It’s the first day of 2024.
It’s also the 228th day of sobriety for one of my friends.
Another—make that two—continues to stay in an abusive relationship that’s gone on for years.
One of my friends is getting a place to live tomorrow. Make that two, also.
Another just started chemotherapy.
The long-lost cousin of one of my friends recognized their story—even though I changed the name. He sent me money via PayPal so I could pass it along to his homeless relative.
The brother of another friend has offered them a job and a home if they find the courage to leave a very toxic relationship.
One of my friends is months into a pregnancy that probably neither she nor the baby will survive.
Another one just got a job.
One of my friends was arrested the other day for shoplifting and pot possession. (which is legal in our state but not across the border—where the WalMart is.) Some say they have an outstanding warrant for a more serious offense in another state.
Their partner found a place to couch surf but their stuff was stolen and then they were kicked out.
In terms of those who shall be named…
Melvin is still down South helping out his mother and sister. I sent his sister a Happy New Year text to share with him. She sent the same to me. (Which was a relief since I thought she might say, “Gee, I thought Melvin was back up your way.”) My guess is he’ll suddenly appear this Spring—like he never left—along with the geese flying north up the Connecticut River.
I haven’t seen Kenny in a few days. If I don’t see him soon I’ll go across the river and look for his tent site. Wherever he is, I assume he’s stoned. And he’ll probably ask me to take him again to the bank 60 miles away where he has an account with some serious money in it that he occasionally gets and then usually gives away. (That’s a good story I haven’t gotten around to telling yet.)
Well, that’s some of what’s up with the people I’ve been writing about for the past six months—friends of mine who live on the street by day and wherever they can by night.
Their stories are our stories. What a difference a roof makes.
"It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. It was the season of darkness. It was the season of light." -- Charles Dickens