My Heart Aches Because of It: A Tribute to Home

My heart aches for what I've never really had.


I've known how it felt to be homeless; since I knew
I was alive; I've been right here.
It's a scary place to be especially when you have
little people depending on you.

Alone.

Don't get me wrong, I have my faith. I trust and believe God,
yet I know where I am.
I know I'm alone and sometimes I feel the walls collapsing in on me.

People expect me to be strong; therefore,
many of them don't take the time
to see whether or not I'm okay.

For the last week, I was not.
Oh how I pushed hard pass that feeling
resonated through me like a disturbed
tuning fork...vibrating through my soul.

Every meeting, every conversation with a
bill collector, every moment a new bill came up,
every dispute I had about what I owed, each time I had to correct my children...
I began to feel boxed in. I had no adult interaction (except for at work).

I think it was greater than soulish lethargy; it felt like a                deep unavoidable sadness.
I longed for someone to share with...to spend some time.
I wanted to go somewhere other than work and to the shelter.

I had some really great things to happen. I found out that an agency
would pay all of our start-up costs going into a new place as well as
assist me with finding a place in a safe neighborhood. When I went to
the meeting, that's when I started noticing that I was doing it again.
My eyes would swell with tears and, somehow, I would dry them.

I never knew how I did that. I used to do it every time I told my story (an excerpt from my memoir When Feather Died):

...When he pointed the gun to my face and told me I wasn't going anywhere, my insides froze and suddenly I was immobilized. I wanted to beg and plead for him to let me go. All of my hard exterior crumbled. I wanted to be free. I didn't care if I had nowhere to go; I just wanted to be free to go outside...I just wanted to walk around and be free. I wanted to go back to my apartment above Chandlers and sit on the couch that grandma Richardson had given me. All of a sudden I missed my friends and my family (not matter how they treated me or discarded me); I needed to be free, but he wouldn't let me go and my nightmare and  claustrophobia began. The incident confused me.

There were times after that when I wanted to go outside so badly, yet others when I was afraid to go outside. He told me there was someone outside who would shoot me if I left. There was a car outside everyday with a guy in it...he sat there everyday and drove off when he got back home. I was terribly afraid to go outside after that; however, if I stayed in the house for too long, I began very nervous and started to cry as I left;  the fear built when I approached the door....

Each time I told this story, there were a few things that happened: I felt a flushing come over my body, my breathing increased, my body froze (just as it did when he told me I couldn't leave), and I felt as though I would cry, my eyes swelled with tears, but (just as I did when he told me I couldn't leave)  I couldn't cry...my tears went back where they came from.

I knew where it came from. The negative things people had said and done to me since I could remember: the constant molestations (from gropings, to grindings and disrobing to things even more vile that I will, for this memoir, say...etc), the lack of concern for my feelings (I was told I was nothing and I would never become anything more than I heard my own name...oh, how I needed to hear my name...it's such a beautiful name), the constant secrets and my family's charge to be tough and not to let people see me cry. My tears were trapped inside of me and that made me hard. I don't think I became a sweet, soft woman until I knew it was okay for me to cry...it took me years to do that and I still have problems with crying.

In all of my many negative memories...the trauma...I understood why I couldn't cry. I was taught it was a sign of weakness.

So I sit in our little shelter apartment and feel so bottled up and closed in. I want to go outside. I need adult company, but I can't find anyone I trust who wants to spend time with me...except for on Facebook.

Facebook saves the day. Yep, Facebook!

Sure, I went to God and prayed about my situation. I told Him how lonely and abandoned I felt. I let my tears flow and He comforted me. Then, I went on Facebook and started talking to my fam from Robbins, Cal Park and inner-city Chicago. All of my friends that knew me when I was growing up, yet somehow never knew my sufferings. I got to talk about those greasy Mary's Diner polishes and the even greasier fries (I used to get my polish with extra jalapenos, but when I couldn't afford that, I would get the cheese burger...the guy in there always gave me extra fries) and how you could get  Mrs. Presswood's amazing freeze cups (I loved the ones w/two flavors) flipped them upside down in the cup and walked around all day long with blue lips from...Man, Mrs. Presswood was the neighborhood grandmother of the old projects and didn't mind throwin' her shoe at you if you did somethin' wrong...and you knew she would tell you family everything you did because she cared enough to keep you in check. I started remembering the hot pickles (Shannon used to get a dill one and put a peppermint in it...ewww) or some hot hog-head cheese at Mr. Mickey's or the penny candy at Chandlers; my favorite chip combinations included Okee-Doke popcorn and Hot-Stuff Jay's potato chips (my all time favorite chips were Evans Hot Corn Chips (they don't taste the same now). If you had a dollar, you had a bunch of candy...enough to make you sick...I loved Mr. Chandler and Mr. Mickey (they were so good to me when I lived above Chandler's store...they really looked out for me)! I miss them even now.

