Shane picks me up in the Jeep at eight, looking impossibly cute in jeans and a tee shirt, and she has Planet coffee. She hands it to me wordlessly when I get into the Jeep. I take one look at her with her smoky-lined eyes, still sleepy. I can smell hazelnut, my favorite.
“Oh, I so fucking love you,” I say.
She smirks, possibly pre-verbal herself, waiting for the effects of her double to reach her brain. Her eyes are warm. Beautiful.
This time when we return to the shelter I’m armed with antibacterial soap, latex gloves, shampoo, conditioner, and several bottles of Kwell, just in case. We park in the garage as we did before, and walk to the shelter. She lugs a duffel bag and carries a box of supplies.
I look at the people loitering outside a bit differently than I did before. I feel almost disgusted with my snobbish reaction to them. One of them, a woman wearing several layers of clothing topped by a giant purple raincoat, smiles and says “Hi, Shane!”
“Hey, Kathy, how are you?” Shane stops and I stop beside her.
“I’m good, you look beautiful as usual.”
“Thanks.”
“Are you cooking today?” She’s so pleasant. When she smiles I realize she’s missing some teeth in front.
“No, doing haircuts.”
“Oh! How much?”
“Free, you want one?”
“Oh, wow, that’s nice. Maybe.” Kathy is maybe in her fifties, dull brown hair. Very thin but not quite malnourished. She doesn’t look dehydrated, and I don’t see any signs of scabies, body lice or head lice. I chastise myself for looking her with a clinical eye, but then I remind myself that this is why I’m here.
“Cool. Oh, Kathy, this is my girlfriend Darah.”
“Aww, how nice for you. Hello.”
“Hi,” I say, smiling. “Nice to meet you.” And I mean it.
“My son just moved in with his boyfriend,” Kathy says. She has a son? Why is she homeless? Is she homeless? Why would she be hanging out here if she wasn’t?
“That’s cool. Stevie, right?”
Kathy bursts into a smile, beautiful despite the missing teeth. “Yes, Stevie.”
A bellowing, yet singsongy voice comes from behind us. “Baby Shane and Darah! You’re here!”
“We’re here, Jimmy. Excuse us, Kath,” Shane says, giving Kathy a grin and pointing a playful finger at her, like a gun. Her lopsided grin is contagious.
Jimmy lets us in and the smells of breakfast are overwhelming. I’m reminded that I didn’t eat much this morning. “That smells amazing,” I say.
“Leftovers in the kitchen, but you better get ‘em quick.”
“I’m good.” I’m not taking food out of the mouths of any of these people.
He leads us into sort of a rec room with a barber chair at one end. The floor is stained and the east wall is lined with shelves full of board games and books, mostly about recovery. All are very dilapidated. I notice four copies of the AA bible, in various shades of disrepair.
“Nice,” Shane says, walking over to the chair. She bends over to look at the base, then tries to wobble it. It doesn’t wobble.
“I dunno, Jimmy, this should be bolted to the floor.”
“The thing weighs like five hundred pounds. Don’t nobody who comes here weigh more than two.”
I step up and wobble the chair. It’s fairly sturdy. “I think it’ll be fine if you hold it steady while they get in and out.”
“I hope so. I’ll need you to help me, just in case.”
Adorable, that she’s worried about safety. She turns her back and starts unloading her bag, laying out supplies.
“Where’s the sink?” I ask.
“The only one we have is in here,” Jimmy says. He leads me into a bathroom. Unfortunately it’s a regular bathroom sink.
“Honey?” I call. Shane comes in, carrying an empty spray bottle. “What’s up?”
“How am I gonna shampoo people in this? Any ideas?”
She regards the sink with a raised eyebrow, then turns on the water to fill her bottle. “Very carefully, I guess.”
“I’ll try. Jimmy, you said you have towels?”
“Yeah, let me get ‘em.”
This sink doesn’t even have a spray hose. We’d be better off in the kitchen, but that probably wouldn’t go over too well.
I go out into the main room, see Shane unfurling a barber’s cape. “Do you think they’d let me do shampoos in the kitchen instead? That sink has a hose.”
