Tag Archives: people I’ve met

Heather

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The Man and Jerico the dog had gone down to the river while I worked on my blog at a coffee shop. I’d nearly finished scheduling a second post when The Man appeared next to my right shoulder.

As he often does, he began in the middle.

She was down by the river, he said. She said she wanted to come to town, but I think she wants to go back.

I looked past him and saw a very tall woman with very short hair. The hair she did have was entirely grey. She was wearing a bright pink t-shirt and long pants. She said her name was Heather, and I introduced myself.

I told The Man I needed about ten minutes to finish what I was working on, and then I’d be ready to go. All the while I was talking to The Man, I could see Heather was looking over my shoulder at my computer screen. Uncool, lady. Uncool.

The Man asked me to open up some business stuff he needed to take a look at, so I went to the webpage he needed. While I was navigating the internet, Heather came around to my left side. I was sitting alone at a counter. There were several tall stools at the counter, and they were jammed close together. When I’d sat down, I’d only moved the one next to me slightly, so it was still close to me. Instead of moving all the stools over just a little, Heather left the one next to me too close so when she sat down, we were practically touching. As soon as she sat down, I could tell she was again trying to see what was on my computer screen.

In less than five minutes after meeting Heather, I knew she had some problems with boundaries. Not only was she physically closer to me than I found comfortable, but trying to read my computer screen was really over the line. Most people in our society know to keep a physical distance from strangers and not to read over anybody’s shoulder unless invited to do so. Either she didn’t recognize these boundaries at all or she simply chose to ignore them.

I wondered why this person was with The Man. I suspected he’s picked her up hitchhiking. She probably needed a ride to the other side of town, where we were going anyway. No biggie. Hitchhiking is a time-honored tradition in Northern New Mexico, and The Man and I both pick up hitchhikers whenever we can.

The Man and I finished looking at the business stuff, and he went off to get another cup of coffee.

I sure could use a beer, Heather said, and that was another red flag, as it was only eleven o’clock in the morning.

I know I shouldn’t judge, but drinking alcohol so early in the day always seems like a bad idea to me. I suppose maybe Heather hadn’t had a beer in days and was ready for one despite the early hour. I suppose she could have been awake since 4am and was ready for a beer after seven hours of consciousness. I suppose a lot of things are possible, but what I’ve witnessed has shown having a beer so early in the day often leads to trouble.

When The Man came back with his coffee, Heather immediately asked him for a drink, which I thought was a bold move. The paper cup from my earlier coffee was still sitting next to my laptop, so he put about a quarter of his fresh coffee into it and handed it to her.

I was still trying to finish my blog post.

I like your Crystal Bible, Heather said to me.

It took me a moment to realize she was talking about the reference book by Judy Hall I’d left in the truck.

Oh yeah! It’s a good one! I said with a smile, then turned back to my work.

Heather said she needed tobacco and asked if there was a smoke shop nearby. I said I didn’t know, then remembered there was a vape store just down from the coffee shop. I mentioned the vape shop, but said I didn’t know if there was tobacco for sale there.

Heather must have gotten bored because she said she was going to wait in the truck. I didn’t know if that was going to work out for her. The Man had probably locked the truck and Jerico was probably going to bark at her if she approached the truck, but I was confident she would figure something out.

Once Heather went outside, The Man filled me in on how he’d met her.

He was down by the river. Heather started following him from a distance and watching him through the trees. When she got closer, he asked her how she was doing. She said she wasn’t doing very good. She said she’s had bad dreams. She told him she was camping nearby, but she didn’t feel safe there. She said she wanted to go into town. She asked The Man to give her a ride. He agreed. She grabbed her meager belongings, and they got into the truck.

They hadn’t gone far down the road when Heather asked The Man if he had seen the woman with the dreadlocks. He said he hadn’t seen her. Heather wondered if the woman with the dreadlocks had come to help her, and if she (Heather) should go back to the river. The Man said he’d bring her back to the river if that’s where she wanted to go. Heather said she wanted to go into town.

They’d gone a little ways further down the road when Heather said, Pull over! Pull over! She said she was having a panic attack. The Man maneuvered the truck into the next pullout on the mountain road they were traveling on. He told Heather again that he would take her back to the river, but she pulled herself together and said she wanted to go into town.

The Man started driving again. He heard the distinctive sound of his water bottle being opened. He looked over and saw Heather taking a large gulp of water from his bottle. She hadn’t asked permission; she’d just helped herself. Of course, The Man didn’t begrudge her the water, but he didn’t care to have a stranger drink straight from his bottle. I wouldn’t either.

