#20 Wild Rose.

I want to acknowledge that this essay could inadvertently reinforce stereotypes about mental illness and addiction; and that, in addition, my way of dealing with the situation could be seen as paternalistic or demeaning. I’m sure readers can see past the first issue, and I continue to ponder the second. You kinda had to be there. Although you might be just as happy you weren’t. 

I first noticed Wild Rose around 11 one night. The street was deserted, and she was walking fast, crossing diagonally in front of me. She looked small and frail, and I remember thinking that maybe she shouldn’t be out alone at this time of night. 

She gave me a very quick look and hesitated as if she were trying to figure out whether I was the person she was looking for. I glanced back at her but not long enough to suggest I was that person.

Kenny had told me about her—that she was a crack- and/or meth-head who would trade sex for drugs. He included specifics on what she would or wouldn’t do and made it pretty clear there wasn’t a whole lot in the “wouldn’t” column. I told him to shut up. He told me I was naive. He said she was one of the people on the street he was most worried about. 

Over the next month or two I said hi to her a few times and probably gave her some singles if she asked. (Yeah, I know).

Then one day I was sitting outside “my” coffee shop when she stormed in and started haranguing the people behind the counter. I realized the owner—who is very comfortable dealing with people on the street—wasn’t there. So, I walked in and, with a bit of gentle persuasion, convinced her to come out and sit at a table on the sidewalk to chat with me. Then I went in to get her a cup of coffee and a piece of quiche. (I have this Quixotic idea that a little bit of protein will make a huge difference in some of my friends’ sugar-fueled lives.)

I’ve italicized Rose’s words below just to give a sense of the speed with which she talked. But, as per above, I don’t want in any way to diminish the reality of people whom we “normal folk” consider psychotic. They have as much of a right to their reality as “we” do. The important thing is to do what we can to keep them from hurting themselves or anyone else, including ourselves.

She doesn’t finish her first bite of quiche before diving in: “So I showed up 5 minutes late and I think he assumed that someone else caught me with something so now I’ve had no cash except for spare change from people a dollar at a time. So anytime I do get lucky enough to get somewhere with cash or to get to the drugstore to get some things I need.”

“You…live…downtown?” I ask slowly. (I speak increasingly slowly during the conversation.)

“Yeah.” 

“How old are you?

“25.”

“And you don’t have any help to live?”

“No, I don’t have any finances.”

“So you…live…on the street?”

“Yeah, I sleep on my friend’s floor or in an alley sometimes I rob stuff, so they tell me no trespass.”

“So, uh, you have some sh— going on with drugs?”

“No, it’s medical. It’s mostly medical and financial I’m not joking. I have a cocaine problem but it’s mostly medical and financial I don’t like answering questions I need help with finances. 

“I think maybe you might need more help than that?”

“No, I don’t. I’m curious to know what you think that help is because my coffee is getting cold I have no finances and no way to see Bob. I know who has my cell phone and he probably needs his cell phone more than I do. 

“So, uh, you have friends in town?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Where are they now?”

“In town. Probably not all the way to Walgreens.”

“Can they help you?

“Yes.” 

“I gotta ask you…have you ever spent any time with a therapist?”

“Not in a long time. Honestly, if I had a therapist who got me on Welbutrin I probably wouldn’t even take another dose.”

“So you had a prescription for Wellbutrin?”

“No, they’ve never put me on Wellbutrin. They put me on trial ADHD drugs. 

“Ritalin? … Adderall? … Vyvanse?”

“Abilify.”

“And what’s the thing with your arm?”

“It was from an Abilify shot.¹ if I had more than 15 dollars I’m not suggesting you give me 15 because it might be a bad idea for you to go to a drugstore without my friend bringing me there first buying things at the drugstore I need again.” 

“You need what?” 

“Just random cosmetic things I made one trip up there last week and he called his ex-wife so I didn’t get to keep any of my things.”

“Who called his ex-wife?”

“A friend of mine. Honestly, questions make me uncomfortable you got at least 10 you can help me with?

“For now why don’t you just eat your food and relax. And don’t go yelling at anybody in there if you can help it.”

“Are you a therapist?” 

“No, I’m a writer. But I think you might need a therapist.” (I actually think she needs inpatient rehab but that’s not my call.)

“Friend of mine is a teacher sometimes he wakes up at 3 and says I’m going to go buy some LSD and he frigging kidnaps me.”

“You been to [I name a local organization that supports people in recovery]?”

“Not really. They’re mostly trying to call the cops ‘cause only the staff is allowed to touch the chai tea or any of those things those are only for staff.”  

There’s a long pause while she eats. When she looks up to talk again, she has a remarkably innocent sweet look on her face as if she’s someone much younger asking me about being a writer when they grow up. It briefly begins to feel like an everyday conversation. 

“You write novels?”

“No documentaries. And other things. Maybe I’ll write about you.”

“Just don’t say his name.” 

“You mean Bob? Don’t worry. I change people’s names.”

Now, she really brightens up:

“I know someone who’d love to be in a documentary he has a secret club at the gym but now I have to figure out how to get my friend’s phone number back I know someone who has it.” [Pointing at the bakery] “They probably do have that chai stuff in there.”

---

At this point, I look up and notice Mary. [See posts from last week and the week before]. Mary’s standing a few feet away from our table, looking like she’s waiting for a scheduled appointment or annoyed that Wild Rose is on her turf. (i.e., talking to me). She’s shaking her head to indicate that Wild Rose is crazy and isn’t telling the truth. Which is something Mary knows a lot about…

To Rose’s annoyance, I stand up to talk to Mary, who immediately starts telling me how screwed up Wild Rose is, while Rose accuses her of stealing money and Mary explains she’s manic when she’s off her meds; that she and her husband had come across Rose at a convenience store and noticed a bruise on her neck like someone had tried to strangle her and they couldn’t leave her that way so they got her in their car and drove around and she gave them a little gas money that she is now accusing them of stealing. 

Soon we’re walking down the street and they’re both screaming at each other while trying to talk reasonably to me about why I should give them $10. Mary keeps backing away and making gestures like she’s done with the whole situation. But then she hesitates because she is still trying to find a way to ask me for money and hopes Rose will go away.

Then I have what I think is a brilliant idea, worthy of King Solomon,² and equally manipulative.

Wait right here, I tell them. I go up to my place and get two $10 bills. When I get back, they are still arguing with each other, so I hold up the bills and say if they apologize and shake hands they can each have one. They both calm down, say they’re very sorry, and shake hands in a way I mistake for sincerity. Feeling proud of myself, I hand them each a $10.

Rose immediately tries to grab Mary’s out of her hand and starts screaming at her again. 

1. Abilify is an antipsychotic, not an ADHD drug, and there is an Abilify injection that lasts for about 30 days. It’s sometimes given in the case of court-ordered involuntary medication to address psychosis that’s dangerous to oneself or others, as described above.

2. 1 Kings 3:16-28.

Note: Kevin O’Connor of VTDigger just wrote an article about the issue of homelessness in Brattleboro.