Take Me Home
Take me home
I stopped at a sleazy neighborhood liquor store to pick up a pint with nowhere in particular to go. Sickness and depression left me unclear as how to fix myself, so I drank and walked, searching for an elusive answer.
Home was not a place that I wanted to be, especially after consuming most of the bottle, but children lived there…my children. In less than a whole hearted effort to get home I had to cross the street but, with no intersection in sight, crossed to the middle of four lanes. I paused for a minute at the center divider — thoughts jumbled unclear and without further reasoning I stepped into the street. If I got hit… well then… someone would have to help me.
The oh-so-familiar whoop-whoop of just enough siren to get through traffic let me know he was coming and the red and blue lights reflected in the storefront window blinded me in the chilly afternoon sun. Adrenalin jump started my nervous system. I was in trouble again.
A large good looking officer pulled over and motioned me to his car. I was cold and happy to be standing in the sun in front of the car. I knew I was headed to one of two places; jail or Orenda Center for more “rehab”. I was hoping it wouldn’t be jail…again.
“What’s been going on? I told him a few details of a few of my biggest problems, including how depressed I was.
“You look like a nice girl who’s had a rough time and needs some help” he said. “I don’t think you belong in jail… there are places where you can go for help.” I breathed a sigh of relief; but what he said about being a nice girl made me tear up. I was doing so many bad things, how could I possibly be a nice girl? He listened to my story and as I snuffed in my runny nose, I prepared to be taken to rehab. I asked him if I could call someone to take care of my kids.
He put me in the front seat, handed me his card and said “If you ever need help, call me, that’s what we do” and then he asked me where I lived.
When he dropped me off at my apartment, he said “You’re a valuable person, take care of yourself.”
“Get some help” he said. I promised him I would.
Years later I ran into him and thanked him for what he had done for me. Although it took a long time to fulfill my promise, I wanted him to know how much it meant to me that he took me home that day and told me that I was worth something.