dmseay

the windows looked out onto the city…for hours i would stare at dear old Manhattan…wouldn’t eat breakfast nor lunch…just spent mornings and afternoons looking out at roofs…buildings…parks below…clouds among sunny New York skies…and people walking as car horns sound and sirens wail…i spent time looking out windows…wanting to be a part of it yet at the same time scared of when i would be released…no money…no plans…just day to day existence in a city that does not care…a country of commerce…no place for the poor…

and i was asked if i still wanted to kill myself…yes…, i replied…, but i have no plan…and if the thoughts get too bad i know where to come…back to Bellevue…back to looking out windows…, i said…and with that i was free to go…free to report right next door to Bellevue Homeless Shelter on 1st Avenue…an old building that housed the crazies…the criminals…convicts…and anyone else among the thousands without a home on an island stolen from Indians long ago…

frisked upon arrival…sent to a room waiting for my name to be called…what name…i had no name..no possessions…everything had been lost along the way…pawning this…selling that…300 jazz albums gone…a library vanished…blankets and a cozy bed…no-longer the case…no name…no pride…the desk clerk just pointed at a page with a number on it…i was now a number…NQ73478C…that was me…picture on a card to prove it…

was taken upstairs and shown a room with a steel door…two bunks…two lockers…dark…very dark…you could hear the mice running across the concrete floor and feel the bedbugs bite the minute you laid down on the thin mattress…i sat there in the dark…waiting for morn…waiting for morn…hours of sleepless nights… alone in a cell…no prayers…no meditations… just moaning from down the hall…moaning from men without…men without…

this would be home for awhile…this would be home…

i called her…after years of not talking…years after it had ended between us…her accusations…my distrust…a lack of love between both of us…i reached out to her…she was the first person i thought of when i got out of Bellevue…for some reason i kept her number…wanting to discard it as if it were a person i could just throw away at any given moment…for some reason i kept the number…

maybe she was the last person i had…my last hope…burned a lot of bridges with bipolar…old friends who i yelled at in purple hours when the moon was full…lovers of whom i told to get lost out of rage only to awaken the next morning feeling alone and ashamed of my actions…old jobs i never showed up on…or did only to start working then quiting after a week…one year i had 18 W2 forms mailed to me for my taxes…18 jobs i had gone through within a year…only to be pennyless and on the streets…

but why her…why did i need to hear her voice…a woman who had guilted me…embarrased me in public with her white trash ways…talking like a Teamster in a public john…trying desperately to impress other drivers with tales from the bedroom…the backs of cabs…the stunts she had pulled at both my weddings with stories of when i was younger…lies i had told…thefts i had committed…

and yet i felt the need to reconnect with this woman…this woman i had known all my life…a woman who hung ’round my neck like a heavy anchor for all to see…her massive girth giving way to public pointing…i heard people at shopping malls snicker as we walked by…saw kids make wild gestures of this fat woman as she tried to get in and out of her car…i hated this woman…yet at the same time when i found myself down on my luck…she was all i had…

so i called her…i called her….i remember her heavy breathing…her need to always be right…so desperately trying to sound important…as if she had something to offer about food…film…books…politics…religion…religion being her forte…she was an expert in punishing…and thats what she did…she punished…

i remember it was lit well with flourescent lights…the light seemed blue…i wanted it to be blue…but it was not…a dingy yellow was above us all…in the hallways where all the crazies walked up and down…some yelling out at their mothers who had done them harm…fathers that had beaten them in childhood senselessly…screaming out at the man in the street who had raped and pillaged them…taken what little they had…and for what…’cause they felt they could…

and i walked among them…crazier than 10 whores on crack…mixed in with the rest of the insane…and what was my insanity…what was it caused by…a mother…a father…countless lovers…ex-wives…mad rantings i had…mad rantings…going on and on through out the day of wanting nothing more than to kill myself…wanting to be done with all of it…cars…houses…beds that were warm and cozy…wanted nothing to do with any of it…yet i did at the same time….a wanting of nothing more than to live in a constant state of chaos…good ol’ fashioned chaos…that was the order in my life…

it was chaos…everyday was chaos..needing to wash clothes and not wanting to do the task was chaos…the brushing of teeth at night before sleep was chaos…the simple tying of shoe laces was complete chaos…it was the easy things i hated and would not stand for…and in the end…all of life is easy…

yes there are hardships…there is pain…there is suffereing…there is woe…that i could deal with…but it was the easy tasks that drove me mad…like how to get along with others in the workplace…how to avoid being consumed with guilt and wanting to break away from the Christian traditions of being kind and courteous to people…i was courteous and kind…but to a fault…if i had $2 on me and i was walking down the street and a guy asked for a buck i would give it to him…leaving me with only $1 always in my pocket…never to gain any more…always giving it away at the drop of a hat…and then telling them to be blessed and have a nice day…

yes this was my insanity…taking Christianity too far…but…can one ever take the teachings of Christ too far…it was the constant struggle between being good and bad…i was the brothers Karamazov all in one…i was good…i was evil…i was indifferent…maybe i was just human…maybe i was just human…

