Invisible

INVISIBLE

I see you! Dressed up in your goin’ to work clothes. Comin’ into the city on that train from them fancy suburbs, pretendin’ you don’t see me.

Hey! Your shoes suddenly got tight? Is that why you bow your head, shakin’ it in disgust?

I ain’t beggin’ for no money. I ain’t no bum! I’m Stella Maikens. Well, I used to be, anyway, before I started livin’ on the street. Now, I’m just Stella. No, I ain’t young no more. I don’t have no nice clothes; my shoes got holes, and my gray hair ain’t done up pretty. But I still got feelings, and they still get hurt.

Please, look at me. I ain’t invisible!

What is it? You afraid I’m going to infect you? Give you what I got? Well, rest easy, what I got, you ain’t gonna get. Lessen, of course, the times get bad again; or you get too old and the boss wants a younger, cheaper worker, and you got no one carin’ ‘nough ‘bout you to help you out. Then, maybe, you got reasons to be ‘fraid of bein’ like me.

God knows, I never thought I’d be trash livin’ on the streets.

I ‘member an old bag-lady I used to see. We called her Annie. Don’t rightly know if that was even her name, but that’s what we used to call her. Crazy as a loon, she was. Mumbling all the time; shoutin’ and cussin’ at the youngens while draggin’ that stupid shopping cart behind her. Filled up to the top with all kinda plastic bags holdin’ who knows what.

Scary is what she was. Her frizzled gray hair standin’ out to here, and wearin’ two, three dresses and a pair of smelly trousers under a man’s winter coat on the hottest day of the year!

She died, you know, froze to death on a park bench. Well, that’s what someone said. Don’t rightly know for sure. I didn’t care one way or t’other then, just knew I didn’t see her no more on my way to the El.

That was in 1991. George and me was both workin’ then. We had a good life. Not rich and fancy like yours, maybe, but we had us an apartment with its own bathroom and a little kitchen. We were luckier than most in our neighborhood - no rats, just roaches. We fixed the place up real nice. The year before he died, my George got us a phone and telephone number. We never had one of our very own before.

Oh, Lordy how I loved that man. I still do, you know.

I’ll never forget the day everthin’ changed. I’d been workin’ at All States Clothin’ for more than twelve years. I worked hard. I had to with all them young girls sewin’ fast and furious, and winkin’ at that damn bastard Harrison. 

Sashaying past him in their tight, v-necked shirts and pants; smellin' like they'd bathed in cheap perfume. I couldn’t compete with them. Hell, I was fifty-seven back then! As it was, I had to lean way back on the stool just to see the damn needle.  Tryin' to keep it from runnin’ through my finger. But I worked hard, and was there workin' every day. Sick or not, I was there sewin’!

Sally, Beth, and me watched them girls. Girls that couldn’t stitch a straight hem on a ruler. But they always got the good machines. You know, the ones with the bright lights, and the cloth guides that kept the fabric runnin’ smooth. Givin’-to-get is what them girls was doin’ with that bastard Harrison. We all worked on pieces, you see, and got paid cash for only what we sewed each day. You can’t sew much on a broken down piece of crap like Sally, Beth, and me always got.

Harrison called me in to his office that day, just like he’d done before, and told me I wasn’t carryin’ my weight. He’d given me chances, he said, but he couldn’t keep me on. Then the bastard fired me!

Carryin’ my weight, be damned! I told him. Well, I told him more than that.

I don’t rightly know what happened next. Guess I just lost my mind. What with my worry over George, sick as he was, and him losin’ his job. We havin’ no money to pay the doctors, and my bein’ ‘fraid of his dyin’. I started to cry. Standin’ in front of that no good bastard. Beggin’ him to let me stay.  Cryin’ harder than ever before in my life. What was I goin’ to do? How would I pay the rent? Buy food for George and me?

The bastard didn’t say a word. He just walked out of his office.  Left me there, sobbing.

George died three weeks later, the day before the rent was due. I never did tell him ‘bout bein’ fired. I couldn’t worry him so durin’ his last days. Instead, I lied.  Told George that Harrison gave me time off to stay home and take care of him.

After he died, I searched for work.  Searched real hard 'cause I couldn’t get none of that social security stuff.  When you get paid in in cash, no ones got records.  But no one was hirin’. No one wanted a fifty-seven year old woman with no education. Hell, they weren’t even hirin’ the young, smart ones back then!

I ‘member I was sitting on our couch; lookin’ around the room, and 'membering my life with George. We never had much but we were happy with each other. Now he was gone.  I’d never been more scared. I was watchin’ it snow. Knowin’ that I had to leave 'cause the sheriff was comin’ to throw me out.

I sat on the bathroom floor, holdin’ the toilet bowl - vomitin’ up nothin’ but fear.

My momma always told me, ‘Stella you do what you gotta do,’ and I did. I left our life behind when the sheriff pounded on the door. It was just past noon on March 23, 1992. George had been dead for fourteen weeks, and I left everthin’ but what I could fit into my shopping cart.

Nothin’ was ever as cold as me bein’ alone on the street that day.

I was so ashamed! I couldn’t stand seein’ nobody then.  Strugglin to pull the heavy shopping cart through mushy ruts in the snow,  I’d pass people.  I'd feel them turn, and  look at them black bags - holdin' all my world in 'em. I couldn't look at them  - them  knowin’ I was nothin’ but trash - no better than a roach.

For two days I wandered ‘round,  tryin’ to find a shelter takin’ women. There weren’t but one back then, and it only had beds for half of us waiting out in the cold. I got lucky one night, but learned right quick you get no extra points for bein’ old , sick or crazy.  The only thing that counts, when you want a warm bed at night, is bein’ first in line at four-thirty.

During those first weeks, I learned lots. Like not to turn your back on your prizes. That’s what we call blankets, food, clothes, and shoes. Lost near everthin’ when I fell asleep in a back doorway. Lost all my ID that night, ‘long with my extra shoes and clothes. Learned you wear everthin’ that’s important, even on the hottest summer day. Also learned you can’t get food stamps, work, or shelter without your damned ID.

You see that guy over there, the one with the long beard, sittin' in the wheelchair? That’s Seattle. He found me shiverin’ and brought me down here. He even got me this hootch. Sure, it’s just an old ‘frigerator box, but I can sit up straight, there’s room for my stuff, and it keeps the wind out in the winter. Neighborhood ain’t much. Just loadin’ docks and Lower Wacker Drive over there, but I have friends here.

I knows where all the soup kitchens and free lunches are bein’ served. And we watch over each other down here. You know, no one livin’ in my other neighborhood did that for me! Maybe Crazy Annie wasn’t as bad off as she seemed.

Guess the only thing I’m missin’ now, is somethin’ to let me know you can still see me.

I'm not invisible.