When Are You Leaving?

By H.M. Williams

“When are you leaving?” she asked as I came out to sit on the porch.

I looked at her as multiple responses ran through my head, and I tried to decide which one I would give her.

“When do you want me to leave?” I asked when I finally decided to acknowledge her question.

She looked at me, I looked at her, and it seemed we were having an age-old staring contest, which she had no chance of winning. Just as I thought, she looked away first, and I smiled at my small victory, knowing I was going to pay for it when she opened her mouth.

“Today,” she finally uttered.

“Okay,” was my only response, knowing as she looked at me that she wanted me to beg her, like she was so accustomed to others doing. She, forgetting who she was talking to, unaware that it was never going to happen.

In all my dramatic flair, I stood up, whipped the sheet I had tied around my neck, like I was super chick or somebody, and asked her if she was done talking to me.

She looked at me and said, “Yes.”

After doing my laundry and watching a few of my shows, and let me not forget, I took my Fire Stick off her TV. Yes, I waited until she was in the middle of a movie to do it, and yes, she was big mad. No, I didn’t care, because she couldn’t have possibly thought I was going to leave it there when she asked me to leave, and yes, I could have waited for the movie to end, but then it wouldn’t have been a petty move on my part.

I walked out her door and didn’t look back, partly because I didn’t want to turn into a pillar of salt the way Lot’s wife did. In no way am I identifying myself with her, but I wasn’t taking any chances, just in case there was a memo I didn’t read, but also because that scripture popped in my head as I walked out.

I walked my happy tail on downtown. I didn’t know what was going to happen to me or what I was going to do, I just knew that was where I needed to go. So I got to stepping and of course I stopped many, many, many, many, many, many times along the way. It seemed like it took ffffoooorrrreeeevvvveeeerrr to get there, with so many interesting sights and things happening along my journey; things I still laugh about to this day.

Oh my gosh, I’ve got to tell y’all this! Before I got downtown, my phone rang. I looked at the number, and was like, “What the hell is he calling me for?” not knowing that the term ‘what the hell’ would soon become my mantra for the next few months. But I digress, and almost forgot what I was going to tell y’all. It was an ex, who I hadn’t spoken to in almost a year, because it seemed like dude had some mental health issues that I wanted to beat out of him, since he refused to get medication. Or perhaps, it could’ve been he just seemed to have lost his rabbit mind when it came to him saying little slick stuff that he thought would make me bow down to him, or become one of those silly women who will allow a man to treat them any ole kind of way, just so they can say they have a man. There I go digressing, but this dude seems to have a knack for knowing when something isn’t right with me (eye rolling). Anywho, I answered the phone and sat down to talk to him.

I was on West 25th street when he called, so I sat down to talk to him, only to witness two guys fighting; the shorter of the two was talking to the much taller one while he was beating him up, and it totally took my mind off my situation. Especially since they went four rounds, and it wasn’t over until the short guy got tired of beating the other guy up AND I’m still on the phone with my caller who refused to hang up. It was a rare moment when I didn’t want to get off the phone with him, and I talked to him while I walked the rest of the way downtown, talked to him when I got to the Square and the rest of the night. I didn’t get off the phone with him until eight next morning, and yes, I had not one, but two battery packs that I had charged before I left her house.

So, I finally get the opportunity to call 211 and after fifty-eleven million questions about me not having alcohol, drug, mental health or domestic violence issues, and the long pauses in between, because I guess the person on the other end didn’t know what to say, or how to proceed, knowing that I didn’t fit any of the homeless stereotypes, she finally told me to go to intake at Bishop Cosgrove.

And, that my friends, is when my journey began ……