South Coast Rock Tour
~ Day 8 ~
Slow Morning…Downtown…The Arch…Singing Henry…Mark Anthony.
Molly and I had gone to bed at midnight and wanting to see
her before she left for the day, I slid off the large, soft bed at 8:30am. We
talked over tall glasses of orange juice. It was so good to be in the company
of a close friend. Our squinting morning eyes were wide open by the time she
left for work. We embraced and this would not be the last time we would merge
together in love and location while in Austin.
I spent the next 5 hours at the house with my canine friend,
Flash. Wrote, made phone calls, organized my truck, prayed, gave Flash lots of
massages, and made a “Hope” rock for Molly’s friend, Karen. It had been such a
good thing to cave into Molly’s compelling convincing to come here to rest and
recharge… such a good thing. After giving Flash some farewell love, I locked
the door behind me and walked towards Tumbler. I felt rested, strong, and ready
to hit the road. Might have been “slightly” overcharged in that I was hyper
stoked… like those toy monkeys that clang cymbals when wound from behind. My
feet were light and bouncy and if I had cymbals, I would have been clanging
them. This was my first time going downtown and electronic music was blasted to
match my mood during the drive.
It was 2:30 when the Tumbler did his first downtown drive
thru. It was big… and busy. Karen had told me to check out “The Arch” on 7th
Street as well as 6th Street, also known as “Dirty 6th.”
I drove down 6th and my heart started beating faster. Wanted to park
close to this part of town known for the long stretch of bars that drew in all
classes and collections of people. I had some difficulty finding the right
place to park. Drove around for a while before turning down the electronic
music and turning up the quiet whisper of the Holy Spirit. “Where do you want
me to park?” I asked out loud. I drove past parking high rises, parking lots,
and even pulled into one but then drove through to come out on another street.
Finally, a single lot was passes that gave off a distinct peace. This was the
place to park. Paid the fee and tightened the straps on my heavy back pack.
Tumbler was parked on 5th Street, so 6th was just a block
away. I had worn the same clothes for the first week on this journey, and had
on a new outfit today… though it still looked worn as I was going full blown
“undercover homeless” today. My disguise
and my demeanor would be deemed believable by every downtowner today.
When “Dirty 6th” was reached, my pace slowed. My
head dropped at 45 degrees downward, though my eyes, as well as the rest of my
senses, were upright and aware. The busy-for-a-Wed street was 75% home-owning
people and 25% homeless people. I was playing the part of the latter. “My
people” nodded at me as I passed them by and the other larger population of
people kept their heads forward without any acknowledgement. My heart grieved
for those who were in reality, my people. I walked all the way down the street
and all the way back up to get a feel for the atmosphere and environment.
Knowing 6th would be explored more later, made my way over to 7th
to find “The Arch.” It was not hard to spot… it was like a mini version of Los
Angeles’ Skid Row. People were tightly packed along the block’s sidewalks. Many
were wandering around and many were sitting with their belongings in backpacks,
suitcases, or merely strewed around them like an un-kept laundry room. There
were 4 large porta pottys on one side of The Arch building and they were busy,
revolving doors for much more than using the bathroom. Memories started playing
in my head like a projector screen of the same dirty porta pottys that I used
to smoke crack in and turn tricks with guys for that next rock. I shook my
head, not only at the shame of the memories, but more so in trying to shake the
arising emotions from those memories. My eyes were sad and my shoulders
slouched as I started walking past the sea of people who mirrored this physical
appearance. Walking up to the main doors, I pulled the handle only to find it
locked. Then a “click” was heard and I pulled it again to find it unlocked.
Inside, to my right, was a guy behind a counter with a computer. “Haven’t seen
you before. You new here?” --- “Yeah” --- “What’s your name?” --- “Katie
(pause) Hansen.” --- “You from Austin?” --- “No, Cali.” --- “California?” ---
“Yeah” --- “Wow, you have traveled a long way, Katie.” I nodded my head, for
this was the truth among the half-lies I told him. I was now officially in “The
Arch” system. I walked to the back where I saw a normal bathroom. Dropped my
pack and squatted down against a wall next to a guy sleeping in the corner. The
place was packed with people sitting or sleeping on chairs or on the ground.
There were a dozen computers all being used further back behind the main room.
Waiting my turn to use the single ladies room to acclimate, a female staff
worker came over to me and told me that the door stays locked, so to leave the
door open after I used the bathroom. She had a kind voice and kind eyes. Not
going to lie, I was shaking from all the adrenaline as well as the fresh
memories of checking into a new shelter when I wasn’t “undercover” and I
literally felt like standing up and leaning into this lady for a big hug.
