Mandy's Story Part 1

  

ABOUT DEJOHNSRLD  I write a lot about mental and physical disabilities as well as homelessness and aging. I feel like advocating for these people is a mission I was given after my accident 7 years ago so please bear with me when I write about these over and over. Debb - more... She is a top ranked author and is currently holding the #59 position. She is an accomplished poet and is currently at the #32 spot on this years rankings. She is also an active reviewer and is holding the #48 spot on the top ranked reviewer list. Portfolio | Become A Fan Brenda came home from getting her nails done. As her 2011 Mercedes pulled into the drive, she noticed the landscaper trimming the shrubs. The housekeeper, Marie, was there that day and opened the door for her to enter the large house set in a gated community. The aroma was wonderful and Brenda wondered what Marie had made for lunch. Her black high heels clicked with every step she took on the marble floor. As she ate, she and Marie discussed what would need to be packed for her trip to Italy next week. She needed to ask her husband to get the jewelry from the safe deposit box. Brenda had always lived a fast-paced, A type personality life. She worked hard and played hard too. She had come from a wealthy family, and had just retired from a lucrative real estate firm. She generally spent her afternoons by the pool, margarita in hand. Her husband was a successful civil engineer, so Brenda had her days to herself. John frequently worked until 8:00 PM, finishing his day with a business dinner. As Brenda started up the stairs to change, she stopped and looked at the portraits of her children, Thomas, twenty-tree, and Amy, twenty-one. They were both doing well at their respective universities. Thomas was in the drama club, frequently the lead male. Amy was an exceptional violin player. John and Brenda had a good relationship, and got along well with parents and in-laws. They generally attended a concert or theater performance together once a month, and often met for brunch after church on Sunday. Despite all of this, Brenda had never felt content. She had a persistent restless, empty feeling as though something was missing from her life. That afternoon, she was to play bridge with two of her friends, the third having recently moved out of state. Short a player, they had invited an acquaintance, Linda, to play with them that day. Linda lived down the street in the same gated community, but didn't move in the same social circle as Brenda and her friends. Brenda had heard that Linda spent her days volunteering at a homeless shelter in the city. During the game, Linda mentioned how short of help they were at the center. She had volunteered there for the past three years. The local churches were good at making financial contributions, but volunteers were hard to find. People were too busy, and the work not glamorous. Linda had been raised in the inner-city by a single mother. Scraping together enough money for the rent each month was difficult with her minimum wage job. They made frequent trips to the food bank in order to have enough to eat. Linda started waitressing at a little family cafe when she turned fourteen. She would study after getting home at night. She was able to maintain good grades as school had always come easy for her. She was quite interested in the social sciences. Working hard, she obtained a scholarship to college. Staying in the dorms was the first time she she was exposed to people coming from wealthier homes. Linda worked her way through college and sent any left over money home to her mother who continued to struggle financially. In her senior year, she met the man who would become her husband. He came from a wealthy family, and had a prosperous career ahead of him as an architect in his father's firm. After marriage, Linda worked part-time as a social worker, but her main interest was helping those in poverty. She had held a variety of volunteer jobs before landing at the homeless shelter where she immediately felt at home. The center was chronically short of staff, and with Easter weekend approaching, it probably would not get a lot better. Since Brenda was now retired, Linda asked her if she would give it a try. Brenda hesitantly agreed, but was uneasy about the type of people she would meet there. She had the common stereotypical view of the homeless as being lazy, drug addicts, criminals or mentally ill. Yes, there are some of those, but many more people just down on their luck. Linda asked if she could begin Easter weekend. They were seriously short of help and planned to serve an entire Easter dinner on Sunday noon. Brenda consented, but was still nervous about the types of people she would meet there. But as promised, she left with Linda for the homeless shelter on Saturday AM. She shunned her dress clothes and managed to find a sweatshirt, jeans and tennis shoes. When she arrived at the shelter she was given a burgundy apron to wear. That is apparently how they tell the difference between clients and volunteers, as they really aren't that much different, other than which side of the serving line they are standing on. There was row after row of bunk beds, one wall was lined with toilets and bathing facilities, a second wall was partially lockers in case the clients had possessions worth spending 25 cents to lock up. There were also racks of donated clothes for the truly needy. The third wall was lined with card tables and chairs, and a few donated children's toys. The last wall was the meal service line, separating the kitchen from the rest of the facility. As Brenda met the other volunteers and got busy with her tasks, she began to relax. There was ham to slice, rolls to bake, fruited jello, sweet potatoes and pies, Brenda had never seen so many pies. It was estimated they would serve 300 people rather than the usual 150. The meal tables had been donated from a local school after a remodeling project. They weren't attractive, but they were clean and functional. Brenda was asked to help with the serving line at lunch while most of the others worked on preparing for tomorrow's Easter dinner. Each person received one sandwich, a handful of chips and a cookie. There was some sort of purple koolaid to drink. Milk was reserved for those eight and under. Most of the food was donated by local stores and a few of the local churches. As the clients started through, Brenda looked more at ease. She noted there were a lot of men going though, but also some women and children. She would glance at their faces, noting many were fairly young. They appeared clean for the most part other than unkempt hair, worn clothes. Many carried backpacks, which she assumed contained a good share of what they owned. Looking up into the sea of sad faces, she saw Mandy who had grown up down the street and played with Brenda's children. She looked as if she had aged an additional ten years beyond Brenda's children. Mandy politely introduced herself, her husband Seth and their two small children with a toddler in tow. Brenda wondered what had happened, but she knew the line needed to keep moving. She vowed to herself to catch up with Mandy and her family later and find out what had happened. To be continued as Mandy's story: Recognized

Ruth, April 3

 I have some questions about this, but I don't want to bias anyone's view, so I'll ask after you've read this and tell me if it makes any sense, lacks subtlety, is too morbid, whatever.  (Hey, those are my questions!)

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'Til Death Do Us Part/Bone of My Bone(s)

Conceived in darkness,

you were born on a stunning

June day. We honored

you with champagne

and a three-tiered cake.

You wore a halo of golden rings.

For a few giddy months you

glowed with your own light.

We wrapped you in a silk quilt

and couldn't take our eyes off you.

We wanted to learn everything

you were. Your breath

whispered to us all night and we

listened to your limbs rustle

under the bedclothes.

Then the curtains fluttered open

and we breathed the sweet lure

of earth's aura. We looked out

the window to the open arms of the oaks

and knew it was the season to wean you.

At times we forgot to feed you

or cover you at night. We let

you sleep in dirty denims,

your thin fingers catching

in holes frayed by wear.

We blamed each other into

silence and didn't teach you

the words you needed, to grow.

You learned to talk listening

to the jays quarrel in the brush.

In the dim light of our home

your sight grew weak. Your

watery blue eyes followed

us out of the house as we

went our separate ways.

You sat behind closed

doors in stale gray air

and your strength faded

pale as the midday moon

against a smoky sky.

One stormy day we watched your slender

veins stop pulsing, until you lay flaccid/limp

in the tempest. The wind blew until

the trees bowed and the soil rose to swallow

you into darkness, where you began.