“Oh. Um, that would be a lot easier. I don’t see what the big deal is, as long as you bleach it good afterward.”
Jimmy reluctantly gives the OK for use of the kitchen sink. An old dilapidated chair almost reaches the sink, so the set up is almost ideal. I set out my supplies and Jimmy brings the towels from the other bathroom. They’re of two types, plain white thin ones, and a wild assortment of donated ones, some of which seem to be twenty years old, stained. All smell like bleach, so I know they’re clean. Some of them are quite posh - maybe a Beverly Hills donor.
She brings me a few plastic capes, very flimsy ones. “You brought a lot of stuff.”
“Yep. Some of that stuff is donated. I know someone who works at a beauty supply store.”
“Oh, that’s cool. Aren’t you connected?”
“I guess,” she shrugs, and picks up one of my Kwell boxes. “Did you buy these?”
“Yup.”
“You should see if you can get someone to donate it. Those are pretty expensive.”
“That’s okay. I forgot to make my yearly donation to HRC so it’s no big deal. I hope that’s enough, dunno how many we’ll need.”
She touches my face. “You’re sweet,” she says. Her eyes are very focused but for a second she leans over and kisses me.
Our first customer is a man, white, fortyish, with overlong salt and pepper hair. He seems clean, no lice, though his shoes are filthy. He’s rather twitchy and anxious, sort of edgy.
I try to put him at ease, first checking his hair for nits. I’d intended to use the gloves, but I forgot, and I realize that unless a person is really skeevy, it’s probably not necessary. Sure enough, no nits. I put a cape around his neck. “That’s not too tight, is it?”
“Naw.”
“What’s your name, man?” I ask, as I test the water temperature.
“Cal,” he says, leaning back, crossing and uncrossing his legs.
“Okay, Cal.”
“How long you been doing this?”
“About two minutes. I’m a nurse, not a hairdresser.”
Cal leans back and closes his eyes. I run the water through the hose for a second, until it’s warm, then wet him down. I’m not used to this, and it’s hard to keep from splashing.
Shane comes in, and I feel a bit self-conscious, fumbling with the shampoo bottles. Should have bought the ones with pumps, would be quicker. “Hey Cal,” she says, and he nods back at her. I manage to get his head lathered and rinsed. I condition him and rinse him, then help him sit up with the towel around his head. All right, I’ve managed to keep his neck and shirt dry.
I walk him over to Shane’s workstation, get him in the chair without a problem. I’m surprised at the array of stuff, scissors, combs, even razors, she has laid out. At least ten different bottles of hair product. The room needs a mirror, but I see she brought two hand mirrors, also. She’s going way out here. I’m impressed.
She tosses the towel aside, runs her fingers through Cal’s hair. I can’t resist standing to watch her work, just a little. “What do you want done?” she asks, and gives me a wink.
“Just get this fucking hair out of my face. I don’t care.”
“Okay.” She picks up a comb and I watch her fingers, impossibly deft, as she combs and sections and then picks up scissors.
I go back to my sink, and Jimmy rounds up two more people. One is a blind woman, and I gingerly guide her to the chair. Her name is Laura. She’s not very chatty. She has dandruff but no lice. Her hair is very long and brown, almost long enough to flow into the drain. It takes me a long while to do her hair, but she is quiet and compliant.
I deliver her to Shane just in time to run into Cal, who wants to give me a few dollars for my trouble. Shane’s given him a cut that makes him look ten years younger. I gently refuse him and he doesn’t argue.
Things go smoothly after that. At noon Jimmy calls us to take a lunch break and eat. “Do you wanna eat here or go out?” Shane asks.
We opt for going around the corner to a greasy diner. “Where’s your buddies?” I ask her.
“Huh?”
“Those kids. Tyson and... Jordan, or whatever?”
“I dunno. I only wind up seeing them maybe every other week.”
They bring us our food, and I feel life re-entering my body. It seems to have that effect on her also.
“So, how did that go for you?”
“Oh, piece of cake. I’m surprised at how clean they are so far.”