Instead, I just nodded my head and pulled my pack closer into my bent knees and
hugged that. Got my turn in the bathroom and focused on simply breathing. This
place was new, yet it was bringing up old memories faster than I could process.
I prayed for God to calm my heart and mind and prayed for Him to give me
clarity of how long to stay inside. When we are in tune with His Spirit, He
will be clear in when to go into places as well as be clear in when to leave a
place. I made my way through the rows of chairs and over bags and outstretched
legs of people. Saw a small open area by the grey cubicle dividers of the staff
who sat with people trying to find a way out of the street and shelter life.
Sat down on the ground and hooked one of my back pack’s shoulder straps through
one of my legs, preventing anyone from being able to do a grab-and-go. Pulled
out a blank rock and a Sharpie marker to start scribing the word “Love” on it.
An older guy came up to me after 15min and leaned his head over the rock on my
knee to see what I was drawing. “Hey, I like what you are doing.” --- “Thanks
bro.” --- “Here, this is for you.” He reached out his hand and then opened it
near my face. On the palm of his hand was a small, wooden cross. Reaching for
the cross, I said, “Wow… thank you.” Went to reach into my pack for a rock to
give to him in return of his gift, but the guy walked behind the cement pillar
I was leaning against. I bent to the side and turned my torso to look for him,
but he was gone. Not in that I simply couldn’t see him among the other people....
This guy had literally disappeared. He was standing in front of me and then 2
seconds later, he was gone. I never saw him again in the 45min inside The Arch.
I believe in demons and I believe in angels. They both are able to take human
form. Whether this man was an angel or not, I was handed a cross as well as a
peace that passes understanding from that moment on.
There was a distinct time at which it was known when to
leave the inside of The Arch. Walked outside and a crazy verbal fight was going
on that had drawn many gathered around to watch the two boxers. They were
pummeling each other with words and the crowd was revved up. I walked around
the ring of people and prayed. Went around the block by the Salvation Army. The
Arch is a day shelter and the Salvation Army shelters both men and women for
the night. Turned at the street corner and went straight.
A man was sitting on 5 cement steps that led nowhere but to
an elevated, grassy lot. Gave him an upward nod as I neared him and he returned
the acknowledging gesture. Stopping to lean up against the cement wall that
edged the raised lot, I pulled out my cigarette flip container, pulled a
cigarette for myself and then outstretched the container towards him. He smiled
and pulled one. After he lit his cig, he asked if he could sing me a verse.
After nodding, he started singing… random verses from random songs. His singing
was not polished, but it was personal. I put my back pack on top of the cement
ledge and looked into his eyes as he sang from his heart. After a few of
Henry’s verses, he stopped and said, “My name is Henry.” --- “Hello Singing
Henry. I’m Katie.” --- “Haven’t seen you ‘round here before. Where ya from?”
--- “Was out in California. Made my way here and am headed to Florida.” ---
“You look like you’re from California.” We talked for the next 30min… about
many things. Henry is 51 and has lived most of his life in Texas. Most of those
years were on the streets. He was friendly, polite and laid back from the
spliff he was smoking while we conversed. “You want a hit?” --- “Nah, I’m good
bro. Thanks though.” --- “The way you talk sounds like you have smoked a lot of
weed.” --- “For sure. I used to do a lot of drugs.” The conversation about many
topics continued. Finally, I reached into my pack and pulled out a hand warmer
and a rock that had a heart on it with “Love Rocks” on the sides. Gave it to
Singing Henry and he turned it from one side to another. One the back of each
rock I write “cling to the Rock ~ Psalm 18:1-2”. Henry liked both sides. Told
Henry that I had “scored” a camera on my travels to Austin and asked if he
wanted to take a picture. “Heck ya! I want to take a picture of the both of us
and my rock.” And that we did. He loved seeing the digital image of himself and
I wondered when was the last time Henry had seen himself in a picture. After a
few minutes, a guy walked over to us and sat down on the other side of Henry.
He was curious and right away, I sensed darkness in him. He was more observing
than joining in on the conversation. He then asked me to come walk with him. I calmly
declined. I picked up that he was a drug dealer as well as sensing that the
demonic darkness in him was aware of Jesus’ light within me. This would prove
to be true tomorrow. I gave Singing Henry a big, long hug and nodded at the
other guy who never introduced himself. Both men would be seen and heard
tomorrow afternoon.
