This is a very rough first draft........
Border crossing 1.0
Holden Caulfield once asked where the all the geese go from Central Park in the winter, our inquisitive volunteers and curious Georgetown neighbors often ask where do all the homeless go from the DC parks during the winter?........
From day one at the center, I’ve felt like I have continually been trespassing and crossing borders. The only barbed thing about it was these borders shift, constantly.
Saeed, who worked the front desk at the center, didn’t believe me when I stated that I was here for The job interview and offered me a flat cheese sandwich and some respite. Not knowing what to do or even how to respond, I sat sheepishly on a cheap, plastic chair amidst the blurred chaos of the center. Saeed, also known as one of DC’s most notorious bank robbers, reformed through Islam and hard time, finally threw me a bone, informing me that the director would be out in a few.
Tabloids couldn’t keep up with these inconceivable stories, talk show hosts would blush merely hearing our daily conversations and America’s Most Wanted just might find who they are looking for if they crossed this threshold of our door.
Its Awakenings meets One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest except there are more than one flying and there might be more suppressing than awakening.
One thing is a constant within this windy, choppy undertow of the center-we are all on our own journey. Each one of us are independently charting our own course, sharing only the same mysterious, bottomless sea….. however, we do occasionally pass through one another’s wake just long enough to see each other’s sterns. The channels are full of scar sharing, strategies for the street and swapping tales and tears but at the end of the night we still all consider ourselves Captain.
The destination is similar for us all-we all want happiness, love and respect but the pathways are all different. The center’s fault line unfortunately turns gentle rain into torrential downpours, mild storms into epic hazardous conditions and light breezes turn into deadly tsunamis. Treading these seas is for salty dogs and clever buccaneers.
Like people waiting for their train to come, we serve as a train station for those who have either missed the last train, not enough money for the fare or simply no direction home. At moments like these the best place to be is one where you can unload all your extra baggage, take a deep breath and feel at home. Some of our guests are freshly minted and eager for the next ride, while others are content in conversation while others have completely given up even looking at the marquee knowing that their train will never come. It is here in these transient chambers, full of sorrow, dreams, suitcases and stories were we can enter one another’s life and journey sometimes just quick enough for a warm coffee and others for a lifetime.
