One of my favorite lines from the Grateful Dead song ”Truckin’” is “Lately it occurs to me what a long, strange trip it’s been.” But I will say that strange isn’t always a bad thing. And I have learned a lot on this journey.
Last time, I wrote about my encounter with Shelley and how I was assaulted with a wine bottle. The encounter gave me temporary amnesia but also lead to Shelley saving my life and me gaining a understanding of Shelley’s fragmented memory.
I know after being hit over the head that the next thing I should have done is go to the hospital. But that is the last thing I wanted to do. More than ever, I wanted to find out where Shelley belonged. And to do that, we had to get back to the library to her phone.
Once her phone was fully charged, I could see that one number kept calling her over and over again. I asked her who the number belonged to and she said it was her brother in-law, her late sister’s husband. I would soon learn that Shelley lost her father two months before she decided to get in her SUV and head to D.C. to find Sarah McLachlan. Sadly, over the years, Shelley has suffered a lot of loss — starting with her first husband. Then her older sister. Then her mother. Shelley’s brother in-law was the only family that she had left that seemed to care.
When I finally got in touch with her brother in-law and told him she was in D.C., he was surprised but relieved. He said the next move would have been a missing person’s report if I hadn’t called. I tried to tell her brother in-law about the missing SUV, but Shelley told me if he found out what happened she would get in trouble. Shelley kept changing her story about what happened to her vehicle. She finally said that two girls she met took the keys and went for a joy ride in her car. The story was so convoluted I didn’t know what to believe.
Whenever I could break away from Shelley, I had a chance to call and ask the brother–in–law, Jim, a few questions. I figured I probably already knew the answer to my first question. But I wanted to give Shelley the benefit of doubt. So asked in all seriousness, did Shelley work with or know Sarah McLachlan?
Jim said Shelley tends to think she and Sarah McLachlan are buddies when she is off her meds, lithium. He said she had been off her meds when she left their home and their 15-year-old Labrador unattended and disappeared to the city. Suddenly everything started to fall in place and I wanted nothing more than to protect Shelley and to get her back home.
Because of her mental state I was asked to accompany Shelley back home via a Greyhound bus. Her brother in-law told me that Shelley came into a lot of money and I would be well compensated once I made sure she was back in Norfolk safe and sound. I made it a point to tell Jim that I’m homeless and I can use the money, but I would help her get back if she didn’t have any money because she saved my life and she didn’t belong here. My mission was clear and I stuck by her side.
The next thing you know, we were on our way to Norfolk, VA, which surprised me because since becoming homeless I had become cagey and stand-offish. I did not trust anyone. Now here I was being the Good Samaritan and stepping into the unknown with my service dog Bella.
Once we arrived in Norfolk, I was immediately transported into the Twilight Zone or a strange Steven King novel. Just like that, I was told Shelley had two homes right next to each other: one was hers and the other belonged to her late dad. The lawyer representing her father’s estate did not allow Shelley in her father’s house since she had abandoned everything and run off to D.C. But Shelley had a cozy abode. And to be honest, it was nice to see her place existed.
For me, it was some place that was better than the streets or shelter. She let me sleep in the guest room, and that’s when I really started to feel for Shelley. Aside from her owning every Steven King novel known to man, Shelley had something that spoke volumes: She was an award–winning first responder. That’s right, she was a big–time EMT who started to unravel when she lost her sister.
While I stayed in Norfolk, Shelley showered me with gifts and gave me money to the point of me being uncomfortable. I was no nurse and Norfolk was not my home. It was nice to sleep in a bed and to have a good meal, but the fact remained that I was a stranger that could be in danger from the very person I just helped.
Remember the fables about the snake or the scorpion, and the frog that helped? Turns out I was the frog. But let me make it clear mental illness and homelessness are no joke.
While sleeping in Shelley’s house in her guest bed, I awoke one night to this strange humming. I got up to go see what was happening, and in the process I startled Shelley awake. Just like that, she forgot who I was and pulled a knife out on me, thinking I broke in.
I call Jim to remind her who I am and she calmed down. From that point on, I helped as much as I could but I had to get back to D.C. and back to being homeless, and back to getting the help I needed.
Have I heard from Shelley since March of last year? Yes. She left Norfolk again in July of 2018 to look for me. But by then I had met my now partner and I was excited about working for this paper, and, to my knowledge, she never found her SUV.
I dedicate this story to Shelley and hope that she is safe. I’m happy that, for a time, I helped a stranger stay away from danger. As for me, I no longer panhandle. I write and I’m a vendor for this wonderful media center.
