Engagement

When the ROW wagon pulls up we're so glad it's finally here. Nicki and me, huddled together to keep the chill at bay; we've been waiting seems like forever in the cold dark behind North Central Mental Health, where the night guard made the call to Netcare for us. We earlier caught the attention of one good samaritan who brought a blanket and a large hoodie out of the trunk of his sedan. Nicki, lost in the hoodie, wrapped herself around my drunken frame, the blanket pulled tight about the two of us. The guard, in his charity and against all rules, opened the heated foyer up for us every forty-five minutes when he made his rounds, affording us ten or fifteen minutes of relative comfort. We've waited over two hours. With only two ROW (Reach Out Worker) wagons to cover the entire city, resources are strapped in this near freezing weather. We know this as we whisper broken prayers to the dark. Hopefully, there will be room at Maryhaven's Engagement Center, our destination. If there are no beds, we could be turned away, left to our own sad devices. Finally, the familiar white van clears the corner at Smith Place, turning into Wall Alley.

Cleve leans out the driver side window.
"William," he calls to me. "Are you intoxicated, sir." I pull the near empty Wild Irish Rose bottle from inside my coat, turn it skyward to get the last mouthful, and set it on the sidewalk.
"Yes sir," I answer. "Drunk as required.
"Miss Nicki," he asks. "Are you intoxicated?"
"Yes sir, Mr Cleve," she answers. "Drunk again."
"Put that in the trash," he nods at the empty as Stan exits the passenger side and opens the rear door.
"Come on in," Stan gestures toward the open door. He loosely pats down Nicki's jacket looking for weapons or bottles, and helps her into the van. I follow in the ritual.
The welcoming warmth is sweet relief, but still we huddle together. Cleve looks back, smiling.
"Salt & Peppa," he laughs.
"Y'all keep it PG back there," Stan adds.
"Too damn cold for anything else," Nicki shoots back. The radio cracks as Stan checks in with home base, announcing that we were heading toward Maryhaven. We've beds for the night.

The trek east, sleep and remnants of long yearning dreams of another life. Side streets, the uniformed bright of expressway lights, the rush past unknowing citizens heading home. All near forgotten until the familiar whoosh-thud of the van door opening, jarring the universe.
"Sleeping Beauty! Prince William!" Cleve's in command. "Get up! Wake up!"

The Engagement Center's sliding glass entrance way: a familiar stale pungent odor of tobacco, a stain of desperate humanity, failure found in a bottle. Inside the clean environment, a center counter is flanked by large, comfortable, medical looking chairs. A tall ice machine stands to one side. A nurses station waits at the other end. Beyond the counter, the other side of the wall is a kitchen area separated by yet another counter. Gaze out across the dimly lit dormitory, scan the orderly rows of beds, all regularly full.

Tad, the night tech, waits patiently, smiling. He and Mr. Tommy are running the men's show this evening. Cleve and Stan escort Nicki and me to the large medical chairs. We begin removing our shoes. Tad goes into action producing the sign-in sheets for Cleve and Stan. Mr. Tommy readies the blood pressure cuff at the nurse's chair.

"Miss Nicki," Tad directs. "You know the routine. Empty your pockets of lighters, knives any contraband."
"I need my damn knife!" Nicki shoots back, her attitude no longer so gracious. "I want my knife and lighter back from last time." She grows louder. "Y'all got my shit from last time!"
Miss Cheri, night tech in charge of the ladies ward appears, laughing warmly.
"Nicki, Nicki! Will wonders cease," she poses, leans into the counter for effect. "Aren't you hungry this evening Miss Nicki?"
"Yes, I'm very hungry, Miss Cheri." Nicki grows calm again. "I'm always hungry."
"And the rugged fella with you?" Miss Cheri smiles. "He looks hungry."
"Yes ma'am," I offer. "I'm very hungry!"
"Then come on up here, Nicki, and get processed so William can eat."
Nicki removes her shoes slowly and gets up from the large recliner. She empties her pockets on the counter: two quarters, a dime, three pennies, lighter, steak knife, and condoms.
"Your things will be returned when you leave," Miss Cheri assures her as she patted her down, looking for jacketed hiding places and illegal hidden things.
"Shoes William," Tad instructs as I stand, approach the counter, holding my shoes forward, and wait my turn.

So why go through these machinations? Why jump through authority's hoop, give up the street's anonymity, so void of responsibility? There was a time when self sufficiency ruled, when all needs were met with heart-strong determination. How was that all undone? A failure of faith? Too close an examination of experience's options? Small matter just now. This evening charity offers a hand up from the dark, doors opening in welcome comfort and relief. Perhaps the morrow will bring an alternate solution to life's troubles. A hot shower, a full stomach, a good bit of rest, and the blessing of a kind, caring, concerned other might just be enough to pull one in from the street. Good night America.