I can't believe it's almost been a month since I wrote out a story! A busy few weeks with moving back into the house, a sister-in-law's wedding, deadlines and several sicknesses! I've thought about what I'd write next. There is still so much to write out. And I'm happy to report that writing these stories have proven to be very therapeutic to me. I especially hope by now one of these stories has reached someone that led them to help.
What to tell...what to put out there...
How about the story of the jail cell "tenant"...
One of the times that he got out of jail, I picked him and his new friend up to bring them both home. He had said he made a friend "inside" that really was a good person just needed a starting place. I remember those jail cell phone calls. Every few minutes you get a ding to put in another quarter so you can keep talking.
Where did these 2 want to go eat? Amerigo's downtown Nashville. I took them. I took them both, and I paid for both. Of course his friend didn't have anything. No clothes, shoes, boxers, toothbrush. I bought it. We had an extra room he could sleep in; my stepson's, since we only had him every other weekend.
They were going to look for a job together. The first week was about resting and "recovering" from being in jail. Second week was scanning the classifieds while watching a little TV. Third week was to decide which places in classifieds they were going to actual apply to. You get the idea.
The original agreement was that he could stay up until a month, maybe 2, just to get back up on his feet a bit. I like to think of myself as a giving person. I want to help others, always. Everyone deserves a second chance. We're all one decision away from having a totally different life.
He ended up staying for about 3-4 months - as my memory serves me.
So, they never got jobs, but they got along just fine in the 3400 sq. house with a bonus room TV and sectional we had that I was struggling to keep the lights on for. I picked and chose each month the bills that were going to get paid. I finally told our new friend he had to leave. I couldn't afford to feed him anymore (he was a very muscular, large guy!).
He moved out. He really was a kind guy. I don't remember if I took him somewhere or if someone picked him up. But I got the silent treatment for at least a week. Or little "crazy bitch", or "cruel ass bitch" every here and there. But I was made felt as I had done something wrong. I housed a homeless guy for a month - who I didn't even know his real name! Who knows what he could have done... But there was no way I could actually say "no" to - what did I say I was going to call him? Ha! (Do I have the right to use his real name because of freedom of speech???) Didn't matter he still didn't have a job and still managed to have cigarettes to smoke. Sigh...take a guess at who drove to the gas station to buy said cigarettes for him.