, I enter a public restroom. It is important to scope out single restrooms, in which the door locks, for a bit of privacy. It is very awkward if someone walks in during your daily ablutions.

"Hurry, hurry!" I tell myself as I methodically wash from top to bottom. If I am lucky, the sink has warm water, although often it just runs cold. Frequently, I place a watch on a dirty sink to measure the time. It is important not to stay in the restroom too long.

Eating is another challenge. Out of compassion for my children, I applied for food stamps. It was painful to keep asking them for money for food, though I am always welcome at their tables. The problem is they are single, usually don’t have much besides beer and fast food in their refrigerators and have friends or their current lover over, making it inconvenient for mom to drop by for a meal.

“Hello! It’s Mom!” Using my key, I advanced into my daughter's kitchen. She quickly emerged from her bedroom door with an embarrassed grin.

"Uh, mom, I have a friend over right now." Her eyes hoped for understanding, as she was ushering me to the door.

"No problem, honey," I said with a false cheerfulness. Now where would I go. It was early afternoon and the price of gas made me want to stay nearby. It is ok if I miss a meal. I have hypothyroidism and have put on a lot of weight in the past few years. It sounded like a trade-off. I miss food, but get a few pounds skinnier.

Grocery store delis have become a favorite hangout. A meat and two vegetables usually lasts a couple meals, and is healthier than a burger and fries. I find a shady spot nearby, prop the square Styrofoam container on the bottom edge of the steering wheel and dig in.

Another dilemma is what to do with your time until you find a job. Libraries, bookstores and malls can keep you busy for a while. Certain parks, with walking trails are acceptable, if they are busy with other adults.

It is important to stay around busy places, because there are bad people who can tell when a person is living in her car. If something happened it might be several days before one of the family would start to look for me, and then they wouldn't really know where to look… because I don't have a home.

Night is the most challenging time. I pray God will show me safe places, which usually end up being higher end apartment complexes. People who live in apartments don’t keep looking outside for familiar cars. Upper class people are more apt to respond to a cry for help, in case of emergency.

Somewhere after 10 p.m., I drive slowly through the parking lot, looking for a quiet, unobtrusive spot. Once parked, I sit quietly, as if there is a reason for me to be there. I watch and listen for anything that would seem threatening. Then, as a child in an unfamiliar place, I commit my soul to God, trust Him to place angels around me, and fall into a, usually, broken sleep.

Thankfully, most nights are uneventful, I just go to sleep and wake up in the morning like the rest of the world, but in my car. One night a visitor disturbed the peacefulness in the early morning hours.

Tap! Tap! Tap! It was the middle of the night and someone was knocking on my car window! My heart pounded for a few minutes as I lifted my heart to the only One who can help.

“Lord! You promised to keep me safe!” I cried.

The outward stillness of my body did not betray my inward cry. I waited quietly and did not move. Strangely, I fell back to sleep. When I awoke, all was silent. Whoever had been knocking was gone.

“Thank you Lord!” I whispered. Then I worshiped the God who protects me, and fell back into a deep slumber.

In the early morning hours I quietly crept out of the parking lot like a nameless shadow. To be invisible is an asset.

Amazingly, although I am homeless, unemployed, and beset with difficulties, I feel loved by God. My life may currently seem to be a “hand to mouth” existence, but I consider it to be from His hand to my mouth. I know in His time and His way, He will provide the right job, home and circumstances. He is faithful.

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Quiet Lady 53

Susie's Mom

I'm a new member who has been searching for someone who writes in my genre, and look! here you are.

Is your story a magazine submission? That's an area I have never explored as all my work is novel length, so you may not find my critique of value. That said, however, I do have personal experience with homelessness. While researching a series that revolves around a core of child abuse, I "made myself" homeless for a time in order to experience that subculture first hand.

What strikes me about your story is that you seem to be skirting around the edges of homelessness without actually "going there." It might pack more punch if you talk about what really goes on "down there." Tell about the men who prey on women who are homeless and are confident that they have the right to do so. Tell about the bone-deep agony that lives behind the expression of anger that you see in nearly every pair of eyes. Tell about the unspeakable sadness of the children who have known no other kind of life and see it as normal because, for them, it is. Tell about the fear that is so intense it presses the very air out of your lungs.

In my case, I always had a home to go back to, but I still wake in the night with visions of those people I met who did not. I can't imagine anyone being there and coming out the other side (if they do) without PTSD. If your story is meant for Christian publication, perhaps a watered-down version of homelessness is all they will accept. I just think it would read better if you could describe those experiences and emotions that sit on the shoulders of the homeless and make the general public shrink away in fear and disgust. Perhaps your character is one of the fortunate few who can keep all that at arms length (having a car can make that possible), but she certainly will have witnessed it.

I hope this is helpful. Would you like to see some of my work? I posted yesterday, but when I hit the submit button, the whole thing disappeared. Yikes! Lots of work for nothing. I'm wondering if there is a way to copy work from my files without typing the whole thing in.

Susie's Mom