she always loved snow…never saw it till she moved north…all it took was the first ground cover and she was hooked…liked watching children build snowmen…was in wonderment over it’s looks on pine trees in her backyard…made everyday seem like Christmas at first…then the cold winds of January set-in…she was not as enamored…

the skies were dark throughout winter…months marched slowly in the Midwest…her husband was on the road five days a week…she was left alone to her own devices…which was nothing more than eating and sleeping…and more eating and sleeping…she did not have a job…no friends…just an empty house four nights a week…four nights of no one to talk to but herself…and the pines…the pines…

stood at the kitchen sink eating cake and looking out the window…talking to the trees…she spoke to the leafless oak…a maple in the back corner…but her most charming conversations were with those snow covered pines…they listened to her every word…she read Bible verses to them…the pines loved the story of Joseph and his famous coat of many colors…the celebration his father had for him upon his return…the brothers dismay…it was her favorite story too…

she loved fairy tales…

i remember my first night in Bellevue…screaming down the hall…a madman being taken to the floor by staff…patients looking dazed…as if shot by a tranquilizer gun…my roommate missing an arm and a leg from a suicide attempt…jumped in front of a subway train…he told me in a thick Dominican accent…,Hey man, he said with a smile…,This spring I’m going to try out for the New York Yankees…you think I gotta shot…,he asked with a straight face…,You got just a good a chance as i do…,i told him…,Just as good a chance as i do…

of all the hospitalizations i’ve had…Bellevue was the most unique…some guys were right out of Rikers…most straight off the streets from all over the country…black guys rapping in the hallway to simple rhyming schemes…women looking terrified…abuse victims…violent criminals…people sleep walking through life…guys sitting in chairs drooling on themselves while being instructed to participate in group activities…schizophrenic women who’d been raped by men of evil…not mentally ill…but evil…and everyone…everyone carrying on full conversations with themselves about grandiose visions of life…moms…lovers…smack dealers…car salesmen…dental hygienists…principals with paddles…killing them all…killing them all…I was hospitalized with victims…truly hurting people…the soul can only bare so much…

me…i just wanted a bed to sleep in…just a bed…figured that would rest the demons for a while…but it didn’t…the funny thing about hospitals is when you go in you immediately want to get out…so i begged…pleaded…threw fits…accused staff of holding me hostage…thought doctors were trying to poison me…paced the hallways…and did my damndest to fit in with the rest of the crazies who came to New York for one thing only…the city’s social services…

New York is the Mecca for insanity and homelessness…as soon as you show up you’re given food stamps to the tune of $220 worth…which a lot of guys trade for cash with the Arab store owners…you get medical treatment for whatever ails ya’…but most importantly…if you’re crazy…or just a good liar…you begin the process of getting disability…

remember…God loves a sinner…

she grew up under the strictest of rules…a Texas girl…whose mother raised her on The King James version of the Bible…a red leather book with gold lettering on it proclaiming to be holy…it surely was…

inside the scriptures she wrote her name with a black ink pen…then her mother’s name as well as her father’s…she created a whole family tree on those empty pages at the front of the book…all the way back to the very first governor of the lone star state…hers was a rich tradition which over the years had deteriorated into nothing more than Southern poverty…

her grandfather’s grandfather was fond of the bottle…so was her grandfather and her father too…a whole family fortune pissed away through whiskey and beer…this disease did not plague the young girl…she saw it’s damage and avoided it at all cost…

this once famous Texas family now lived hand to mouth…paycheck to paycheck…daddy worked for the bus company as a driver…he had a wander lust…wanted two things in life…drinking and driving…he was most comfortable behind the wheel…

and every dime went towards alcohol…after the rent was paid on their small two bedroom apartment in Dallas…shared by two parents and three kids…money went through the holes of the old man’s work pants quicker than a mist on a Saturday afternoon…man had no purpose…just drinking and driving a bus…the raising of the children was placed on the mom…

but they believed in that Bible…sought it out in hard times…prayed every night for forgiveness of sins never committed…felt guilty for being human…they were all too human… too human…

so she went to church every Sunday…sang in tune to the pitch pipe and prayed to Lord Jehovah on high…it was all she had…all she had…

dear Lord…give us our daily bread…

after leaving home i found nothing…searched all over…Chicago…Cleveland…Philadelphia…parts of Vermont in the fall when the colors were in full…streets of Montreal amongst drag queens…junkies…schizophrenic hookers in search of a drink to help save their souls…Boston…Pittsburgh…St. Louis…all over…just wandering ’round North America in search of what…what…some kind of truth about life…something good for the soul…and no matter where i looked…i could not find it…

maybe i lost myself long ago…in the land of make believe…a kid who dreamed of being famous…a football player…baseball star pitcher standing on the mound at Tiger Stadium…an actor accepting an Oscar…speeches in front of mirrors…in front of mirrors…some thngs never change…

