This is the long promised post about the friends I had made, the friendship that was complicated and difficult for others to understand. Just so we all understand; I am not the hero, I am not exceptionally good, I didn't do anything other than make some friends which is something people do all the time, I am no saint, I am no samaritan. I simply did what I do with all my friends; we hung out, we talked about cats, we talked about books, I borrowed books to them, I looked forward to seeing them.
I thought about not using their real names, but I want people to see who they are, to know them like I do.
Another preamble to this story is that I don't talk to people. I don't like starting up meaningless conversations about the weather or whatever sports teams is doing well or terrible. I'd rather not be asked directions somewhere by a stranger, I generally don't say "hi" to people I pass. So, the fact that I even went up to her in the first place means it was just one of those things that were meant to be. When I say "meant to be" I don't mean in some devine intervention, I mean it in a "right place, right time" sort of way.
I had seen her on my way home from the subway station most days after work. Sometimes she was with a guy, sometimes not. Then she had a gray and white kitten with her. I have to admit, it was the kitten that broke the ice for me, because of my own horrible/adorable kitten at home. Her kitten's name was Chi, and we talked about how terrible they were, but so damn cute that you couldn't stay mad at them.
I guess from then on, we were friends. I'd stop most days that I saw her and we'd talk. We talked about how she couldn't stay at her mom's house because she had chosen to live with her boyfriend and her mom didn't approve. How even if her mom did let her in the house, she didn't want to deal with her step-father's abuse; but she did want to see her new baby sister. She apologized for "complaining" but I told her that everyone needs someone to listen sometimes; how it made her boyfriend uncomfortable so she felt she couldn't talk to him about it. She told me how they slept in Compton and it was scary.
Eventually she had to give the kitten to a friend, because it was too difficult for her and her boyfriend to keep track of her. She still got to see Chi, though, by stopping by her friend's house.
We talked about how she had turned 19 not too long ago, and it was a bad day. How she had been ignored all day, and there wasn't money for a present or anything special. So, I got her a cupcake, because it's my theory that everyone should get cake on their birthday. (White cake, chocolate frosting, and rainbow sprinkles) She insisted that have the first bite, because she had so little to share and because birthday cakes are meant to be shared.
It was hard for me to be her friend sometimes; I loved spending time with her, but I wanted to do so much more. I felt so inadequate to what she needed, that all I could do was listen and give her the ten dollars I had in my wallet, saved specifically for her and her boyfriend.
My own The Boyfriend was wonderful and supportive, he understood my desire to do more and convinced me that what I was doing was definitely enough. He said sweet things like when he started busking to practice street magic, he'd give his earnings to them because he didn't need it. (I'm pretty sure that I fell in love with him all over again after he said that) He fully supported me in growing in this unusual friendship and knew that if I had made two new friends, it was important to me and he knows that I do anything for the ones I love.
At first I didn't think her boyfriend was good for her, and I wished she would be able to get away from him. I thought he was an anchor. But the thing about anchors is that they also keep someone from drifting away and getting lost.
I hope she doesn't mind that I'm telling her story, the parts of it I know at least, I hope she will be able to see how important she is to me and how much I miss her.
The first time I met her boyfriend, he kept passing out, he was drunk, they got into an argument and she said it was best if I headed out.
The second time I met him, he was alert and awake and bright. His eyes were ice blue and wide with something akin to mania. I learned that he has a B.A. in english literature and has some short horror stories published in a small literary magazine. Nobody is what they seem. I could tell by the way he was with her, that he was hopelessly in love. She was his lighthouse as he battled with drug addiction, bi-polar disorder, anxiety, and depression. Not enough money for his medication, so he self medicated with whatever he could find. He talked about rehab and I fully believed him, because he looked at her when he said it. She was his lighthouse, but he was her anchor.
I love the days we talked about books, how much they missed having them, I offered to borrow some books of mine to them. I know they didn't have a lot of room and didn't want to be carrying books around because it's heavy; but I would happily loan them a book and when they were done switch it for another.
I think my favorite conversation, the one when I knew we were friends, was when we got talking about how we all suffered from anxiety and how panic attacks were the absolute worst thing ever. Kindred spirits.
The last time I saw them was the day I had the first two books for them. I had spent the night before carefully choosing books based on what they said they liked to read. She liked biographies and manga, he liked mysteries and fantasy. I wanted something with hope, something good.
I was excited, because they were so excited to have a chance to read books again. I came up to where I usually could find them, and saw them talking to a police officer. It was a mounted police officer, so tourists were taking pictures of the police horse. I was mad that people were taking pictures of my friends' life. Finally, after they had received warnings for loitering and panhandling, they had to move. They cut through the hollywood boulevard crowd with a practiced speed. I raced to catch up to them, the books in my hand.
I caught them at a red light. I asked if they were okay, she said they weren't. They thankfully didn't get a ticket and even more thankfully didn't get arrested. I asked if she needed a hug and she accepted. (Those who know me, know that I rarely hug and never initiate the hug) I gave them the books and their eyes lit up. I pressed ten dollars into her hand. I walked with them until the intersection of Hollywood and Highland, he was already reading his book like it was an oasis in a desert.
Then they were gone in the crowd. Just another two, young homeless people on the streets of Los Angeles, their entire life in a duffle bag.
I haven't seen them in about 2 months. I hope they're okay. I hope that their absence is because he has found the help he needs and she found a job and a little apartment. He said she's an amazing cook, she said she's a terrible baker. I hope they have a little place with a horrible adorable kitten. I hope they're safe and that's why I haven't been able to find them.
So, anyone in LA, if you see a girl with straight black hair and an Australian accent. Her name is Anastasia. Tell her I say hi and that I miss her. If she's with a boy with ice blue eyes bright with dreams and thoughts and grand plans, and tangled blond curls, his name is Justin and he's so much more than he seems. Please, please tell them that I hope they're doing okay, that I have the next books ready for them, that I would love nothing more than to see them again. Tell them I look for them every day and think about them often. Tell them that I consider them some of my very good friends and all I want for them is happiness, love, and safety.
If you see Anastasia and Justin, just talk to them and let them know you're a friend of mine and that I've been missing them and then please let me know how they're doing.
