Spooky
I want to tell you a story…..albeit a sad one; about a girl I never knew...a stranger that crossed my path from a distance a time or two…..yet had more of an impact on me than some I have known forever. Her name was Spooky. A nickname, obviously, but it’s all I have to refer you...she had another name, and for a moment a long time ago, I knew what it was...but she has always been Spooky in my memory which is as it should be. …..it fit her so well...Not that she was frightening or anything like that.....but she was dark…..kind of gypsy like and rather exotic looking; she was a street girl. …..and street girls...well, they’re supposed to have nicknames….it's sort of a rite of passage in that underground community...part of the job description. For so long I have wanted to tell her story…..to memorialize her I guess…...mainly because no one else cared to. How does a life become so removed from the mainstream that there is no one to bury you or even bring your body home? At what point does everyone just give up on you? How can this woman that always had a smile on her face....though if you looked closely it wasn't hard to see that it clearly sheltered the shadow of the sadness in her eyes……this woman that accepted her lot in life for what it was…..She wasn't a monster or a murderer...yet no one, not one person, found the time to mourn for her….. No one but me that is.
I knew her name was Spooky because my sons (10 and 12 at that time) told me as much. The minute I saw her I knew exactly what she was up to. If you wonder how I could have known that...well...it’s because I had been in that exact place….. Different city, different street corner....but the same place none the less...Always when I was in the deepest throes of my addiction....so right away I was fascinated with her. I was in the center of one of my long term sobriety spells…..living the straight life…..working two jobs...no one but old friends and family even knew of my history. I put on such a good face that no one would ever suspect who I really was. I would watch from my big picture window as she flagged down cars....or as she pretended to talk on the pay phone on the corner by the dilapidated old Laundromat hoping to catch the eye of one of the drivers as they sat and waited for the light to change……All diversionary tactics to throw off the police should they venture by. My boys used to ride their bikes around the Laundromat parking lot...there just weren’t many safe places to ride in the city and she would always engage them in conversation…..laugh and chat about who knows what with them. She seemed friendly enough, though, believe me, I watched her pretty closely the first few times I saw her talking to them. Eventually, I began to understand that she was just happy for the company...just lonely……and perhaps even longing for an abandoned child of her own. That’s where addiction takes us you know. Away from all we hold dear......we just walk away from it all. There is no in between.... no best of both worlds
When I heard she was dead..I wasn’t surprised. I had been watching for her for several weeks……wondering if maybe she was in jail. That had happened a few times in the past. She would disappear for a few days and the next time I saw her she would be a little more rested...a little healthier..I knew what that meant. This time though, she never came back.
They found her inside a refrigerator….Dead….Murdered……..
I have this recurring nightmare that he put her in there while she was still alive. I don’t know that…but it horrifies me none the less. It had to have been a horrible and lonely death. No one missed her. It was the smell that led them to her. Well, I missed her…but who could I tell? For all I knew she had found another corner. The saddest part was that there was no one to bury her. They had to put an article in the paper and rely on a stranger’s pity and anonymous donations to lay her to rest. I wanted to attend the funeral. I knew no one would be there and I wanted to honor her…..she was someone……someone’s daughter, maybe someone’s mother, she was always kind to my kids…..…but I am ashamed to tell you that I was afraid. I did not want anyone to wonder why I would attend such a thing. Had I become one of “them?” All that I had rebelled against my entire life…a mainstream hypocrite?
I was living the facade of a good life…..in recovery for the umpteenth time. Yes, I was afraid of what others would think. Those type things….well, they change the way people see you. All of a sudden they begin to doubt who they thought you were…question your motives…shy away a little bit.
It has been a great regret of mine that I let my fear control my decision that day. It embarrasses me to tell you that I did. I pray there were others there…compassionate souls that felt the need to stand up for who she might have been. Someone who understood what it was like to be at the bottom……Someone who understood what it was like to be alone…Someone who understood that a soul is a divine creation and worthy of being respected and honored…no matter where they found you or how you might have gotten there. Who among us can say we might not have been there ourselves had our circumstances been different?
~Me~ January 2010