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“Great!” she said with a smile, opening a drawer to pull out a piece of paper. “Let’s get some information, and then I’ll show you to your new living space.”
I had to give her two forms of ID. I used my driver’s license and my work badge. We went through a bit of my personal history. Since they were a battered women’s shelter, they asked me things about my previous relationship. I assured her that my ex wasn’t interested in rekindling the romance, that he didn’t care where I was and who I was with.
“It’s just for formality,” the woman assured me.
She asked details about Marcus’s car so that they could place it on a watch list for their security guys. I had to explain how the relationship ended and the fact that he’d kicked me out. I told her that there were no children or pets involved, and that I had my own car and was gainfully employed.
After all that, she grabbed a gas card from a stack in her desk and a key from a locked box mounted to the wall behind her. I followed her out to the parking lot, where she got into her own car.
“Follow me,” she said.
“Can we stop for gas first?” I asked.
“Sure,” she agreed.
My little car made it to the closest gas station, sliding up to the pump on fumes. The social worker swiped the card, giving me just enough for a full tank. I felt the tension in my chest unwind and realized just how stressful it was to be low on fuel. It was a lifeblood to someone living out of their back seat. It provided a means for me to get around town, to get to work and to find shelter for the night. Having a full tank meant at least another two weeks of free travel, and I needed that.
After the gas station, I followed my new best friend around the corner. The apartment building was in a low rent area. There was no parking lot, and I would have to parallel park for the duration of my stay. That was fine. After so much time living on the streets, I was a whiz at that particular task.
When we had both parked, we met at the front door. The social worker held up one key, fitting it into the lock. Pushing the door open, we found ourselves in a narrow hallway. There was a staircase to the right, and we walked up one flight. Another hallway led away from the stairs, lined with apartment doors. The woman chose the second door on the left, holding up a different key. She unlocked the apartment and let me in.
It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. It opened up into the kitchen, which was really just a corner of a larger room. There was a refrigerator and a stove with a tiny chunk of counter space between. A sink lurked on the far wall beneath four beat-up looking cabinets. The floor was linoleum, a brown and yellow block pattern that was obviously decades old.
The living room consumed the rest of the space. There was a tattered couch and a mismatched coffee table. A television was set up against one wall, and a shelf beside it boasted dozens of DVDs. There were board games and novels as well, everything that I might need to entertain myself and others.
One door led to a bathroom and another to a bedroom on opposite sides of the living space. I peeked into the bathroom and found that it was dark and ugly, with brown tile and a single naked bulb screwed in above the sink. I didn’t care. It was all mine for as long as I needed it.
The bedroom was furnished with a queen-sized bed and a single dresser with six drawers. There was a closet that held a few outdated dresses as well as some boxes on the floor. There were sheets and blankets folded neatly on top of the mattress, waiting for me to arrange them. It was everything that I needed to make myself at home, and nothing extra.
“This is a welcome basket.” The social worker directed my attention to a brown box on the kitchen counter. “One of the local churches makes these. It has a few groceries and some snacks. There are also laundry tokens, some soap, shampoo, that kind of thing.”
I looked at the social worker, trying not to cry. It was hard to accept help, but once I let myself, the kindness of strangers was overwhelming.
“There are emergency numbers on the door.” She pointed to a laminated sheet of paper posted near the exit. “There will be a wellness check every Thursday.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
“Good luck,” the woman said, before handing me the keys.
I took them as if they were a lifeline. As soon as she left, I would be able to move my things in and lock the door. I could take a shower for the first time in a long time without having to look over my shoulder. And I could curl up on the couch watching one of their old movies, secure in the knowledge that I would be safe that night.
The social worker left me alone, and the first thing that I did was bring a bunch of stuff in from the car. I hung all my professional work clothes up in the closet, moving aside whatever was left from the previous tenant.
My belongings weren’t plentiful; I had a few pairs of shoes, some books, and my sleeping bag. I also had two suitcases in the trunk that I hadn’t opened since Marcus threw me out. They contained pajamas and pictures in frames, things that I needed my own place to display.
I knew I couldn’t drive holes in the walls, so I leaned some of the pictures up on the windowsills. They were family photos, one of me and my parents, and one of a favorite pet who’d passed away several years ago.
Walking to the kitchen area, I investigated the welcome box and found some pretzels as well as a few canned food items. I would have to go grocery shopping soon, but this bounty would hold me over at least for the night. I also desperately needed to do laundry. That was another thing that would have to wait. My more immediate needs were relaxation, a long, hot shower, and a good night’s rest.
The next day, there was a knock on my door that I wasn’t expecting. I approached cautiously, pleased to see that it was my Mr. Brockton’s mother standing in the hall. I opened up, expecting a burst of triumphant energy. I wasn’t disappointed.
She gave me a hug without asking, bowling me over in the doorway. I stumbled back, holding tight to avoid falling. She didn’t extend the greeting very long, pulling back as soon as she had made her point.
“What do you think?” she asked, surveying the apartment.
“It’s wonderful,” I gushed.
“It’s crap,” she said bluntly. “But it’s just for a few weeks.”
