The Road (so far)

Standing in Lafayette Square across from the White House, I'm surrounded by white tents with small signs in front of each. Each bears the name of a homeless person who died on the streets. Each tent is unoccupied. A handful of people are in President's Park though this is Mitch Snyder's show. He's got long black hair, a droopy mustache, wears a green Army shirt and white jeans. He looks tired staring at the White House in defiance of President Reagan. This protest has been going on for months. We'd met in Atlanta though mutual friends, Jim and Anita Beaty, back in the days when we all got along. He'd been wearing the same thing that day while I was in a suit. Our approaches to helping the homeless were very different. I remember Jim also showing up wearing a green Army jacket and Anita showed up looking like herself ... angry. In Washington D.C. for meetings, I'd joined Mitch in Lafayette Square and it was my first Presidential Protest. As far as rallies go, it was pretty sedate. Empty tents don't make a lot of noise. "Thanks for coming," Mitch said with his hands stuffed in his pockets on a cold night. "Yeah sure," I replied ... freezing. "How long you going to do this?" He looked at me with his tired eyes and shrugged his shoulders. "Long as it takes," he signed. In the end, before he killed himself, Mitch won. President Regan caved into the public pressure of empty tents with dead people's names on them. A piece of prime Capitol real estate was given to Mitch along with hundreds of thousands of dollars so homeless people would have a place to go. The President was seen as a compassionate man though he believed people living on sidewalks on freezing nights should just get a job and move. He had no understanding of self-medicated mental illness. After the victory, Mitch hung himself in the shelter that he'd opened. It is still there. Last time that I was in Washington D.C., I walked by it. It's a filthy dump of a place surrounded by filthy people. I'd been inside many times and had no inclination to return so I kept walking. Stopping in Lafayette Square, I stared at the White House. The tents were long gone and the park was immaculate. There were two protesters demonstrating though for the life of me I can't recall what made them outraged. This time it was my eyes that were tired and sad. My shoulders drooped like Mitch's had all of those years ago. I cried with my hands stuffed in my pockets on a cold winter's night. After thirty years, I couldn't do anymore. I self-destructed like Mitch did but ... I kept my life. Winston, the little gay dog, plays under my feet, as I remember these things. Goddess is intensely watching him on the Beloved Back Deck. Sarah is sleeping and I'm determined they do not bother her. The sun shines through the Palm Tree with the oyster eyes, coconut bra and grass skirt. Hibiscus blooms surround me. I hear waves breaking in the distance. The long and winding road ... In the beauty of a summer morning, wearing next to nothing, I remember the wild and windy nights. Mitch is long dead. President Reagan is too. Others have taken their places. The problems remain the same. Someone is standing in Lafayette Square staring at the White House and somebody else is protesting the President. And I'm still here. I'm not sure how ... or why ... but I am. I am deeply in love. I adore all of my kids. I'm blessed with friends who celebrate me. I live in Paradise. But ... there is something else left inside of me to do. I reflect on all of the places that I've been ... which are many. My gaze is ahead though ... wondering what's around the bend.