When I moved to the new projects, the war-zone, it was all about Mr. Tony at Jets Food and Liquor. We'd take that book of stamps over there and go grocery shopping and prices were marked up on most items about 300%...gotta love those little stores right next to the projects. It was no Mickey's or Chandler's, but it was the place to go if you lived in the new. During late nights on the weekends, if you had the money, you could have some rib tips from Blanchard's; the sauce was so good that you could eat it with the fries on a piece of bread and you could swear you had some of their famous rib tips.

If you went to DDE (Dwight D. Eisenhower) you went to the Card's Nest (right across the street from the school). Their specialty used to be the cheese fries (chilli-cheese fries if you like chilli). I used to leave campus everyday (if I had the money...they were only a dollar). And who could forget good 'ol Beggars Pizza?!

When I left the south suburbs and moved to Chicago, my main spots were Wiener's Circle (near the Cabrini Green's infamous red buildings off of Clark) I visited Cabrini frequently and went to Wiener's Circle on my as I journeyed down Clark to the intersection of Clark and Sedgwick, Home of the Hoagy on 111th near Rosland (I used to stay on 114th and Calumet...the crazy things I went through over there) and Giordanos (I like Homerun Inn, but Giordanos will always be my personal favorite).

Grant Park, the lakefront...Rush St, Water Tower Place, the Esquire...How I used to walk from the Magnificent Mile to the Gold Coast and then to Hilton & Towers on Michigan and Balboa...How I rode the L all night sometimes so I could have somewhere to sleep...How I used to wash myself in the restroom at Mc Donalds and hide myself so the police couldn't see me as I slept under the stars. I felt safer there for some odd reason...away from people's homes where it seemed I was such a bother.

I started remembering Evergreen Plaza on 95th and Western (where I could get multiple outfits for $100 dollars) and Sharlenes (or was it Charlene's) Unisex salon "It's the look of a star...Charlene's" (how ever you spell it)...I got my first professional relaxer and geometric bob done there. I was so fly...just call me Yo Chilla! Okay, just kiddin' please don't call me that.

Talk about nostalgia!

I became overjoyed!

As we chatted on Facebook and shared my blog with my Chi-fam, I realized that we all made it through rough time, and I was better aware that the only people who understood me were the ones who saw it, lived it and were damaged by it just as I was...Finally, some people who understood my struggle. They may not have been or known what I was going through, yet each one of them had a and still have a story...For many of them, it is hidden in halted suppurations within their breasts (or chest). Then a new feeling came over me...

I really missed home.

There is a good side to that though. At least I was able to access those good memories: going to the parties at teen club that Sgt. Parks started to keep us out of trouble, I remembered him yelling at me saying : "I don't want to hear I don't care from you girl; I'm not gonna let you give up on your life...You have a future! I know you've been through some terrible things, but you have to take your life back!"

I was reminded about Mrs. Russell...she is still and always will be my mom...

She saved my life.

Who would pick up a child she didn't know who had nowhere to go? She made me get in her car! She wouldn't take "no" for an answer and, when she took me home, she treated me as though I was one of her own. She loved me and her children followed suit. I remembered talking to Jerry and telling him my story. He told me he would protect me and he was the only guy his age that hadn't tried to touch me or have sex with me; he was my brother and he listened to me as though I meant something to him...I wasn't the toy that men played with...that was raped nearly every night for two years...that was awaken out of her sleep being raped...clothes ripped off...ravished...I was a human being. I was a girl. For the first time, I became a teenager and I hadn't ever known what that felt like. I got sleep and it felt so good.

It was the best three weeks of my teenage years. My best teenage memories were in that house staring with Art, my one and only middle-school crush who became my brother. Shawn, their little sister, pretty much tolerated me and I think eventually liked me...maybe even loved me (I appreciate you for giving up some of your girl-space for me) and Mike, well, he was just sweet enough to say three words a day...he was so quiet. I never felt like I was out of place there and I was so glad to be safe.

Now, I'm 38; I'm the homeless teacher and sometimes my heart aches because I was never really close to my family. However, I know God is doing something during this dispensation. He has reconnected me with some people for a reason. He has taught me both to honor and value myself...to see myself as a diamond...that I am truly as soft as a flower.

I dedicate this entry to all of my friends and family from Robbins, Harvey, Cal Park and Inner-City Chi. I love you guys from the bottom of my heart and I thank God for allowing you to come back into my life. You make my heart full. You are invaluable and, when I get out of this, when I publish my first book project (shortly), my first stop will be home...I both love and miss you guys!