From December

I called a radiator a “furnace” when I first got here. Those aren’t the same things, but I suppose I’ve never used either of them so it doesn’t really matter. I’m getting it now though, this city, made of brick, and filled with local businesses, the sky that never gets completely dark, the constant wind on the harbor, the silent segregation…I still find myself agonizing about wasted water, like I never left the desert. Here, no one cares about the water. They don’t feel they need to. Out of sight, out of mind, I’m told, but it hasn’t worked that way for me yet. Oh the other hand, they need to worry less about the water and more about if they can drink it. I work in a school where over 90% of the kids qualify for free or reduced meals, the school provides clothing when needed, and one of the other schools here can't even have "outdoor recess" every day because they can't afford pay someone to monitor the kids in the cafeteria and also someone to watch the kids outside. All the schools in this city don't have drinkable water. The pipes were made with lead, so there are signs above the sinks and drinking fountains that say "Wash hands only" and "Please do not drink the water". It's bad enough to deal with that, but think about how they finally figured out that the kids were being poisoned...

I like living here, truly I do. People ask if I’ll stay after my year with AmeriCorps is done, and I haven’t got a clue. Part of me feels the need to keep moving. An internalized wanderlust born in me by my shallow roots, and my propensity for partially funded travels.

A couple weeks ago I was driving with a friend and someone almost hit us. Slow moving but steady and grating, like they didn’t even care that we were there. I honked but they kept coming. We yelled, we gesticulated…nothing; they kept coming. So I was out of my car, furious and wondering, “What the hell!?” Nothing came of it. The passenger got out of their car and as he walked away he simply asked, “what’s goin’ on?”. Bewildered but unharmed I got back in my car. That was when I realized that I wasn’t in Phoenix anymore. Baltimore is 3rd in the country for violent crimes, including murder. I chastised myself; my bravado may get me killed.

Yesterday, I dug my car out from under the thick, even sheet of snow. I didn’t have anywhere to go, and I’d sooner walk than try to parallel park in these conditions anyway, but it just seemed like the right thing to do. The city laments this storm so I throw my hands up in mock distaste, but I can’t stop jumping through the snowdrifts and squealing to myself. It can’t be real; it’s superimposed! It’s not my car and these aren’t my boots, where am I? I wonder if the snow will ever melt from the graveyard across the street from my house, all those bodies but no heat to warm the surroundings. Sometimes, I think I know how they feel. They closed my work, businesses remained closed and before the plows got there, it felt like we brave few were exploring foreign surfaces. But even still, every so often when I stomped through the powdery piles I mumbled under my breath, “and I miss you, I’m goin’ back home to the West Coast… I wish you woulda put yourself in my suitcase; I love you standing all-alone in a black coat. I miss you, I’m goin’ back home to the west…”