LA Baby

Chapter 1

I’m not intelligent to know all about zeros and ones (binary code) however I am smart about some things. Having survival skills has helped me along the way and I learned ‘street smarts’. Thieving is easy if you know what you are doing. Food at the corner store, easy. I did it without food stamps and a large backpack half empty out of the clerk’s field of view. Didn’t care too much about cameras and I went early in the morning. I’m in Los Angeles, California taking seasoned seaweed off the bottom rack stashing them for breakfast. Kimchi. I’ll drink water from the mission on Skid Row because I’m too lazy to take the chocolate milk. All week I’ve been waiting for my new EBT card. It doesn’t matter which state you have your card in and if you shut up about it you’ll have an advantage in other states sometimes. I have to be quick, no lollygagging.

I’m walking out the store, no eye contact, no talking. Mission accomplished. Seaweed is from the ocean, I’m by the ocean. Cool. Later I’ll go to Santa Monica beach to take a nap in the sand. The logical thing to do with my resources is to jot down my entertaining thoughts in a notebook from the 99 cent store. Here I go about to board the trolley. The iPhone I had was stolen the first few days I arrived. So drawing all the types of vegetation like palm trees seemed important. I’m from New York. That means that I’m out of my element, I’m running on adrenaline, fight or flight, second nature, instincts, intuition and reflexes. I’m sober and nearly a robot out here. Silly how a human can relate to a computer in that way. My legs have a mind of their own sometimes but they lead me in the right direction. They guide me in the city of angels. How did I get here? ‘I’m so far away from home’ I think to myself. Can’t click my heels three times but I’m also waiting for my disability check to click in so I can buy some clothes. The shirt on my back is from the church and my shorts are rolled up at the waist because they’re too big, I’m swimming in them.

It’s 2016 and the cost of living is too damn high. The streets are all that I’ve known for the past three years. A rolling stone gathers no moss- fuck that. I’ve learned a lot. Looking out the window of the greyhound bus from the east coast to the west I noticed how the weather changes everything around me. Anyways, here I am at the shore. The wind plays, “her name is Rio and she dances on the sand…” Duran Duran. Or maybe it’s just all in my head. It’s 90 degrees out, scorching hot weather it’s like an oven out here. I can hardly think of anything intelligent to do or say so I’m just going to lay here next to the seagulls. I cover my face with my backpack and I take it all in. The Ferris wheel, and the smell of Bubba Gump restaurant by the boardwalk.

I’m twenty-four years old. My hair touches the middle of my back. It’s thick, black and curly- it absorbs all the heat especially from the sun. It’s okay in a bun. I think of the spirit of the west. Silver jewelry with turquoise inlay contrasts on tan skin and wearing a fringe brown leather jacket. I’m aware that because I’m a female it doesn’t make anything easier for me on the streets. I hid behind my father’s mannerisms. He taught me how to walk tall and I gained a lot of respect that way. I’m an entertainer twenty-four-seven. I refrain from being a bullshit artist so I don’t talk too much about anything on the streets. I’m pretty, okay? It matters. I have good days and I have bad days still but it sure helps to be pretty when I look in the mirror. Look good, feel good. But I still have to make it back to the mission before five o'clock.

Cots on cots are inside and I just decked a skinny guy for trying to take my backpack while I wait in line. He had the audacity. Backpacks are cheap however I can't make the effort to get another one. The rats here are like pets on the street, they seem domesticated. There are a lot of them and they crawl in and out of the tents. Yeah, I’m down on Skid Row again. It’s getting dark, I can't see a star in sight, the moon is faint. The line is long, dinner is in the kitchen and I pick up my tray. People dont talk much but the echo makes everything loud. People are not the same. They’re all going through it. I see one heavy set lady with a few luggage’s having a harder time than most. I’ll see her later in the smoke pit, I always see her and it’s been a month.

I lay down coving myself in this recycled grayish blanket. They hit the lights. I’m left to my thoughts and I fall asleep.

This morning I pulled some change to buy loosies of knock-off Marlboro’s. Someone lit it for me. I say thank you. It's another hot day. I make my way downtown passing all the side shops progressing to the more expensive stores. I’m on my way to the Los Angeles Public Library to research some on Trip Advisor for things to do to pass the time. Hollywood is where I’ll be going next. Never in a million years did I think I’ll have this experience.

On the bus I see the Hollywood sign in person for the first time in my life. I’m holding on to dear life trying to not have an anxiety attack. I wish I had a camera so I could show everyone at home how mental it is to pitch huge letters on a mountain and make it art. I mean, imagine if they did that to the mountains in Vermont. Mental. It’s like a haze here. There’s too much going on and I want to be famous for surviving this trip. I feel like anything is possible here if you’ve got the money for it. I mean, I did go to art school. Like I could just walk into Jim Henson’s company and ask for a job, or work at Kodak, anywhere. But I don’t feel like doing so. I’m already famous just for being a fish out of water. The Chinese Palace Theater, the Griffith Observatory, all the places I can go from here while I’ve got the chance, opportunity is knocking. I think that way. Like a traveler. I pick up postcards instead at the local drug store. The dry heat is getting to my head. ‘I’m famous, finally famous’ I think to myself.

Chapter 2

Sitting here on the bench is relaxing. I feel accomplished. I’ve got a backpack full of notepads, my social security card and birth certificate. I have nothing holding me back. No bills to pay, no dependents. I feel so free. Today is Monday, one o’clock, and I need to rush to the social security office back over by the library before calling it a day at five again. My flip-flops are deteriorating. The thong keeps popping out and the soles are wearing thin. I got them from the Dollar Tree. I’m expecting nine hundred and fifty-five dollars, SSDI.

