Danger [life]
This part of the story I call “depth perception,” as it is the way I made my home after she was pregnant.
I had to leave because I had gotten violent with her brother at the time share we were staying at. It was the next day that she told me she was pregnant with our daughter. It was the most of unfortunate of consequences that I was not allowed on the family property where she lived for the next two years. It was a mistake brought on by my “thug life,” way of living that was not all that.
St. Louis is where I got stuck when the Greyhound bus driver told me that my bus ride home from Ann Arbor was not going to be good enough to get me on the bus, that they had oversold and I was stuck here waiting for the next bus. I was cold, bitter cold in the air conditioning. I had known days of sleeping by the railroad drunk on Wild Turkey and a hotel with a two hundred dollar phone bill to her at home soaking in a bath and drinking Jack with expensive cigars. I had toted the Jack around while eating at the shelter and then made my through town to donate it back toi the table I had thieved the Wild Turkey gallon from.
Here I was, stuck. I had earlier collected a food bag from the local east side charity and now I threw a fit and tore up my ticket, leaving the scattered remains unwittingly unaware that my ticket was not retrievable by record. In other words they would not just look me up and print my ticket again. Stuck in St. Louis was the name of the game, broke and in the fourth day of November, my birthday coming soon.
I am a Scorpio, first house with the sun, moon, and Venus and a Libra rising spectacle here for you all to witness. This means I have a stinger, but that I am more aware of the illumination of day, the tides through the night and the passion of the earth and it’s love, with a penchant for describing it in detail. Of course this means bi-polar schizoeffective with psychotic features to be perfectly shrunk.
It was after my visit to the arch that I made my way to the first hospital. I was one hundred and forty two pounds, and they administered a huge meal regimen. I also received the first of many Haledol monthly injections to last my month from here. The doctor released me and I was off, having chose to spend the weekend outside of those safe walls alone.
I walked around, unaware of the danger that lurked and then it hit me. This was the fast moving crime section at night. I was so scared I tried to spend the night at a shelter supported and named after a pro football player, but that scared me as the guard checked my I.D. and nearly kept it. There was a man on the stoop smoking crack. I left in the middle of the night.
In the morning I found myself so scared that I had visions of suicide. They were almost ideations, but I have never been suicidal. Then started up the worst wisdom tooth pain I had ever experienced. My head was exploding with a pain so severe I could barely function. I headed for the hospital for both reasons. This time I took a roundabout route through where I had tried hitch hiking, attempting to get home to family. It hadn’t worked and now here I was walking to a different hospital I had been given directions to at the church where meals for the homeless were held.
I arrived on that mid morning in the bitter cold, the road filled with a couple feet of snow, the traffic heavy. It was there the guard on the way in informed me that the shoes I was wearing were stuffed with shiv’s in the heels. I had traded them in the park on the east side downtown near the art museum and concert hall for my Sanuk sidewalk surfers. He looked at me real funny, and admitted me.
I was in the emergency department examination room for what seemed like hour, crying and wailing and moaning from my teeth. Then the doctor came in.
He was a short olive skinned man, stocky and cocky like Robin Williams or something. He announced, “Joel we can’t help you. I think you need to help yourself.”
I leapt from the table, threw myself at him and pushed him for a brief second. He panicked and threw my belongings, now in hospital bags out the door. He told the guard to put them out front and screamed at me “You’re going to prison! That is ASSAULT! I am calling the police. Wait for them out front!”
I knew I was in deep shit, and shanola even. I hit the door and saw my belongings, felt the vibe of the cops on their way and being made aware of the incident. Then it hit me.
“I was homicidal, proven, now prove I am suicidal!”
I was in hospital scrubs, booties and had a bracelet with my information on my wrist. I started out immediately. I walked my skinny ass straight into oncoming traffic. For an entire mile I headed the opposite way down the main drag, in the snow, in the fucking middle of the road. Traffic here, mind you is going around fifty miles per hour, and I really thought I was going to get hit. Halfway there a helicopter came overhead and began following me. Shortly after this, I stopped at a gas station, unaware of what to do next. I headed back, on the sidewalk this time to the hospital.
Just as I arrived there, seven patrol cars came flying into the street at the entrance, screeching to a halt. They got out and approached me. A black cop, short and thick, stocky and with a grin came into my front.
“What happened, you tried to get admitted?”
I nodded the affirmative.
“For what? Psyche?”
Once again I nodded yes.
“So what do you want to do?” he said.
“Get my stuff back.”
He produced a Newport 100 and offered it to me.
“Cigarette?”
“Yes, PLEASE!”
The friend of a stranger in a uniform of blue and a badge of gold to match his heart put it in my mouth and lit it for me.
The police down the street retrieved my belongings from where an orderly had left them.
“Where you want to go, we’ll give you a lift!” the policeman asked kindly and empathetic.
“Downtown.”
As I climbed in the long boxy paddy wagon and they left me un-cuffed and still amazed at the understanding, I knew I had to leave town. The door shut and I said, “Greyhound.”
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