3
“Born and raised in the Midwest, graduated college, moved to the Southwest.” Pause.
I used chopping hand motions with each of the three plot points. That was good enough to cover childhood, right? I looked for the police officer's reaction. He seemed to accept this so far, or at least he was staring at me as if waiting for me to continue, and so I went on.
“Last fall, I reconnected with my younger brother, who lives in the next town over and to whom I hadn't spoken in years. I was still in New Mexico when he and I reconnected over Skype. He was sitting in his kitchen and he mentioned how cool it would be if we could sit and drink coffee in person, right there in his kitchen together. It sounded like a good idea to me, and somehow we ended up making plans for me to move back to Michigan. ...Only it didn't work out so well.”
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. It was always hard to talk about family life; I was always paranoid that other people were incapable of understanding. I pictured everyone else's families as happy and perfect—people who actually enjoy each other's company.
The officer nodded as he took notes. He remained silent as he waited for me to continue. “We still can't stand each other,” I said, hoping this would be enough of an explanation as to why things didn't work out between my brother and me.
I figured that I might as well continue. At least this guy was willing to listen to my side of the story. “I had a job with a local greenhouse up here in Michigan, but I couldn't stand the owner, so I quit. I wanted to move back to the Southwest, except I didn't really have money for gas for the trip back. I tried getting help from a guy on Craigslist, hoping he could pay for half of the gas, but he didn't actually have money, either, as it turns out. So I ended up sleeping out of my car, trying to figure out a way to get some money.”
The officer nodded. He didn't have much of a change of facial expression, which was probably much better than a disgusted look that would suggest: Damn, girl, your life got ALL turned upside-down! And the calmer he was, the more I just babbled on and on, thinking he was on my side and accepting my story, which felt good, especially at a time when I felt like no one was on my side and that no one understood my story.
I smiled, adding this little glimmer of hope: “But I did just get hired at a local deli, yesterday, and the job starts tomorrow....”
I kind of trailed off, there. Not bad for a summary after all, right? That didn't take too much time, did it?
One thing didn't add up, in the officer's mind: “Why did you walk through the forest on your way back to the house, today, instead of walking directly up the driveway? Why were you in the other shack, on the other property?”
Uh, oh. I looked confused, or at least did my best to pretend to look confused. He was referring to when I had laid down to relax in the ditch, and after seeing the cop drive by, I walked through the forest, taking a shortcut towards where my car was parked, instead of walking up the normal driveway of the abandoned house. But I had avoided approaching the car, today, and he probably knew exactly why. It was because the cops were there! They had to chase me down.
After a split-second of hesitation, still retaining the confused look, I replied, “That's where I always go. To the forest. To meditate.” DUH, said the expression on my face, and how dare you think otherwise, you silly-willy police officer! To really sell this lie, I gave him a look as if he was a crazy person with two heads. But then the expression faded and I found myself saying, “...Although, to be honest, I'm kind of getting sick of the mosquitoes out there....”
He surely was already trained in body language, eye movements, facial expressions and verbal sayings such as, “to be honest,” but he seemed to let that one slide. I think I simply didn't know the answer at the time of why I was avoiding the cops, but in hindsight, I was probably just afraid of them. Afraid of the consequences of my own actions. Maybe I knew, deep down inside, that my new “home” wasn't really mine.
As it turns out, the neighbors had called the police, probably reporting me as a squatter (and not a ghost).
The second officer walked by the doorway, peeking in for a moment before sitting down at a computer in the other room. The officer sitting in front of me mentioned that they both had every right to take me to jail. I gave him a blank look and replied, “Okay. This might sound really bad, but... Okay, so jail has a bed, it has a toilet, it has food and water, it probably has air conditioning, and no mosquitoes... and you're trying to encourage me to not go to jail?”
He realized the comparison, and that jail could arguably be an upgrade for me, at least physically, so he also added that I might be fined money for trespassing. My rebellious side continued to speak through me with a hint of sarcasm as I smiled and nodded, “Okay, I'm sure they'll get a lot of money out of me.” I had nothing. Not even a credit card. I'd spent the last of my money on food and didn't even have enough to fill the empty car with gas, let alone pay a fine to a small town. I think the officer understood I probably didn't intend to pay shit. Not because I didn't necessarily want to, but because I was simply incapable of paying anything.
The officers went to go discuss amongst themselves. I glanced up at the camera in the corner of the ceiling, smirked at it, laid my head down on the table, closed my eyes, and pretended to sleep. With all this attitude, one might think I was 17 or 18 years old, right? Surprise—I was in my 30s when this was all happening! Although, many people have told me that I look much younger than my actual age. Maybe I act it, too.
After a short while, a new, older man appeared. He was clean-shaven, with a gruff face that showed the years spent on the police force, along with a head of mostly-white hair, in a shirt neatly tucked into a comfortable pair of jeans. He was introduced as a former officer who now ran some kind of ministry or spiritual group. The other two had called for him and he drove to the station to talk to me. I took that for granted at the time, but in retrospect, it was actually quite amazing that he was willing leave home so late in the evening to visit a homeless girl at the station.
The old man encouraged me to go to a women's homeless shelter, showing me two possible locations from which to choose—one in Detroit and one in Ann Arbor. Additionally, I was surprised when he offered to lend me sixty dollars to pay for gas to get me there. I immediately understood I must pay him back later.
I chose the shelter in Detroit, simply because I was slightly more familiar with that city than Ann Arbor. I looked down at the printed-out internet map of the area that he gave to me, showing me how to get to the shelter. My mind boggled. I'd never even considered a homeless shelter as an option. I mean, I guess I knew that shelters existed, but it just wasn't in my awareness that I COULD go there. But of course I could. People probably often go there, right?
I called the shelter in Detroit with the police land-line telephone (I still had no cell phone), and arranged to arrive that night.
As I hung up the phone, I told the old man, “They don't take cats, but I'll just tell them that I gave the cat away, and I'll keep her in my car in their parking lot.” I grinned, with a half-wink, as if inviting him in to my private joke as a perpetual trouble-maker. I was weary, but still had my spirits up. He grinned and nodded.
The officers gave me a ride back to my car, this time without handcuffs. By now, night had fallen, but I was filled with optimism. I called for Jodi, gathered up my stuff, mentally said good-bye to the wheatgrass, squash and crabapple tree, and drove to the nearest gas station to fill up.
By nine or ten o'clock at night, I was on my way to the shelter, and this time, I drove straight there without intuitive detours. I had no idea what to expect, but was looking forward to it and wondering what it would be like to stay there.