No Place Like Home Pt. 2
Last week I shared my series of unfortunate events including 14 long cold hours curled up in my car, sandwiched between three 16 wheelers in the center lane of I-20 somewhere between Lincoln and Pell City; limited heat, limited fuel, a bag of dated Cheese Curls, a 16oz bottle of Mountain Dew soda,
a dead cell phone during January 28th’s “unlikely snow storm.”
And my adventure continued… My homeless experience
While sitting in my car typing on my laptop about my adventures to you I heard a tap on the window. It was dark and I was petrified to say the least. There was light in the car from the laptop screen and unfortunately my intruders could see inside the car clearly but I could see nothing on the outside. I looked up from the computer and reluctantly cracked the window. To my surprise there stood college students who were walking up and down I-20 passing out bottled water, apples and bananas to my fellow stranded motorists and now to me. I rolled the window down a bit more to hear what they were saying and after chatting for a minute I was at ease. I took a Granny Smith apple which you would have thought was a sirloin steak the way I savored every crunchy bite. The students explained the traffic delay and the last thing I remember hearing before they went to the next car was “You’ll be here for the rest of the night and a good part of tomorrow. Flag us down if you decide to go to a shelter.”
A shelter? Me? After several more hours I finally gave in; my body was no match for the elements. Trying hard to maintain my composure and balance and not fall, I looked as if I were dancing on the slippery ice as I flagged the students down with the slender black flashlight I had in my purse. I was afraid but willing to take the chance – anything was better than suffering in a cold car, hungry, alone and in the dark. After climbing over the stone six-foot median that divided I-20 east and west in my skirt, the students helped me into the truck and drove effortlessly in their four-wheeler across the ice to an awaiting police car to take me and others to several make-shift shelters in the area.
I arrived at a church shelter where I received hot coffee, tepid scrambled eggs, bacon and biscuits. I had served the homeless on several occasions in the past but had never been served as a victim of homelessness. I left my pride pouting and sitting in the driver’s seat of my car on I-20 and humility and gratitude wrapped themselves around me like the fresh Red Cross blanket I received upon my arrival. Not certain what to do I followed my companions, lined up with my plastic fork; paper plate and napkin in hand to receive my rations. I was no longer the success minded woman who left her house in the black fitted business suit – my pantyhose resembled a fisherman’s net, my layers of clothing did not match, the scarf on my head was lopsided and for the first time in my life I was just a face – a nameless person who had nowhere to go. After eating, the shelter staff invited us to sleep on the pews in the sanctuary of the church. There was the young white college student and his small grey curly haired dog, the aged white gentleman with the wire rimmed glasses whose snoring was like the growl of an angry bear; the Black thirty something young lady who was just trying to get home from the hair salon when she got stuck, the educated middle-aged Black man who worked at Honda still in his white one piece uniform who was trying to get home to his wife after a long day at work and so many others with more stories than I could tell – and me, who earlier that morning exemplified the epitome of success, but was now sharing an uncommon bond of time and space because of a series of unfortunate events. Our bond didn’t involve status, income, race, color, or any material things like the Jimmy Choo shoes or Michael Kors bag we could or couldn’t afford. None of that mattered when we made the choice to leave our Toyota, truck, Mercedes or the sputtering hoopti abandoned on I-20. We were all different, yet this unlikely situation made us uniquely the same.
After nearly 36 hours later a husband and wife volunteer team delivered me to my car that was completely undamaged and I cautiously made my way HOME. Through my experience I was now able to understand a small portion of the plight of homelessness in a very real way. I realized that a minor inconvenience for me of being unable to get home was a way of life for many – not just being able to get home, but having no home to get to. Like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, all I could say was “There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home” and “Thank you Lord.”
“I don’t have all the answers, but I know the One who does.”
I would love to hear your story or comments. Athomewithshellie1@Yahoo.com or find me at www.athomewithshellie.com
