A black woman approached me as I was leaving Kragen’s Auto yesterday. She said she was having a hard time, that she was homeless but trying to live in motels and didn’t have enough money. She said someone told her to go to Trinity Church at six, but she couldn’t find it. She was crying. She showed me a scar from trying to commit suicide and she said she was an alcoholic.
I gave her twenty dollars and told her to make sure she went to Trinity Church. I forgot to ask her name. It is always important to ask people for their names. She blessed me. I wondered what would become of her; a broken spirit.
Last night my wife told me to leave, that she was tired of me tossing her bones. Well, it is her house so I will leave without argument. “Bones,” though, seems too harsh. It was our baggage of life; Jacob Marley’s chains. Which of us has the longer chain?
I haven’t got a lot to pack – four feet of closeted clothes and a few drawers, and a few items from a cluttered garage. I will finally have to go to my place of origin since California is too expensive. I wonder what will become of the two of us; broken hearts and dreams.
It's ironic that I just started reading Studs Terkel's Hard Times.