Friday, March 16, 2012

I Try to Speak your Language..

"I see you periodically
I try to speak your
Language."
-Sentiments of a shelter patron-

Each week at the shelter, I see two kids in their early 20s. The girl is a tiny, delicate, pale thing, with long dark hair, a pretty face, and strong dislike for meat. (which, coupled with her strong dislike for canned vegetables, leaves her with little sustenance on her lunch tray.) Her friend is a young black man with large expressive eyes,  an open trusting face and a gentle demeanor. Each week, they go through the line, smiling and chatting, inadvertently bringing a lightness to those around them.  Despite their struggles and surroundings, they maintain wide innocent smiles and are completely lacking hardness and cynicism.  Since I started my weekly foray to the shelter, this particular young man has chatted with me, asking my opinions and telling me about his interest in poetry slams, spoken work and improv.  This past week as I handed a tray across the line to him, he handed back a folded sheet of notebook paper.   I slipped it into my pocket, wanting to wait till I was home to see what this young person had working through his mind..

"..Being shy?
That's what makes us hide
Being blind
Looking for love far and wide

But it's right here.."

At the bottom of his page of beautifully written thoughts (figuratively and literally speaking!) he wrote the word 'corny' followed by two exclamation points.  I disagree.

Spring is in the air in Uptown. Forgotten daffodils and tulips are forcing their way through the earth, bringing a contrast to the stark concrete and prolific litter of the neighborhood.  Dogs are being walked with considerably more enthusiasm and the sounds of happy children laughing and shrieking are floating in the unusually warm air.  However, excited as we are to be waking from the long winter's slumber, we forget that the cold forced people indoors who are now again standing dangerously on the corner.  This past Monday as I drove home from teaching, my husband called my cell, giving me an aggravated earful about the ten or so kids standing on the corner. After hanging up, I contemplated my strategy, fulling knowing that I didn't want to spend the remainder of my evening with a husband whose nose was pressed against the window.  I decided that upon parking, I would happily fall into the role of the neighborhood crazy chick.  After reaching home, I approached the corner kids quickly, frantically asking if they were all ok and who it was who was shot.  They looked at me with surprise and I said, without sarcasm, that that must be why they were all standing there at 11 o'clock at night.  One boy, surely not older than 15, responded that they all were just simply waiting for a ride.  'So, everyone is Ok then?"  I asked.  'Yeah,' the kid responded.  "My name is Jen," I said while holding out my hand. Two boys looked at me hesitantly, before one thought up a suitable fake name and insecurely shook my hand.  I then mentioned that I worked at the local shelter and we could always use more help.   Before we parted ways, I said what was utmost on my mind.. I mentioned that by standing on the corner, they were making themselves huge targets and we didn't need anymore blood on the sidewalk.  The boys nodded, eyes down and before I had gotten up the stairs to my home (and to one very pissed off husband,) they had all disappeared.     

The following night (Tuesday) as I drove back into the neighborhood from teaching, I saw a group of guys walking towards the lake and away from the unmistakable blue flashing police lights.  The boy who shook my hand the night before, looked at me and immediately fixed his eyes at the ground.  Sure enough, five shots had been fired, thankfully missing everyone...no explanations, no one in custody, nothing changed.  Spring is in the air in Uptown.

The words of my shelter friend bear repeating..

"I see you periodically
I try to speak your 
language."











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