as i drove ‘cross country in an old Dodge…the journey through the land of make believe continued…talking to myself…an on-going interview…asking me the tough questions about a number of topics…love…things i hate…is there a heaven…was my childhood happy…marrriages…affairs…was i sorry for anything…any action i committed…what was it like to be hospitalized over 30 times for mental health issues…for mental health issues…that was the tough question…that was the tough one…
and the constant thought of wanting to kill myself…always on my mind…always…like a great recipe your mom gave you long ago…memorized…a plan plotted..always plotting…

in high school i was in and out of psyche wards…the same in my 20’s and 30’s as well…but…the big year came at 42…that was the year i was hospitalized 7 times…St. Louis…Pittsburgh…Iowa City…New Haven, CT. …New York City…both at Presbyterian Hospital…and the big house…Bellevue…where every crazy person in New York eventually shows up…12th floor…West Wing…drugs given out like candy at Halloween to kids dressed in scary costumes…kicking and screaming…foaming at the mouth…delusional…

and then there was me…

i used to go to churches throughout the city…that’s where i found peace in my days of walking ’round Manhattan amongst other vagabonds in Union Square…the onslaught of commerce in Times Square…bearded hair bunned businessmen with cellphones in hand up and down Lexington Avenue…whores hangin’ at The Port Authority…the red eyed Hatians hawkin’ double decker bus sight seein’ tickets to tourists on 8th and 7th Avenues…the porn pedophile perverts peeking through holes in adult movie booths…the sick and the lame…all of God’s children…all of us cramed together on one small island…

it was in these magnificent Catholic churches where i would pray for forgiveness of my sins…prayers of guidance…prayers of hope…asking God not for a miracle…but to merely show me his light…his light that came in the form of a beggar on the 6 train…his light…that of the tranny hooker who had lost her way yet prayed everday to be shown forgiveness…his light…shining on dope peddalers in Tompkins Square who knew no other way to make ends meet…his light which shined brightly on the salt of the earth in this city of Gotham…it was a holy light that was sought…and it was that light…shining through picture story windows that gave me comfort…a candle was always lit…

and as i prayed the thoughts of suicide ceded…for a brief moment they would stop…prayer…meditation…the lifting of hands to the sky…the silent call for God to walk with me in these times of trials and tribulations…preparing for night to come…in a city where sin is justified…justified in the banks and stock option offices doling out dollars in record numbers to young salesmen…working from Sun up to Sun down for a buck…for a buck…justified in City Hall where deals are brokered in the interest of real estate and deadines to be determined at a later date when the dollars are ripe for the pickin’…and in the neighborhood non-for-profits…somebody’s pockets are getting lined…somebody’s…

so i prayed…so i prayed…so i prayed…

she gave me a necklace for Christmas…a Padre Pio medallion…the saint’s profile carved in metal…tarnished silver with the words, PRAY FOR US, printed on the back…pray for us indeed…

we had not spoken for years…we had talked…but not really conversed…it was simple speak, Hello…how are you’s…, not really wanting a reply…how many times do we do that…ask a person how they are without wanting a reply…just words to fill air…words to fill air…

i wanted so badly to tell her…, i’m not good…i’m not happy in this life…, wanted to tell her that…wanted to…yet…i played along…, Oh…i’m fine…i’m fine…, sleeping in homeless shelters is not fine…it is not fine…

she never asked and i never told…hollow words passed through our lips…,I love you, was never said…secrets about our lives were never revealed…so how did she know…how did she know…

in the Bronx i slept in the basement of a Catholic church…i was fed by the brothers… clothed by the brothers…along with drunks…junkies…speedfreaks…crackheads…and crazies…i slept with one eye opened…my fists clinched…the worries of the day still on my mind…

worries of how to start over again…trying to live life without a penny to my name…while dark voices ran though this head telling me over and over to end my life…end my life…not very Christian…not very Christian at all…

and she was a Southern Protestant…raised in the Church of Christ…the Southern Church of Christ…where songs sung on Sunday morn were led by pitch pipes…a pitch pipe…this was to keep all in harmony…harmony…

here’s to harmony…

she told fantastic tales from a barstool…stories ’bout livin’ in Alaska…Hawaii…said she spent time in San Francisco as well…had been all over this country…parts of the world too…Fiji…South America…made love to some radical in Panama…s’what she said…

listened to her all night long…pourin’ drinks down her throat…real pretty girl…played with her long blonde hair as the stories got crazier and crazier…everything from runnin’ ’round with Gypsies in Paris to dancing at balls in Budapest…young thing had lived a life…so she said…

came from money…she confessed…daddy bankrolled all these travels…said he spent money on her every whim…what she couldn’t get from pop she managed to get from suave millionaire types…businessmen… dukes…real royal lineage…guys who knew which fork to use…

but her real love was words…poetry in purple hours lying naked ‘neath the sheets as lovers dream’t and her cats sipped milk…Dickinson…Whitman…Longfellow…was words she loved…words…

and she began to cry…real tears…talkin’ ’bout how sonnets had saved her life…not men nor money…just words…words…

that was all she needed…

and that is all i had…