At this point, The Man didn’t know how to help Heather, but he didn’t know how to get away from her either. He told her he had to pick up his girlfriend (me).

She asked me if I had a place where she could camp, The Man told me. I shook my head. She’d already crossed my personal-space boundary, my privacy boundary, and The Man’s drinking-from –his-water-bottle-without-permission boundary. What would she be like if we took her to our home? Would she lie down in our bed and wear our clothes? Would she demand we drive her back to town as soon as we pulled into our driveway? Taking her to our place seemed like a very bad idea.

I finished up my blog post and started packing my things. In less than an hour, I was supposed to show up at my new place of employment to do my new-hire paperwork.

We can give her a ride wherever she needs to go in town, I told The Man. Getting ourselves any more entangle with her seemed like a very bad idea.

By the time I finished packing everything and went outside, Heather and The Man were both milling around near our truck.

I walked up to Heather. She towered over me.

Is there somewhere in town you need to go? I asked her. I can give you a ride somewhere in town.

She said she thought she’d go back to her campsite near the river. I explained we weren’t going that way for a while. I told her I had to do a thing for work and didn’t know how long it was going to take. She said she didn’t want to go any further into town but  was hoping to get some toilet paper and tobacco. I told her I had some toilet paper she could have. I walked around to the other side of the truck, grabbed the roll of TP I had stashed in the truck’s door storage pocket, and gave it to her.

Her things—a rolled up sleeping bad, a tent bag (presumably with a tent in it), and a poorly folded tarp—were in the back of our truck. The Man and I unloaded the items and set them next to a concrete barricade separating the parking lot form the street. Heather was heading to the liquor store next door.

She said something about wanting a water bottle, The Man said to me softly.

I don’t have an extra water bottle with me, I told him. I’ve got some water bottles at home…I trailed off. I don’t really want to give away my $30 water bottle (an Eco Vessel bottle I’d splurged on a couple years back while I was working and had some spending money.)

The Man admitted he didn’t want to give away his water bottle either. Instead, he took his now empty paper coffee cup, rinsed it, and filled it from the big drinking water tank in the back of the truck. He added the cup of water to the small pile of Heather’s belongings.

Heather was almost to the door of the liquor store. I was torn. Part of me wanted to let her go upon her way uninterrupted, but part of me knew I needed to let her know her things were no longer in our truck. What if someone stole her things after we left and before she made it back to the parking lot to retrieve them? What if something was left in the truck and she thought we’d stolen it? I wanted to officially relinquish responsibility of her belongings before I drove away.

Heather, I called out, and she came over. I pointed out her things and told her we had to go. Just as I’d feared, when I walked toward the truck, she followed me.

I sure do like that Crystal Bible, she started in again.

It is a good one, I told her again. I use it when I’m selling my jewelry and shiny rocks.

Oh, she said, sounding disappointed. Do you have another one? she asked hopefully. I really like it.

I don’t have another one, I answered truthfully, and I use that one, I continued, also truthfully.

Before I could get away, Heather asked me about a place where she could camp. I told her about the rest area where I stayed when I was homeless but let her know she would have to dodge the attendant who worked there during the day. She didn’t seem to like the idea of having to dodge a worker but then said she’d go to the rest area with us.

I told her we weren’t going to the rest area. I explained again that we were going into town. Then I hurried over to the truck, got in, and started the engine. Of course, other vehicles were leaving the crowded parking lot, and I couldn’t back out and make my hoped for quick getaway. I was stuck.

Heather went over to the passenger side of the truck where The Man was sitting. Mark! Mark! she called out, although The Man’s name sounds nothing remotely like the name Mark. His window was open, and she stood there and asked him for something. I’d stopped paying attention to her in my focus to back out. When The Man didn’t have what she wanted, she came around to my side. She stood so close to the vehicle, I couldn’t move when my time came.

Do you have a couple of bucks I can have? she asked me.

I fished my wallet out of my bag, but found only a single. I handed it to her and told her it was all I had.

Ok! We’ve got to go now, I said, trying not to sound unkind. Heather moved, and we left.

The Man and I spent the next few days wondering what we could have done to help Heather and feeling guilty for not having done more. Should I have handed over my water bottle? Would Mother Theresa have handed over her water bottle? Should we have dropped everything and driven her back to her campsite or the rest area? Should we have let her come out to our place? Is there anything we could have done to really help her? How do I help others (especially those who may be difficult to help) without jeopardizing my own mental health?

I think too often people tell themselves there was nothing I could have done to make themselves feel better for not having done more. I don’t want to be the person who doesn’t do all she can. Also, I don’t want to be cranky with Heather because she wanted and needed and asked for things. All that said, I still strongly suspect letting her stay at our place would have only led to grief.

