Dreaming of The Real World
I was sitting alone at a long table in the food court at City Centre, a downtown strip mall. I didn’t have any food or beverage on the table in front of me, only an empty cup I’d dug out of the garbage earlier. I had to at least look like I’d purchased something, or security would roust me right quick! A few of my possessions – empty soda bottle, wore-out gloves, a wadded up pile of day-old newspapers – sat neatly on the table as well. My pack was on the floor between my feet, one leg holding down the shoulder strap, a habit I developed so my pack couldn’t be easily stolen out from under me.
My head was buried in my pack as I sorted through a bunch of old rags that would be my next change of clothes. I didn’t pull any items out of my pack; someone else might scope something they wanted and steal it from me or extort it from me or beat me up for it. That shit happens all the time to people who don’t hide their stuff from prying eyes. I had a pair of clean socks hidden in my coat just in case my pack did get ripped. I supposed the stuff I was wearing must have stunk. I’d worn the same clothes all winter and already smelled pretty bad to me; a sure sign that I must stink to anyone who dared come too close.
All of the sudden I felt like I was being crowded, but I didn’t want to look up. The noises of people shuffling over me and talking around me grew louder and bolder. Somebody bumped my chair. I tossed my head back and glared.
“Sorry,” exclaimed this old lady. She smiled and I thought, what the hell is she smiling for? She smells like one of those old ladies that always sit next to me in church; like a perfume factory! I ‘bout gagged. That’s why I don’t go to churches anymore; I can’t stand the smells of laundry softeners and fake flowers and old spices that pour from a bottle. I’ve sniffed the smells of the street for so long now, this is home; inside things smell foreign to me, like they’re from another world.
Four men sat down at the table where I was sitting. I figured they must work in the buildings near by; they all wore ties and they all had clean finger nails. I wiped my nose on the back of my hand and brushed it against my pants. My hands didn’t look that dirty to me; they kind of matched the stains on my coat and the shine that had grown on my pant legs. I buried myself deeper into my coat, and stuck my head down in my pack. One of the guys whispered, “Hey, mister!”
I looked up as he pushed a cup of steaming coffee towards me. I shook my head in disapproval, but pulled the cup closer anyway. I hadn’t smelled steaming hot coffee that close for a while, and it sure smelled good! But I wasn’t about to take a sip from that cup; I’ve heard that some people put things in coffee and pop and then give it to the homeless to make them sleep. Then, when the homeless person is asleep, somebody comes and takes them off to this place with bars on the windows and they give the homeless people drugs in their meatloaf and that make them sleep all the time. Yeah, I wasn’t about to drink that coffee, leastwise, not until it cooled down a bit; and anyway, not right there in the food court.
The man who gave me the coffee scooted his chair closer. I looked deeper into my pack. He said something about if I was okay or if I needed a cigarette. What was he doing? I don’t smoke; I quit years ago. Plus, I sit at this table everyday at this time. And everyday, I’m never okay at any time! Besides, I didn’t even recognize this guy; how’d I know if he was my friend?
As I leaned over to put my papers back in my pack, I heard a commotion coming from behind. Two security guards were running towards my table at full speed waving flashlights over their heads like Billy Clubs. I jumped up and cried, “I’M LEAVING!” but the guards ran right by me towards the stairs. People were jumping around and screaming as the guards scrambled through the crowd. Then, I caught a glimpse of what was causing all the commotion; a bunch of puppies running loose through the food court!
The dogs ran around wagging their tails and barking; everybody tried to capture them! As they ran towards my table, I squatted to the floor and the puppies slammed into me, almost pushing me over. The littlest pup snuggled against my leg. I wrapped my arm around his neck to protect him from all those dog snatchers and yelled, “Leave this puppy alone … we’re leaving NOW!”
Just then, I jumped up in my bed in a cold sweat. It was all only a dream, but it seemed so real … the sights, the sounds; even the smells. As I pulled on a shirt, I shook the fuzziness out of my head. I sat at the edge of my bed for a moment and wondered how I could have been fooled so completely; it was all only a dream that I couldn't escape! I wondered ... What if my bad dreams were actually my real-life world?
I sat at the edge of my bed and thought about my homeless friends. I wondered about what they must dream at night. I imagined that their worst dreams could be their real-life worlds!
I can't say what goes on in the minds of my homeless friends. I know that when I talk to them, I hear some pretty weird and scary stuff. I often wonder how they could even dream up some of the things they tell me. Then I realize that my friends don’t live in a dream world, they live in a real world just like I do, even if their world sounds like a big bad dream to me.
If you ever want to imagine what it’s like to be homeless, imagine your worst dream being your everyday real world. Imagine that you could never explain your world to others; they wouldn’t understand if you could explain. Besides, if others did understand your world, there’s probably nothing they could do because all they’d really want to do is fix you so you’d fit into their real world; and some things and some people just can’t be fixed – everybody knows that!
If you think the answer to homelessness is to give everybody a home, forget it; some folks can’t live under a roof like you and me. And if you think that society will ever come up with a catchall, ten year plan to answer the real needs of the homeless, forget that too. Just as there are times you can’t escape your own bad dreams, there will be realities that some people can’t escape, no matter how miserable those realities might be.
I don’t believe that poor people need more money and programs tossed at them. Poor people need brothers and sisters who will hold out a hand in God’s Love, and then lift! The handicapped and disabled don’t want pity or sorrow heaped upon them; they want to feel the courage and the hope that each of us brings to our own, everyday worlds. Homeless folks don’t need homes, they need entire families of friends who are willing and able to share a common faith in a Living God Who cares for all His children.
If we only toss money at broken systems and ineffective programs, we can never hope to repair broken dreams. As long as we stand unwilling or unable to bring the homeless, the poor and the disabled into our own homes, our own churches and our own families, we will never bring an end to some pretty terrible realities for some pretty incredible folks!
I hope there’s no more bad dreams.
"God, I gotta stay awake for this life!"
Kelly
¶ 9:00 PM 0 comments
