Wet Cement
It smells like rain. I used to not know what the smell of rain was, but now that I’m Called, I know: It’s wet cement. Wet cement makes me know that at least I’ll be a little bit warmer tonight. Wet cement gets rid of that biting chilled-to-the-bone feeling. Being chilled to the bone makes me furious – furious that I have nowhere to sleep – furious that I have no life – furious that I had Potential and was supposed to have an Important life but am now living a Bag Lady’s life.
Years later, after my life on the streets, I used to become furious inside supermarkets. I had no idea why I so loathed going shopping for food. Finally, it came to me when I described myself as chilled to the bone. Of course.
Wet cement surrounds me as I pace up and down Eddy Street San Francisco
The Tenderloin collects us and we gather here because at least we are not alone in being Invisible. Here, there are pay-by-the-night hotels and crack houses and Sex-Getting houses. There are no trees. The pavement has cracks in it and nothing tries to grow. There are no flowers trying to grow in between the cracks of the cement. They don’t even try. There are abandoned buildings and check-cashing stores and bail bond stores and liquor stores and they all have bars on them. They are surrounded by black wrought-iron bars and the purveyors of the liquor and Sex-Getting are locked into their lives.
I must belong here now. I know this because I collect things and I don’t know why. I steal things from places and I don’t know why. Sometimes the Voices tell me to do it and they tell me that I’ll need these things in the future when I go on my Pilgrimage. I don’t know where the Pilgrimage will lead me but the Voices say they’ll tell me when the time is right.
Sometimes the Voices are nicer than others. I like it when they talk about me being a Chosen One and that I’ll have an important Purpose in this world and that they’ll tell me where and when to go on my Pilgrimage. But other times the Voices tell me that I’m evil and that I’m fat and ugly and stupid and crazy and that my parents didn’t mean for me to come out like this. They meant for me to come out like a good person who goes to UCLA and graduates and makes something of herself. I am a Huge Disappointment to this world. And to them. They can’t even be around me. The Voices tell me not to be around them because it is too painful for them to see the monster who came out of them.
I know I am not evil right now, because the Voices are quieter and are not telling me so. But even at UCLA I knew I was evil. I knew that I did things I shouldn’t do and I did them anyway. I knew that normal people did not have the feelings that I had and I knew that I was an Impostor. I was fooling everyone. I was not supposed to be at UCLA and I was not supposed to be in Kappa Kappa Gamma sorority and I was not supposed to get good grades and I was not supposed to be an Economics major. But I was. And I graduated. I fooled all of them. But the Voices get confused sometimes, because if I was not supposed to be at UCLA and I was not supposed to be one of the Invisible Ones, what was I supposed to be?
That is where the Voices fail me. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be. But I am not supposed to be a Bag Lady yet that’s what I am. And that’s how people see me, and they are horrified by me. Sometimes I find myself in the Financial District with the Briefcase People and they are absolutely terrified of me. They try to look through me and are very good at pretending I am Invisible, but I can see the fear in their eyes. I can see the loathing. It’s almost as if looking at me would make them susceptible to my brand of disease – that my lot in life is contagious. Fear and Loathing in Lost Wages.
It’s getting darker and I know I’ll have to walk all night. I’ll have to keep ambling because it is not safe to sleep at night. And it is too hard in the Wet Cement to fall asleep. I had a blanket and I don’t know where it went and I’ll have to steal another one from Sears. Sears is the best place to steal things because they are not snobby like other stores and they don’t watch me as closely. I can’t even go into other stores. I have to break into apartments or pay-by-the-night hotels to get something to wear before I can go into the stores.
It’s a complicated errand – trying to get clothes. I’ve gone to jail for the Clothes-Gathering Errand before and then I end up in the hospital. The hospital is a Soul Smasher. There is no way to keep your Soul’s Voice audible in the hospital because of the Thorazine and the Haldol. They smash the Soul’s Voice and it is on Mute the whole time you are in the hospital. Jail smashes the Soul’s Voice as well but it is in a more subtle way. The Soul’s Voice is too dangerous to listen to in jail. It tries to give you hope when there is no Hope.
The Food-Gathering Errand is another complicated one. It used to be easier. I used to go to Zim’s and get food there and they didn’t notice when I left. But then they caught me last time and the lady with the green eye shadow recognizes me so I have to go when she’s not there.