“Cool.” She downs a glass of soda. “You did a good job.”
“Thanks.”
“So do you think you actually wanna do this every week?”
“Yeah. Maybe three weeks a month, something like that. You know what though?”
“Hmm?” She says, scarfing down several fries at once. The waitress brings me another tea and I rip the paper from the straw.
“We need to get a sink in there. The health department’ll have a cow if they find out we’re using the kitchen sink.”
“Hmm.”
She has a spot of ketchup above her lip. Adorable.
“Honey?”
“Hmm?”
“You got some schmutz on your lip, right here.”
“Oh.” She wipes it off, and I’m almost sorry to see it go. “Thanks. Anyway, Let me ask the plumber who John hires, see if he knows anyone who might do it pro bono.”
“Good idea. And maybe Jimmy can scrounge some money for the sink.”
“Sounds good.” She nods and swirls a french fry through her ketchup.
“How’s your shoulder holdin’ up?” I ask.
“It’s killing me.”
“Aww, honey.”
“I’ll live. What happens if you take more Tylenol than it says to on the bottle?”
“Nothing if it’s just once. If you do it on a regular basis you’re risking liver damage, big time.”
She nods. “I haven’t been doing it that much. I just don’t want to refill my percs.”
“Right. Why’s it hurt so bad? Do you think you’re working too much?”
“No, cause I had Wednesday off, remember? I think I just slept on it funny.” She winces and slowly rolls her shoulder forward, squirming as if to find a comfortable position.
“Ah.” No use in lecturing her about taking care of herself. I just sit and eat my club sandwich.
When we get back to the shelter, Tyson is there. “Hey man,” Shane says with a huge grin, and they exchange a long manly hug, slaps on the back. She really loves this kid. He has a vaguely rank odor, more stale than acrid. If she smells it she doesn’t mind.
Tyson’s crucifix earring is gone now, and I note a scab on his ear. Did someone rip it out? He’s tall, and I wonder how old he is. He looks to be about 18, but maybe that’s because he has a chinful of stubble. His eyes are green, not unlike Shane’s, very alert, intelligent. Hair is nondescript brown and spiky, either by design or from sleeping on it that way.
He sees me and grins. “Hey, girl.”
I grin back. It’s contagious. “Hey, good to see you. We were just talking about you guys.”
“Ah, Anthony got rolled, he’s in the hospital. Dunno where Jordan is.”
I cringe.
“No way!” Shane says. “What hospital?”
“County, I think. He’ll be okay. He has like a broken rib and broken nose. Told him now he won’t look so pretty.”
I smile sadly.
“Shit,” Shane says. Tyson is flicking his lighter with a calloused thumb but it doesn’t work.
“Here,” she says, whipping out hers. I wonder when I last saw her smoke. “Lemme buy one of those off of you?” She asks him. I recognize that need in her voice. Anthony. She sees herself in Anthony.
“Fuck you! Buy one,” Tyson rolls his eyes, mock-offended. He takes a drag on his cigarette, hands her the pack. Marlboros. She slips one out, slouches against the wind to light it.
“Darah?” He offers. I’m surprised he remembered my name.
“I’m good, thanks.”
Jimmy comes over, his hand on the shoulder of a man who looks like walking death. “You still cuttin’, Shane?”
“Sure,” she says.
“This is Mr. Simms.”
“Hi, how are you?” Shane says, offering her hand. “I’m Shane.”
He just nods. He’s in his late 50s, light skinned black, a halo of whitening hair on his head. I’m not sure what is alarming about him. He moves as if he’s in pain and he looks dehydrated. Not quite emaciated. Sweat on his brow, may mean nothing, because it’s a hot day.
“Mr. Simms, how you feeling today?” I ask.
“Oh, gettin’ by.”
“You look like you’re in pain.”
“It’s just my leg actin’ up. I’ll be fine.”
“What happened to your leg?”
“Oh, just a cut.”
“Tell you what, why don’t you let me take a look at it, see if I can’t help you?”
“I don’t know that would do any good, but you can if you want.”
