Thoughts From Inside the Tyvek

"Here we go again. This house looks so much better, water only went up six feet here and this house was raised as well. The house is already practically empty. She must have been working hard, that lady who opened the door for us. Beautiful black woman with curlers still in her hair."

Each house is different. Some are full of the belongings of the person. The home owner may be driving back from Baton Rouge, somewhere in Texas or in a trailer in the backyard. I think, maybe, the closer the person is to the house the more likely work has been done on it before we show up.

"Pull the nails. I didn’t know you could actually “strip” a nail. Oh well, the wall will come off around it. Pry the top off. Hammers are bad shovels, but crowbars are good chisels. Give the bottom a yank. When in the hell am I going to use these skills again?"

I’m very possessive of my workspace, and my tools. I guess it’s really all the same, as long as the work gets done. But I like the feeling of starting something and seeing it clean, or naked really. Even the studs have mold on them. I do like the look of naked houses, never realized how fragile they are until you get to the core.

"Damn it. I just don’t have the upper body strength for this."

When you’re small, you constantly have to prove you’re not little. And there is a difference. I’m learning how to ask for help. It took a while and some frustratingly sore shoulders. I have found my strengths so I’m not afraid to get help with my weaknesses.

"Oh shit! Jeez, I bet that’s another bruise. Am I bleeding? No, okay fine. Need a break? Not yet, keep working."

Sometimes I push myself too hard. I try really hard to be careful and safe. I’m pretty sure that every week I manage to do something that is just a little bit more than I can handle, a little bit heavier than I can carry. As long as skin and bones aren’t broken, all I can do is keep going. There are usually some close calls too. There are times when I think I might die for this place, or at least get a couple of stitches. It comes and goes fast usually, when someone’s dodging falling debris or a tool come too close to the face. On days when I have gloves to actually fit my itty bitty hands, I can do almost anything.

"It just got too easy to breathe, didn’t it? Yes, that was definitely a smooth inhale and exhale. Better go outside and fix my respirator."

All covered up as we are, it can be hard to remember we’re not invincible. That our outfits are made of paper, not steel. The respirators can be especially finicky. And by the time you have them just right lunch will come and you’ll have to take it off to eat. It’s almost certain it won’t be quite right when you put it back on again

"Eh! A little help? Is that Ryan or Ian, or what’s his name? Hey you, grab this for me."

We all look the same, like some big, formless, quasi-human species that feeds off dust and mold. And the people are different every week; I don’t know why some don’t come back. Maybe they feel they’ve done their part or maybe it just doesn’t work out; I can’t know or judge them. Some people stay the same and I have gotten used to them, even when all I can see are their eyes. We know how to work with each other and I trust them. When someone lifts something the first time, people watch and jump in when they should. We are getting to know each other’s and our own limits, and talents. We take care of each other.

"Oh goodness, that water’s cold. I’ve washed enough boots by now, haven’t I? Certainly done more than just my pair, that’s for sure."

I always help decontaminate, I can’t stand to look on, idle, while other people work. The water from the hose is always near freezing and my hands always smell like bleach when I get back.

"Yes! Trunk time! Why thank you, I am a trooper. Speed on!"

I have discovered a few affinities of mine in doing this. I love riding in the trunks of SUVs and I really love my crowbar. I love pulling up flooring and lugging stuff that takes more than one person to move. I love salvaging something that means something. I love my cheerleading shoes and never knowing quite what I’m eating when lunch comes, but eating it all. I love bad mold jokes and the only people in the world who laugh at them, because we get them. I love looking like a mess when everyone else does too. I love it when the wall comes off in one big chunk instead of dust and crumbs, and makes me feel just a little bit like superwoman. I love it when people in the neighborhood talk to me, make me feel like I really am doing something good.