Jeepers, this post is already long. And there is much more
to share, so I hope you are in a comfortable position. I went back to” Dirty 6th”
and walked down the street to where the bars ended and then walked half-way
back up on the other side. Rounded a corner 5ft and saw a marble planter box.
On the back side of it was a skateboard. “No way!” I said out loud. Walked past
it 10ft and squatted down against a building. I watched it for 5min, waiting for
someone to come retrieve it, but no one came. So, I snagged it. The skateboard
was now mine and it totally added to the “undercover homeless California girl”
look. Booya!!! Too bad I don’t know how to ride. Might have to practice in the
privacy of an empty lot here soon. Still, the skateboard was a perfect new seat
for me to sit on instead of the soiled sidewalks. I set it down by the marble
planter box and sat down to celebrate my score. A few minutes later, two street
guys rounded the corner and sat down on top of the marble ledge. “Hey girl”,
one said. --- “Hey bro.” The man who had spoken to me was on the same side of
the planter as I and the other guy was next to him but on the adjacent ledge.
They made a ninety-degree corner with their bodies and bags. The guy by me was
named Carl. He reached into one of his bags and pulled out a neon yellow hat.
“Check this out, kid. If you push this here button, it’ll light up.” He fumbled
with the button as Carl’s hands were shaking. “Here, you can have it. I gots me
a couple hats.” I took it from him and pushed the button and the 2 tiny, but
powerful LED lights were accidentally pointed directly in Carl’s direction. His
head jerked back as his eyes squinted at the light. “Whoa, them is some strong
little buggers!” He said with a half-smile. I pushed the button again and
thanked Carl for the gift. Pulled out a hand warmer and a pair of thick socks
(I buy a 4-pack every other day to hand out), handing them to my street
brother. Carl thanked me. Then the other guy passed a spliff to Carl’s shaky
hands that would be stilled after he hit the K2-laced joint. Those who smoke K2
(also known as Spice or Kronic) will have varying side effects from the high.
While some become manic, hyper sporadic or aggressive, others will become
lethargic, dazed and nod off. Carl was doing the later after several pulls of
the poison. With droopy eyes, he turned extra slow towards me and handed me the
brown joint. “Heeeere Kiiid.” Shook my head and said, “No thanks. I’m good,
man.” I was not bothered by the offer, rather saw it as gesture of acceptance. What
I was growing uncomfortable with was that the 3 of us were on the corner of 6th
street and another cross street that was totally out in the open and in full
view of all the people passing by. I thought of getting up to leave, but,
instead, sat there for 5min with my head down while picking at the edges of the
weathered skateboard.
Heard singing in the distance and thought maybe “Singing
Henry” had made his way off the steps that led to nowhere. I leaned forward to
look around Carl who was now bent over. On the other side of 6th was
a taller man with camouflaged, water-proof bibs, like ones you would wear while
hunting ducks in their marshy habitats. He crossed the street and walked over
to us, singing the whole way and waving his arms around as if the street was
his stage. He stopped in front of me and blended my blond hair and skateboard
into his cleverly made-up song. I laughed at the lyrics as well as his dramatic
gestures. I liked this guy already and pulled my bag of small pebbles from my
back pack, shook the bag and outstretched it to him. This peeked his curiosity
and he stopped singing. “Reach in and pull one.” I said. He pulled a pebble and
read the words “Stand Firm.” “I’m Katie. What’s your name?” --- “Well, it looks
as if my new name is STAN De FIRMoso. (see what he did there?) Would you like
to come with me and paint a car?” I was still processing the quick-witted play
with words of his new name, and his invitation then peeked my own curiosity. I
nodded my head and stood up. Threw my pack on and flipped up the skateboard
with my foot and caught it with my hand. He pointed his elbow towards me and
said, “Take my arm, Queen. You and I will live in a palace together.” And so, I
threaded my arm through the needle eye of his strong arm and we spent the next 3hrs
together in the downtown palace.
