What's To See?

We voted in an affable, somewhat self-effacing Iowan last night, only he wasn't really Iowan, his parents moved him as an infant to Mallard, Missouri, pop 13.

Rural man, head to boot, and in retrospect, creepily apologetic about it. He said his favorite meetings were the ones with (he dared say it) 'upper class' people, doctors and lawyers (not dentists! they're middle-brow of course, if I remember my Paul Fussell).

He was direct from the Second Floor, on his first pass after a six week stay. He said with some wonderment that he'd been there so long the staff was treating him like staff, and he was taking care of some of the newer patients.

How did your troubles begin, friend?

In 1997 my wife stabbed me in the head and then got a restraining order on me. I went to a friends to live and got off my meds and I was sad about my father's death so I stole my friend's car and drove it to the grave up in Iowa, intending to blow my brains out. They caught me with the stolen car and the gun and that's how I ended up in prison for three years.

In prison they had me on very strong medications. That was good. I learned how to get along. Then they released me and gave me a bag full of these pills and said do I want to go to a half way house in Kansas City of St. Louis City? I chose St. Louis because I heard there were better social service agencies there.

I thought, "St. Louis City?" All the brethren went gawd, jesus, no, and then I knew he meant East St. Louis.

Immediately began apologizing for having some knee-jerk racism, he was trying to overcome.

"Oh well, yeah, when you're the only white dude in the ghetto man..." someone said.

In St. Louis City I threw away my pills because I realized they were so damn strong and I couldn't defend myself. It felt like prison , you know, you have to always be looking over your shoulder. So I started to drink because you see, that was self-medicating. I have an anxiety disorder and Major Depression. I mean without the pills. Well, I mean, with the pills it's ok [laughs], and for awhile with the alcohol it was ok. Only the alcohol stopped working.[laughs]

We were nodding, understanding completely, and he got very happy and said "You guys are completely different from the Tideweil House, they were shooting questions at me the whole interview! Like, what would I do if someone in the house offered me drugs? Man, I'm from prison so I have this anti-snitch thought process, you know and...

I like it here! John told me you're all from the second floor too!"

Jackson shifts uncomfortably on the davenport. It's true! I did say that!

Why did I say that? Hm!

"You just seem really cool here, it's a relief!"

The men started to soak this up a bit. "Ah, yeah, some of these Sober Houses are uptight man, I think we've got the best one going, we stay out of each other's business but we're aware of one another too, we all know what's going on in each other's lives pretty much. You pay your rent and stay sober , you don't isolate and make us worry, you're fine, man. You know."
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Man. I liked this kid. Stabbed in the head and a little stupid maybe but he likes doctors and lawyers, that's smart! I bet he reads newspapers. He might even read books.

After the interview Greg the Pedant interrupted our unanimous agreements to wonder, "she stabbed him and then got a restraining order?"

I said, "Way of the world, man. She probably felt bad for stabbing him and bailed him out. Then he was mad."
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So, come to find out today that the man has a criminal record from your elbow to your typing fingers. We'd got a tip from one of the Phooka's coterie that this fellow was wanted in 53 states. One of the brethren told me he prayed about this, it seemed wrong to look him up in the internet records.

Like hell.

Adult Abuse, 1997. Hm. Wide area of possibilities there.
click DWI click click DWI
Vehicular Assault, 2001. Hey. You could kill someone.
click Illegal use of fire-arm click DWI click DWI (Hey. You could kill someone.)click Adult Abuse click click
Sexual Assault, 1st degree, guilty plea.

Spasms of disgust and anger.

Look up the S.Offender list, then.

There he was in a lurid color mugshot, a plug-ugly if I'd ever seen one (and I guess I can see 'em and not notice).

A god damned rapist, out of jail after only three years.
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I don't know what to say about the flying debris of my thoughts for the next hour, except that I don't know myself very well. I did come to a conclusion though that some people just need to find their redemption while serving life in prison. Maybe on death row.
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Also, to get back self-centered here on the old scroll-down, it's a reminder that I'm still homeless and "in the system" , for having given up on my life and sitting around waiting to either starve or be committed.

I'm happy to be saved, and to be sober, but I am in the eye of a mad, mad world here. This devil would have been my room-mate and probably my pal.

I am a year and a half sober. But care-free as after a June eye-opener with the morning paper. Rich and jobless with a lunch date, care-free.

Someone is saying , move on now. Danger, gently. Real world, gently.
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no edit, tarred and blurry eyed, thinking of life up north where there is nonesuch winding roads up and down right left , nor yelling nor arguments.