* * * *
November, 2002:
I went to the city last night. I saw a homeless woman and gave her some money. It’s hard for me not to give them money since everyone around me is pretending they are Invisible. Most of my friends don’t know I used to be Invisible. They are like the Briefcase People and think that paying attention to a street person will make them catch the disease. Interestingly, adolescents are less fearful of the disease. When my students found out I used to be Invisible, they were not afraid of me. They were not afraid they would catch the disease. In fact, sometimes I think it would be handy if they were a bit afraid of me. Then they would do what I want. Deep down, though, I loathe people who I am afraid of. I hate them. Anyone who tries to make me afraid of them and wield their authority over me makes me sick. That is the dilemma I am now in. I don’t know how to be an authority figure because authority figures make me sick. And I care about my students and I don’t want to make them sick.
But it’s so odd to think that people everywhere used to be afraid of me – that they used to cross to the other side of the street to get away from me. And now, I can’t even get a few sixteen-year-olds to stop talking. I’m thinking that teaching is probably not the right job for me. I don’t have a problem being tough with adults and speaking up for myself. But with adolescents – I feel like they are in the Intersection of Confusion and I don’t want to flip them into the Rebellious Side on account of something I do. I feel scared for them. I feel like making them angry could be bad for their health. It was bad for mine. And it took me about two decades to recover from adolescence. So what am I doing working with adolescents? I thought that the fact that I have empathy for them – that I wouldn’t be on a Power Trip - would be helpful for them. I thought it would be easier for them and that it would make them more comfortable in my classroom if they were not afraid of me and if they knew I cared about them.
But I don’t think it’s working. Adolescents respond to punishment and I don’t feel comfortable giving punishment because it reminds me too much of the hospital people and the law enforcement people and the Briefcase People. Why do some people feel they have the right to punish other people? I don’t understand. I can’t do it. That is why I probably shouldn’t have kids. I would feel so guilty punishing them that I would let them do whatever they wanted and they would turn into monsters. So if giving punishment to people is something I am unable to do, and if adolescents respond to punishment, what the hell am I doing trying to be a high school teacher?
That is why I need to finish this book. I will be more useful to adolescents if they can read a book about someone who went down to the depths and came back up. I am not useful to them if I am trying to give them an appreciation for literature but am trapped in the public school system which has taught them only to respond to punishment. Giving them encouragement doesn’t seem to get them to behave. But I refuse to stop giving them encouragement because I like them. I like how they are honest and funny and spontaneous and emotional and real. I like that they are real. So many adults have forgotten how to be real. They are playing the role of the Briefcase People, or they are playing the role of Authoritative Adult, and I don’t want to be like that.
I have a fundamental problem with punishment. I don’t feel like I have the right to punish someone. And it’s not a self-esteem problem. I don’t feel anyone has the right to punish me. If I have a fundamental problem with punishment, how am I supposed to keep an orderly classroom? I thought that if I made it clear to them that I like them and that I respect them, that they would return that respect and that I could have a class where I could teach them to love literature. I want to teach them that they can change their whole point of view and open up their world by reading. They already know that watching movies can change their point of view, but they don’t feel that way about books. And they don’t know how cathartic writing can be. I thought I could teach that, yet I don’t feel I’m teaching them anything.
I want them to like writing and to like reading and I want to teach them how to be better at it. But if I’m always battling the lack-of-punishment battle, how can I teach them anything? How can I share with them that reading opens up your world and that writing opens up other people’s worlds - that writing can help people understand other people. Writing can help us understand ourselves. Until I wrote about my feelings about teaching, I’d decided I was just a lousy teacher. Now I know that my fundamental problem with punishment and with being an authority figure is the issue.
I haven’t necessarily decided what to do about the issue because I haven’t made the decision that punishment is effective. I become infuriated at anyone who tries to punish me. It doesn’t happen to me the way it used to, because I’m not stealing and living on the streets, but the emotion is so strong. When an employer tries to wield power over me, I’m gone. I can’t stand it. When a boyfriend tries to wield power over me, it’s over. I’m outta’ there. This prevents me from becoming a victim, which is good, but it also prevents me from being a good teacher, doesn’t it? Kids can’t concentrate when it’s too noisy in the classroom, and I don’t have the stomach to punish them for it. And who says kids are meant to be quiet? It’s so absurd. Do we want a bunch of scared, rule-followers coming out of our schools? Are those the people who become innovative and who invent new products and new ways of doing things?
Since it’s clear that I’m not going to start punishing to get my students to act more calmly, I’ll probably end up doing something else besides teaching. I don’t know how writers make a living, but I think I’ll try it. I think that Diary of A Bag Lady would be more helpful than my current Diary of An Impostor Teacher. I have to finish this book. For the kids.
