PLEASE MEET MELISSA:
I had not seen Melissa in a long time. And in the rare event that our paths crossed, I always missed the opportunity to speak with her. She passes silently, avoiding attention. Each time I saw Melissa, she vanished. Sometimes into the crowd. Sometimes into the darkness.
Melissa has no home. Not even a tarp. She lives on the streets, travelling light, wandering alone in a deliberate attempt to mask her location. Sometime she stays with people she knows. Sometimes Melissa gets beat up.
I parked by the tracks. Between the overflowing dumpster and the concrete “eco blocks” that clutter the streets of Georgetown. The concrete, chain link and razor wire provide a somber ambience. Like a prison courtyard. And there’s mud. Always mud.
I stepped from the car, not anticipating the puddle contaminated with antifreeze and a floating cottage cheese-like substance. I leapt and skid on wet garbage. Barely recovering, I startled a cluster of rats that scattered in a radial pattern. A huddled bearded fellow pushing a shopping cart laughed at the scene with a gentle toothless grin. His cart was empty, except for a large teddy bear. Composing myself, I looked up. And there, out of nowhere, was Melissa.
We spoke for a while, then agreed to meet again to talk more. I asked her what I could bring her to eat. She said, “Something cooked. That would be so nice.”
Melissa’s journey is uniquely common. Family struggles. Trauma. Addiction. The dangers of street living. The pain of separation from her 3 children. She’s sought help for her addiction, but stopped short. I asked her why. “I’m not ready to start feeling again. The thought of feeling again scares me.”
Melissa knows she needs help, but feels unsafe with the mental health services available to homeless women. But she does believe that, with the right help, she will eventually end her struggles with drugs and homelessness. And see her children again.
I moved on, following the board-walk past flooded tents and disheveled RV’s. I passed a damaged ceramic statue of an angel lying in the mud. I visited with Tiffany and Megan. They greeted me at their RV doors with welcoming smiles. Like jovial neighbor ladies from an old TV sitcom. You can see this stuff a million times and still not get it.
I gazed around at the scene. The people. The surroundings. The raw sewage. The contradiction. The juxtaposition of that which is filthy, with that which is beautiful and fragile.
Seattle Neighborhoods | Damian
A QUIET THOUGHT - If you’re moved by the goodness of this community, please visit http://www.facinghomelessness.org/ and click on the ‘donate’ button and consider a gift that is meaningful to you--even a “monthly recurring” donation of just $5 in support of the work. Thank you.
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