I did put another roll of toilet paper in the truck, along with a Nalgene bottle filled with drinking water so I can help the next person who has those needs. I’ve also thought again about how grateful I am to be able to function pretty well in the society I live in. I may suffer from depression and anxiety, but I can typically move through the world without too many problems. Heather reminded me that many people don’t have that privilege.

Doug

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Hi, I’m Doug, he said, extending his hand.

We were at the trail’s parking lot. It was early—still morning—and the lot was mostly empty.

I was confused. Who was this guy introducing himself to me? Why did he want to shake my hand? The Big Boss Man hadn’t warned me of a visit from a company or Forest Service bigwig.

Doug had thick, well-maintained dark hair. His face was shaven, and he looked wholesome in a nondescript way. He wasn’t ugly or exceptionally handsome, but he had good teeth in a big smile. He was dressed in what I think of as “golf course casual”—khakis and a knit shirt with a collar. He was maybe a little older than I am—early 50s, probably.

I reached out my hand to meet his, and we shook. I told him my name.

Are you the docent? I asked. It was the only reason I could image for him to not only introduce himself to me but to also offer his hand.

The what? he asked, startled.

The docent, I repeated, even though I was pretty sure he’d heard me, just had no idea what in the hell I was talking about.

He gave his head a little shake and asked, What’s that?

How to explain “docent,” I wondered.

I thought maybe you’d go out on the trail and answer questions, I said.

This notion made him chuckle. No, he couldn’t answer any questions, he said. He’d just come to see the trees.

You introduced yourself, I tried to explain, but let my sentence trail off. Never before had a visitor walked up with a handshake and an introduction, so he’d really confused me. I didn’t want to offend him though. He’s only done something confusing, not anything weird or creepy.

You were sitting her alone, he shrugged. I thought I should introduce myself.

I was beginning to think Doug was an extrovert. I suspect only an extrovert would walk up to a stranger sitting along and offer a handshake and an introduction. It seemed so natural to him. He didn’t seem to be experiencing any anxiety or inner turmoil. He saw me sitting alone, so he stuck out his hand and told me his name.

Where are you visiting from? I asked him. It was my standard make-chitchat-with-tourists question.

He’d come from Las Vegas, he said. He’d woken up at 2am, he said, and couldn’t get back to sleep, so he’d decided to go on a road trip.

His mother lived in Yosemite, he went on. He was going to go there soon, he said, to help her get ready. He had to get the boat ready.

Is this even possible? Do old ladies life in Yosemite? Is there a lake in Yosemite were old ladies and other people boat? I didn’t ask any questions. I was beginning to wonder if Doug’s extrovert personality was perhaps enhanced by some chemical. (Caffeine? Cocaine? Methamphetamine? Who knows?) Insomnia; impromptu road trip; babbling about boat, mother, lake, and Yosemite; talking to strangers could be signs of drug use or an exuberant personality—or an exuberant personality on drugs.

He didn’t really seem high—no twitching or jerking or obvious paranoia—and I didn’t really care if he was, but I was ready to get back to my book. (I am not an extrovert.) I steered the conversation to the trees and the trail, and Doug decided he was ready for the walk for which he’d traveled through the dark desert night. He crossed the street, and I never saw him again.

 

 

Preston

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He said his name was Preston as he shook my hand.

We found ourselves sitting next to each other on a bench in a Catholic Charities office in a small mountain town. I was there to ask for a gas voucher so I could leave, and he was there to…I wasn’t quite sure why he was there.

He was repacking his bag, a stylish piece of carry-on luggage, when I arrived. I didn’t want to crowd him, but seating was limited, so I took the spot next to him.

He opened the conversation by asking me if I wanted some lotion. I bought myself some man lotion, he told me proudly while showing me the grey tube. Do you want this one they gave me? He offered me a pink tube. I politely declined, while wondering who “they” were.

He turned around and offered the lady lotion to the woman sitting in the row behind us. She too politely declined. Ok, I’ll just keep it, he said with certainty.

He and the woman behind him were having a conversation about something she said was going to get bigger. They talked as if the creature in question was in the room with us.

I had one, the woman said. I worked at a pet store when I was younger. It was six feet long, not including the tail.

What in the world? I wondered as I furtively looked over to see if he had a snake (is a specific part of a snake considered its tail?) or (Heaven forbid!) a rat. I understood the conversation was about an animal, but where was the animal? I turned almost all the way around in my seat and saw the woman was holding a beautiful, colorful, nearly iridescent lizard. The lizard, it turned out, belonged to Preston.