I lead him over to a corner of the room, sit him down. “Which leg is it?”
“It’s my right one,” he says. He moves slowly, more like a man of seventy.
“Do you have any medical problems?”
“No, I feel fine.”
“Okay, have you seen the doctor for anything in the last five years or so?”
“The free clinic, but they closed.”
“Oh yeah? That’s a shame. What did they help you with at the free clinic?”
“Well they gave me my insulin. Said I got the sugar diabetes.”
Fuck. I have a bad feeling about this guy. He slowly rolls off his filthy sock and I feel Shane watching me out of the corner of my eye. The odor almost knocks me over. It’s beyond the smell of feet, it’s like gangrene.
“Have you been getting your insulin lately?”
“Nowhere to frigerate it, livin’ on the street.”
“Yeah, of course. Well, what if I could get Jimmy to keep it here for you? Would you come in and inject yourself?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
He finally gets his sock off and I’m surprised to see five intact toes. “How long have you had the diabetes?”
“Oh, round five years I guess.”
“Okay.” He flexes his toes up and I see nothing but sores on the underside of his foot. I see scab and dried blood and pus and dry gangrene. I don’t even need to guess that he has the lethal, wet variety as well. Probably began as a blister, then worsened. I hope I’m wrong, but this man is like walking dead.
“Sir, are you feeling fevery? I see you’re sweating a lot.”
“Hot out, I reckon.”
“Yeah, it is.” I hold my hand to where it’s almost touching his forehead. I can feel the heat emanating from him. I have a bad, bad feeling about Mr. Simms.
I sit down opposite him and look him right in the eye. “You’re burning up. I bet you know just what I’m gonna tell you, too.”
“You want me to go to the hospital.”
“Yeah. You’re burning up, Mr. Simms, I think you may have a blood infection.”
“I guess I could walk over to the VA.”
“Uh huh!” I say, so loud his eyes widen. Then he smiles, and it warms me up inside. “I don’t think so. You’re not walking anywhere, in fact, I want you to sit up with your foot elevated.” I look around for something disposable he can put that foot on, and see one of Shane’s plastic capes. I can bleach it later. I drape that over the chair, then fold a towel so that it forms a pad. “Okay, can you lift your foot up on this?”
“I guess I can.” I’m loathe to touch him without gloves, so I let him do it himself. I see a sheen of sweat break out on his forehead.
Shane’s still there, talking to Tyson. “Shane?”
“Yeah?”
“Could you do me a favor and get Mr. Simms a big glass of ice water? Big.” I gesture with my hands.
“Yeah, sure.”
Jimmy gives me a few washcloths and I wet them with some of the ice water Shane brings. “These are the only cups they have, so I brought two.”
“Thanks honey,” I smile. Busy as I am, just looking at her makes my heart skip a beat.
I pull a third folding chair beside Mr. Simms, and set the styrofoam cups on it. “Drink up for me, okay?”
He downs one in a single gulp, leaving ice in the bottom.
“Okay, now this one.”
“Im’a hafta pee!"
“That’s ok, that’s good. Flush that infection right out of you. Drink up.”
I take the cup into the bathroom, fill it up again. He drinks a third glass, and I put one of the cool washcloths on his forehead. “Good, sit there with that on your head for a minute.”
He leans back, closes his eyes. “Bet that feels good, huh?”
“Ayeah.”
“Okay. I’m gonna go call an ambulance to take you to the hospital, you just sit tight.”
“You need anything else?” Shane asks.
“Just the phone.”
I call an ambulance for Mr. Simms, 911 patches me through to ambulance and I give them the rundown. I go outside and wait for them to show up. Eleven minutes, not a bad response time. Some of the EMT’s are familiar. A cute little blonde with a boy cut, damn, she’s fine, I haven’t seen her in a while.
She recognizes me and her face lights up. Wow. Is that for me? She gives me a winning smile then threads the gurney through the crowd of rubberneckers. “I haven’t seen you in a while,” she says.
“I know, it’s been ages, where you been?”
“I’ve been working Beverly Hills, baby.”
“Interesting.”
