"Shelter"
By Emily Mills, 2/9/05


He said he left the hospital because he wanted to be free before he died. I said I thought that was nice, a good idea. But did he have someplace to go? No, he said, but that was OK, he'd figure something out.

Gabe, that's what he said his name was, was broken from the waist down. He couldn't walk, so he rolled. He called the wheelchair his "hoopty" and laughed. Gabe only had eight teeth. He said eight was his lucky number.

I met him at one of the drop-in centers in Chicago sometime in the middle of winter; the basement of a Methodist church with a broken heater. I had managed to get a chair to myself and I was just falling asleep when I heard an argument coming from the doorway.

A guy in a wheelchair was calmly trying to convince the two men who watched the door to let him in for the night. He was only wearing a hospital gown and some slippers and it was awful cold out. But they pointed at a bloody wound on his thigh and said he should go back to the hospital for help. They got a policy against taking in people who're bleeding because of AIDS and stuff. He didn't get mad. He pointed at his wheelchair and said he wouldn't even count since he was bringing his own seat. They wouldn't budge. Finally he gave up, still smiling, and rolled back up the ramp to the door that went outside.

I tried to fall back asleep, but the guy next to me kept trying to grab my crotch. So I got up to use the john and when I came back some young kid was in my spot, out cold and snoring.

The supervisor just shrugged and said it was tough luck. I decided to try my luck at another drop-in center at the Catholic church down the street.

The guy in the wheelchair was there when I showed up, having the same argument with the people at the door. They told him to go back to the hospital and gave him a blanket that he draped over his legs.

"Why don't you go to the hospital?" I asked him as he made his way past me. "It's warm and they got food."

He smiled up at me with his whole face, and that's when I first saw all the empty pink where teeth should have been.

"Cuz I want to be outside and free when I die soon," he said happily.

"You dyin'?" I asked. He nodded and pointed at the gash in his leg.

"See that? Can't feel it. Ain't had no feeling from my dick down since three years ago. Got in a fight with a guy over something stupid and he dropped me on a railing. Broke something in my spine. In the hospital that time, got hooked on the drugs. Moved onto heroin, crack, you name it. Now I'm just on methadone and medicine, but I picked up AIDS first. So I'm gonna be dead soon, I figure."

I said I guessed he was probably right and told him I thought it was a shame.

"Maybe," he said and scratched at a scab on his left forearm. "Maybe not. Either way, I been in hospitals too long. Time to be out, breathe some air, see some sights before God comes to call."

"Good idea, I guess," I said. The men at the door waved me off, saying they had no more chairs for the night. The guy in the wheelchair said we should keep each other company on our search for someplace to stay. I couldn't see why not.

He said his name was Gabe and that he was thirty-two, born and raised in the city. He talked a lot, slurring a little on account of not having many teeth. But he seemed really happy. I couldn't figure why, unless he was on drugs. He probably was. I could hear a bunch of bottles of pills rattling around in the bag on the back of his chair. But his mood didn"t remind me of the loopy junkies I was used to dealing with. He was more serene.

We went to the Lutheran church a few blocks away, but they were full for the night, too. "It's cold outside," they explained. We nodded and shivered and moved on.

Gabe led us to a small park hidden between rows of little square homes and I sat down on a brown plastic bench. I watched the empty swings through the cloud of my breath. Gabe turned donuts on the basketball court. He got tired real fast though and come over next to me.

"You don't got a name," he said. I nodded. "I like that. No one can own you if you don't got a name. Me, I got named Gabriel, so God had me from birth. I'm OK with that, though."

I said it was probably good that he felt square with God, being close to dying and all. He laughed.

"Suppose so, suppose so. Hey man," he said and looked at me with some concern. "You're shaking like crazy. Here," and he pulled the blanket off his legs and gave it to me.

I told him I couldn’Äôt take it. I was fully clothed, had a jacket, and all he had was that hospital gown and slippers.

"No, it’Äôs OK. One half of my body can't feel nothing anyway, and the other half is almost dead. What good it doin' me? Besides, I'd rather freeze to death in a night than fall apart for weeks. You take it. You still got some good times ahead of you."

I laughed and said I doubted the times I still had were going to be good, but he kept insisting I take the blanket.

"Look, you don't got any disease, right?" he asked. I told him I didn't think I did. "So you still got time. Good, bad, don't matter, it's more than lots of people get."

"No offense, but I don't much like getting preached at," I said. He waved his hands, palms out, at me.

"Not preaching, just talking. About the only thing I can still do, so I do it with abandon." His nearly toothless smile put me mostly at ease again.

One of the ugly orange streetlights nearby popped and went out. When I looked up, I could almost see stars. A plane went over. Gabe coughed a few times and spat a wad of something onto the frozen ground.

Finally, I felt sleep coming on and I told Gabe so. He pointed to a building on the other side of the park that had most of its windows smashed in.

"Used to meet my dealer there, but that was years ago. It's empty. You can sleep there."

I sized up the place from my spot on the bench. It would be better than trying to sleep out in the open. I got up and started walking, but I noticed that Gabe wasn't following. I asked him why.

"Tired of being indoors. And it's so clear tonight, I can almost see through all the lights up into the dark."

He seemed happy enough, so I told him I hoped he'd be all right and said goodnight. I found an old mattress in the abandoned house and between that and the blanket Gabe had given me, my situation was better than it had been at the Methodist church. I even slept pretty good’Äîbetter than in a long time.

***

The next morning I woke up when someone nearby screamed. The air was colder and my cheeks and toes felt numb. But I felt good from the sleep. I decided to go downtown to panhandle where the money was better. But I also decided to remember the house in case I couldn't find a shelter that night. Maybe I'd even make it my squat, decorate it with some newspapers or something. A few half used candles, maybe some thrown out furniture. Sure, I was laughing as I was thinking it, could be real nice.

The sky was that bright, stark winter blue and the sun was small but blinding. If it weren’Äôt so cold, it would have been pretty. I walked along the side of the park on my way downtown. There were some kids there and a few adults, all gathered around something. When the cop car and ambulance pulled up, I stopped by a tree to watch, but I already knew what was going on.

He was still sitting in his wheelchair, in the same place I'd left him at night. He was still smiling, serene, but he wasn't moving. One of the little kids pointed and said, "Look, he’Äôs got icicles on his eyelids!" All the kids pushed at each other to get a better look but the adults kept them back.

A woman and a man jumped out of the ambulance and poked at him for a minute with their tools. But they knew right away what I knew already. They covered him with a blanket and carried him, chair and all, into the back of the ambulance. As soon as they drove off, sirens quiet, the kids went and played on the swings.

I made eighty bucks downtown that day and splurged on a room at the YMCA instead of going back to the house. I'd heard people talking about record cold weather coming on. I decided I didn't want to go like that, until I could smile like Gabe had. I still can't, so I guess I've still got some time yet.

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