I could double the length of this post with describing my
royal time with my new friend. His real name was Mark Anthony. His last name
will not be shared for Mark Anthony’s family has been looking for him since he
went “off the grid” 9 years ago. “My family has money. Like lots of money. But
they also have rules. So, I left the money and left the rules. I live off the
grid. Don’t need much money and make my own rules.” Mark was eccentric,
entertaining, and easy-going. He was so intelligent that he flirted with
insanity. We talked non-stop as he led me through a haphazard way through the
square maze of downtown blocks. I had no idea where we were, and only knew that
Mark Anthony and I were going to “paint a car” not knowing exactly what he
meant by that. Along the way, he found flattened cardboard boxes stuffed
between lamp lights and garbage cans. Mark had 2 larger ones tucked in his left
arm as his right arm was still latched onto my arm. We passed a fancy hotel and
he asked the valet attendant for “a water for my queen.” Mark knew these guys
by name and they knew him. A cold water was pulled from a cooler that didn’t
look like a cooler, rather simply part of the valet station. Super parched, I
drank ¾ of the water on the spot. Mark led me across the street by 2 upscale
restaurants that had a royal blue antique car in front of them. Finally freeing
my arm from his, he started waving his arms and dancing around the blue beauty.
His was singing, “We are going to paint this car, my queen and me! I love her
and she loves me. We will paint this car for all to see.” I laughed as I
dropped my back pack and sat down on my skateboard. Mark danced over to me and
dropped his own back pack. He sat down next to me and started making his canvas
out of a piece of cardboard and some advertising stickers he had in his pack.
Wish there was a video recording of this process, for it literally took him
10min to create the “perfect canvas.” He tried using the stickers to adhere a
white piece of paper in the center of the board. He asked me to help, but his sporadic
and erratic behavior made it hard to be of any help as he changed his plan
after each sticker was pressed down. Finally, he tossed the paper and pulled
out a foot long make-shift straight edge made of a thin piece of wood. I held
it where he would guide me to hold it and he drew lines on the cardboard that
made a penned square frame. For the next hour, Mark Anthony and I drew… him on
the elementary, cardboard canvas and I on my rocks. We shared my Sharpie
markers and he was tickled pink to trade his pen for the royal blue marker that
matched the color of the car in front of us. When I pulled out a silver one for
him to use, he leaned over and gave me a huge hug. “What a treat. What a gift.
With this silver marker, my heart you lift.” Whether singing or talking, Mark
had a way with words that often rhymed. There
were times where our conversation would be the soundtrack to our sketching and
times where we would sit in complete silence. Mark Anthony was a true artist. We
all are in one way or another, though some ways are more obvious than others.
His vehicular portrait was coming along beautifully. Several people stopped to
admire his work and Mark was not shy about stopping those who didn’t want to
stop. He was a sketch artists as well as a street artist who knew how to
panhandle.
A woman walked up to us and stopped without Mark delivering his
speech. When she told us her name was Grace, I reached in my pack and pulled
out a rock with “Grace” on it. She loved it and Mark tried to get Grace to give
me money for the gift. I shook my head and told Grace that I didn’t want
anything from her as she was the one who had given me something by stopping to
acknowledge us. Mark and I had a long talk about this after Grace walked away. Explained
that though both of us were sidewalk artist, our intentions behind the art was
different. We continued to draw side by side on the sidewalk, content that our
commonalities overpowered our differences. When Mark finished his work of art,
I knew it was time to move on. Mark did not take this well as we both had
bonded quickly in the last 3 hours. “You can’t leave me, my queen. I shall
never find you again. A person only meets a heart like yours once in a
lifetime. I cannot let you go, my love.” I pulled out my camera and told him I
had scored this camera along the journey from California. Eyes wide, he said,
“Let’s take hundreds of pictures of you and me so we can encapsulate our brief
legacy of love together.” We took only 5 pictures, but when we looked at our
images on the small screen while huddled closely together, it truly was lovely.
I gave Mark Anthony a special rock that had a small book glued on it and “when
you put a voice to your story, it has a ripple effect on those around us”
written on the rock. Tears were in his large, brown eyes. He picked me off the
ground into an elevated hug and held me there while we simply rested in the
ripples of our shared story.
It was getting close to 9pm when my time would be expiring
from the parking spot where Tumbler was sitting… but I didn’t know where that
lot was in proximity to where I currently was. “Ok, God. Please help me find
Tumbler.” I crossed the street and looked to my right… looking right at Tumbler
parked in the lot that had been 100ft away from me the whole time Mark Anthony
and I were writing a short chapter together in our life-story. I laughed and
walked the short distance to my truck while thanking God for the shortcut
answer to my prayer.
Slept at a Walmart parking lot that night. It would be the
second Walmart as I was kicked out of the first one at 1am. But that story and
many others will be shared in the next post.
We are all artists.
Our canvases are different,
But we all create art.
We were created by the first Artist.
And God created us
To cultivate beauty in everything we do.
Unshakable Peace and Purpose
Cling to the Rock
Psalm 18:1-2
No comments:
Post a Comment