“You have no idea,” she winks, and I feel a hit of warmth in my middle. Oh, this is not good. Can’t encourage this. Her eyes are big and brown. Where is Shane? I hope she doesn’t see this girl flirting.
“He’s through there. I’d walk him out but I don’t want him ambulating on that foot.” I notice hot blond girl’s partner, a huge Hispanic man with a pregnant gut. He reminds me of Ponch from CHiPs.
“No problem, we do house calls.” she says. Big bright smile. If I wasn’t dating Shane...
Shane is back in the rec room, cutting someone’s hair. It’s wet, she must have done the shampoo herself. I feel bad for a second for abandoning my duties but Mr. Simms is literally a life or death matter. He’s sitting up in his chair, discarded washcloth in his hand. So compliant, waiting for them.
“Hi, Mr. Simms,” blonde girl says. She’s amazing. She’s got this sunny California Girl slash Baby Butch thing going on, She coaxes a tired smile out of Mr. Simms. I stand while they maneuver him onto the gurney. The gangrenous towel sticks to his foot. They furl out a pristine sheet over him. The man’s big hands seem to be bursting out of his gloves. Damn, blonde is hot. I force myself to look away.
I follow them toward the doorway.
“Be right with you, Rigo,” I hear blonde say to the beefy guy. She turns around and smiles at me. Standing so close. Oh shit. Shane is totally watching us. I know what’s coming next.
“Hey, do you wanna go out sometime?”
“Um. Normally I would love to, but I have a girlfriend, and I love her very much, and I really don’t wanna be with anyone else.” I feel myself blushing. I feel like a moron.
“Figures,” she grins. “The good ones are all taken.”
“Thanks.” Oh my god, my face is burning.
“All right, well, if you change your mind, I’m with PRN Ambulance.”
“Thanks. See ya.”
“Later.”
Shane is finishing up her cut, showing a young girl her new cut. The girl smiles between two mirrors, looking at the back of her head.
She meets my eyes as the girl stands, and she unfurls her cape, shaking off the hair. I’m not sure what’s in that look, but it scares me a little.
Shane takes another Tylenol and calls it a day. “I’m gonna go see Anthony,” she announces.
“That’s good. Tell him hi for me.” I feel kind of miffed that she doesn’t want me to go with.
“D, I’d ask if you wanna come with but I need to talk to him in private.” Her jaw is tense.
“It’s okay.”
She doesn’t say anything, but she reaches for my hand. As she brings the Jeep to stop at a red light, she pulls it to her lips and kisses.
.
Later that night I’m doing laundry in boy briefs and a tank top, cleaning while it dries, putting in another load, then making lunches, getting ready for the work week. Christmas carols on the radio. The doorbell rings. I didn’t expect that.
I go to the door with a basket of clean scrubs on my hip. I smile when I see her standing there. With a handful of white lilies tied with a white ribbon. I just stand there with my hand on the doorknob and my jaw dropped, trying to comprehend it.
“Hottie? What’s this?”
She grins lopsidedly, then thrusts the flowers at me, looks down and squirms past me into the house. Like a little boy.
I look at the flowers in my hands. There is no cellophane, and I have a feeling she tied the ribbon herself. So sweet.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hmm?” She looks at me almost grudgingly. Adorable. Out of the corner of her eye.
“Thank you. They’re beautiful.”
She blinks, I blink. So serious. Words are inside her but she can’t get them past her lips. She looks down from my gaze, then back up again, and it feels like she’s seeing me for the first time.
I smile, give her space. She pulls me close, kisses me. Then she pulls away, and blurts. “I love you too. Very much.” She looks down, eyes almost afraid.
She looks up at me again, eyes bright and wanting through the hair falling in her face, and my heart opens up.
I thank her in her own language, with my mouth, my hands, my skin.
SPOILERS/WARNINGS: This chapter contains some mild medical stuff, possible squicks.
I move to find a vase under the kitchen sink, but she stops me. Eyes wild and her hand firm on my wrist. Solemn. I feel the distance between our bodies as crackling electricity. What is she trying to tell me?