He’d recently bought the lizard from Pet Smart, he said. The lizard’s name was Horus. Preston said he had a cat too. The cat’s name was Isis. If he were to have a child one day, Preston said, he would name the child Zeus.

I said Zeus would be a pretty serious name to give a child. Those would be mighty big shoes to fill, I said.

Preston told me he did believe in the gods of Mount Olympus. He believed in all the gods. Some people would tell us, he said, that there was only one god, but I shouldn’t believe them because it wasn’t true.

I thought maybe he shouldn’t say such things while we sat in the lobby of the Catholic Charities office. It was true I hadn’t been Catholic in a long time, but I was pretty sure the Catholic faith was still holding on to the “one God” idea. I let the guy talk, however. It wasn’t my place to shush him.

We didn’t know who made us, Preston continued. We were all different. We were all made of different soil.

He didn’t seem to want my conversational input, so mostly I just listened.

The gentleman doing the screenings for travelers’ aid came out of the office and summoned the couple which included the woman who was holding Horus the lizard. She took the two steps necessary to hand the lizard to Preston.

Just put him on my back, Preston said, and she did.

So here I was, in the lobby of the Catholic Charities office, sitting next to a middle age African-American man wearing a baby blue Western shirt with ornate black decorative stitching over a grey t-shirt and carrying a fairly large lizard on his back. What an extraordinary world we live in!

Preston told his story in bits and pieces.

He’d been living on a nearby mountain, but his camp had been discovered by a very polite ranger. The ranger thought Preston’s camp of two tents (one for sleeping—he had a foldable futon mattress—and one for storage) was nicely done, but he said Preston had to move. Preston was going to move into the forest, and he said he was going to go far back into the trees where no one would ever find him.

It seemed like maybe this was where the Catholic Charities came into Preston’s life. Maybe someone from the organization was going to give him a ride to his new camping spot. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the Catholic Charities, he said, but he didn’t anyone to know where he was staying.

I told him it was supposed to get cold in two days, highs only in the mid-40s with a 70% chance of rain and possibly snow. (I’d seen the weather forecast, and this impending storm was the reason I wanted to leave not just my camping spot but the whole town.)

Preston wasn’t worried. He said camping among the trees would be a lot warmer than where he was currently set up on the mountain. The trees warmed the air, he said. Being under the trees was particularly warm, he said. He thought the fibers in the needles and leaves warmed the air. In the old days, he told me, before there were blankets, people covered themselves with leaves or hay to stay warm. He didn’t know exactly how it worked, but that’s what people did before blankets.

I said I thought the leaves or hay or needles held in a person own body heat to keep the person warm, and Preston allowed that might be the case.

I was most concerned for Horus the lizard. Even if it was warmer under the trees, the mid-40s was pretty cold for a lizard. How was he going to stay warm in a tent if the temperature dropped?

Preston’s biggest concern seemed to be the fact that the ranger had told him he could not have a charcoal fire. Preston’s plan for dinner had involved frying ham over hot coals. Now that plan was out, and I could tell he was disappointed. He had a plan B, however, which involved a can of tuna fish he’d been given.

He’d also been give bus passes, and he was going to ride the bus today, although he hated the bus. People talked too loud on the bus, he said. (Preston himself had a booming voice that rang against the walls of the drab waiting room.) People on the bus cursed for no reason, he said. Of course, he admitted, he cursed too, but not like the people on the bus who cursed for no reason. He was sorry if he had offended me with his cursing, he said. Did you curse? I asked. I didn’t even notice, which was the truth.

People on the bus also laughed for no reason, Preston told me. They’d start laughing and would just keep going and going. Maybe the laughers were on drugs, he allowed. He smoked some weed, he admitted, but it didn’t make him laugh like the people on the bus did.

It’s better to laugh than to cry, I interjected.

No! Preston said with conviction. It’s better to cry! Crying released emotion, he said and that made the person crying feel better.

He didn’t like the bus, he continued, but today he was going to take the bus because he was tired. He had to break camp in the next couple of days. It was going to be easier to carry his belongings down the mountain than it had been to haul them up, but it was still going to be a lot of work. Before he left, he had to scatter the rocks he’d used to demarcate his camp because the ranger had told him to make the area look like he’d never been there. He was going to haul the rocks to the edge of the hill, then push them over the edge so they could roll to the bottom.

The gentleman doing the screening for travelers’ aid came out of the office, and it was my turn to go in. I said good-bye to Preston, and we wished each other well. Horus the lizard was still clinging to Preston’s back.

What an extraordinary world we live in!