Prior to arriving in California I stayed at Brattleboro Retreat in Bennington, Vermont. I was evaluated for three months instead of going to jail on a cold night for trying on a pair of shoes from Walmart and walking outside with them. They called it theft, I called it ‘test driving’. They tried to say I was stealing food but I had my food stamp card then. On my way out I lit a third of a joint walking away from the Walmart plaza with my backpack in the cart then all of a sudden, about four cop cars approached me and surrounded me. I was ‘The One’. I couldn’t take those guys with my pseudo martial arts and I couldn’t run with the cart either. I yelled, “IS THIS A SIMULATION?” and they handcuffed me. The police tried to get into my backpack but he stopped when I told them they needed a warrant.

Next thing I know; I was in the back of the cop car yelling out the window on my way to jail. I did not stay very long there in solitary confinement. Instead of yelling in there I sang some gospel and flooded the floors with water from the water fountain. Then some Dr. Cotton came to visit me to ask me just a few questions and decided that I needed medication. He emitted me to the hospital. It was bullshit, I was healthy as can be at 120lbs. I left the hospital 150lbs, deranged as fuck. I was fucked up, they fucked me up putting me in there with paranoid schizophrenics, delusional folk and it reeked of shit and piss from one of the old ladies I called, ‘air freshener’. The staff ordered the nurse to give me booty shots every time I had complained about the other patients talking to me. They talked about their theories and other jibber jabber like this one guy did about ‘infinite energy’ and some other guy tried to join me in a cult. They injected me with haldol, gave me ativan and even locked me up in the quiet room a few times tied to a four point stretcher. I was not insane as they had treated me to be, I may be a smart ass but not insane.

Anyways, I signed a few papers to receive a huge chunk of money for staying there that long and here I am on a Monday waiting for California’s payment. I can’t wait for shoes.

Forever 21, H&M and American Apparel are affordable boutiques. I love shopping and I love fashion. Before I was kicked out of my high school sweetheart, ex-boyfriend’s apartment in Minneapolis, Minnesota he used to take me to the Mall Of America after finishing up his science experiments. He is a neuroscience computer scientist, PH. D and had a job at the university hooking up rats to a computer, charting and mapping out their neurotransmitters firing as he fed them while they walked on a Styrofoam ball while they watched at a tv screen that put them through a virtual maze. I named one of the rats for him, Nimrod. He had a good paying job and I worked at Target on Nicollet Avenue as a sales associate then. I was spoiled rotten. I never asked him for anything too expensive like Gucci, Burberry or Chanel but I substituted the style. I was not greedy like that but I should have been. I was a bad bitch. The last thing he bought me was a red velvet hair bow for Christmas from Forever 21. I wear it everyday now in my hair bun. I’ll go there first.

My flip-flops broke. I am now a barefoot babe on the streets of Los Angeles walking to the Target plaza. My feet get hot and I’m burning up. I love it here. I love pop music (Starboy by The Weekend is playing) and I love the bling-bling. I’m looking for an all-white outfit. I found the perfect white t-shirt dress with a pocket, white tennis shoes, white socks, cubic zirconia earrings, and gold hair ties. I put my bow in again. I look good. I buy a pair of sunglasses too, all black in the style of Ray-Bans to finish. The cashier was nice.

Time to buy some bubble gum and fuck up some more shit.

Chapter 3

I don’t own these streets but I do have a mean strut. I’m young. I’m ‘fresh’. I’m living the dream. I’m headed towards the greyhound station to buy a ticket out of here because Los Angeles is not my home. I’m searching for somewhere to live like an apartment or even a house. I walk out of the city and take a stop at McDonalds for a bite to eat. Ordered a dollar menu cheeseburger, a small fry and drink for $4.04. I think more about my dad. He played guitar. He had an acoustic guitar I partly destroyed when I was a toddler, he never forgave my accident. He also had a Fender Telecaster he put together from a kit he found in a magazine. I watched him put it together myself. I wonder what he would think of my Californication. I’m going to continue on going to a hotel. Hotel California, California king bed.

I think of all the other people I left on the east coast. I miss my family and friends. The telephone line goes both ways. I’m to buy a cell phone at Walmart. I take the bus again.

I buy some more clothes (tank tops and cheer shorts), make up, hand sanitizer, body spray and razors to shave my legs and whatnot later tonight. I also buy a new backpack because I’m fancy like that. Next door is Lee Nails. I do a walk in. I get short stiletto nails, black with a silver glitter top coat for a magical look. Yes, it is necessary to get a mani pedi. Not broke yet, I leave a generous tip. I let my hair down and run my hands through my hair which has a brownish-blonde sheen to it in the sun now.

I took a Lyft to a cheap motel I found on the Hotel Tonight app on my new Tracfone. The first thing I do is call my mom. I tell her I am headed back to the east coast because it is too crowded and busy here in the city. I don’t know where else to go. She says that still, I cannot crash at her apartment in Connecticut. That’s all, phone conversation over. It’s October so it should be getting cold over there.

I turn on the TV, put the volume on low for some background noise and hop in the shower. The dirt just runs down into the drain. So much dirt. I cry. I don’t cry often but when I do my throat croaks and it sounds kind of beautiful. Life didn’t go as planned after high school. I’m a college drop-out. I should be well off with a good paying job, a house and maybe married with kids like most of my friends. I snap out of it. Thinking that way is a waste of time for me. I’m thankful for what I have and what will be, will be.

Tomorrow morning I’ll be on the greyhound bus straight to Vermont where it will be snowing. Cold weather advisory scores me free hotel stays. Hotel life <3. Yeah it’s a thing, I learned it in Denver, Colorado earlier this year.