This week was one of those weeks when I wished I'd brought my camera. You'd think I'd learn.
But there's a part of me that still worries it might get stolen. It's been a long time since I've been nervous or scared going to the Motel, but there are a lot of people there I don't know. And some I know a little too well. Some I know need money for things I'd rather not be involuntarily funding.
There are people who other people don't like to invite into their rooms because you know that when they leave, something will have left with them, even if it's just the handful of change on the table, or a couple of empties.
There are some people who aren't to be trusted near your lighter. If you're smoking crack, you need a lot of flame, so you need a lot of lighters.
There are people who are not to be trusted if they show up at your door, even if they bring a case of beer. Especially if they bring a case of beer. Especially if you've just got your cheque. 'Cause that case of beer can be a good investment. 'Cause if you're the right kind of person - tender-hearted, enabling, afraid of being friendless - and you've had a few beers, all of a sudden you're an ATM.
I walked into the 'church' Wednesday night, and SW was sitting at the piano playing away. Some old hymns. And across the room waiting for serving to start was a couple who lived with him for a while. They were desperate, having been kicked out of the Motel yet again, and he has a kind heart and he took them in. When they eventually moved out, so did a bunch of his power tools and half a dozen musical instruments.
At another table sat a woman, chatting with a guy who's ripped her off so many times in the past that you wonder they're still talking. But she forgives him because she's fond of him. He's very charming, and about the same age as her son.
So, I err on the side of caution with my camera.
This week the place was packed. Shoulda counted. Didn't. But I've no doubt we set a record.
A few old faces have returned. One of whom is Lovey, along with her man. He wasn't looking well. Kind of puffy and flushed.
But she was her usual brilliant self. She's got a job at the local McD, cleaning and organizing and such. She was glowing, talking about it. Seems quite happy. Which is good. The last thing I heard about her was that she was living with another woman while her man faced charges. Something about her being burned and locked in a closet.
The charges were dropped and they're back together.
CL and I got talking about how many people were there that night. She knows we've had the chance to talk to the prospective buyers, and that we're trying to connect with them again.
She said to me, "You've got to tell them that we need this. Look at all these people. We need this."
I promised I'd tell them, if I get the chance.
For some reason, it reminded me of the night the Olympic torch relay went through town. The route took them right past the Motel, so I drove over there figuring to watch the parade with some of the Motelians.
To get there from my house, I drove past the fire station whose parking lot was full of partiers, then past the grocery store - same deal. Hundreds of people packed together drinking hot chocolate and coffee and waving flags and laughing. Drove another block to the Motel parking lot and it was completely empty. Dead.
So I sat in my car and phoned CL. Asked her if she wanted to see the torch go by. She said she was too tired to go anywhere. I said, "It's going right by your front door." Told her where I was.
Heard through the phone her door creaking open as she looked out and said, "Oh, I see your car!" and told the dogs to shut up and get back inside.
She hung up to put on her coat.
In the time it took her to get ready and walk over to where I was, the first truck came by. A major soft drink company. Handing out a cheap LED battery operated light-up replica of one of their bottles, and a small sample in a 'collectible' bottle. I was standing there alone in the dark on the far side of the sidewalk from the road watching the happy dancing people on the truck.
One of the guys got off the truck, walked over to me, handed me their giveaways, slapped me on the shoulder and climbed back on board. Half a block away, I saw the truck stop as a crowd of people rushed up beside it reaching out for theirs. Guess that's what I was supposed to do.
I wondered what my benefactor thought of me standing alone in the dark parking lot of a scary Motel. I liked him for stepping out like that. And put the light and the drink in my pockets.
By that time CL had joined me and was quite excited by the whole thing. It did look impressive, coming up the street, the music booming and the police cars and everything.
She turned and looked up the street where the truck had got to and asked what they were giving away. I took the light out of my pocket and gave it to her.
She thought that was great, especially when she realized it was changing colours.
We stood together shivering and watched the torch bearer jog past, grinning and waving. Stepped out of the way so the ones running alongside on the sidewalk had a clear path. Saw the video link camera, the laptops showing a map of the route, the people in the van who'd be running later.
And when the show was over, I watched CL walk back across the dark parking lot to her room, the glowing LED bottle in her hand going red and blue and green.
I pictured her opening her door, yelling at the dogs to shut up and get down and finding a place to put her new souvenir.
I was really really glad I'd phoned her. She was the only person at the Motel to come out and see the show. Either the rest didn't know, or didn't care.
Or maybe nobody phoned them to say, "Hey, come on. There's something worth seeing out here."
Maybe they didn't want to be the one standing alone in the parking lot in the dark while the party went by.
There's a lot of aloneness at the Motel. But every now and then you get the chance to put your arm around someone and say, "Let's do this together."
Right now, some of the team are doing that with G. They were able to find out, somehow, that R. was sent from the hospital where he died, to the local mortician as an "unclaimed body." So he was buried at Union Cemetery in the town next door. They went there and talked to the manager who looked in his book and told them where the plot was. They went to the unmarked mound and took a picture to make it easier to find again later if G. wants to go there. And they're talking to him about putting together some kind of memorial of R.
Standing in the dark. Together.
r
But there's a part of me that still worries it might get stolen. It's been a long time since I've been nervous or scared going to the Motel, but there are a lot of people there I don't know. And some I know a little too well. Some I know need money for things I'd rather not be involuntarily funding.
There are people who other people don't like to invite into their rooms because you know that when they leave, something will have left with them, even if it's just the handful of change on the table, or a couple of empties.
There are some people who aren't to be trusted near your lighter. If you're smoking crack, you need a lot of flame, so you need a lot of lighters.
There are people who are not to be trusted if they show up at your door, even if they bring a case of beer. Especially if they bring a case of beer. Especially if you've just got your cheque. 'Cause that case of beer can be a good investment. 'Cause if you're the right kind of person - tender-hearted, enabling, afraid of being friendless - and you've had a few beers, all of a sudden you're an ATM.
I walked into the 'church' Wednesday night, and SW was sitting at the piano playing away. Some old hymns. And across the room waiting for serving to start was a couple who lived with him for a while. They were desperate, having been kicked out of the Motel yet again, and he has a kind heart and he took them in. When they eventually moved out, so did a bunch of his power tools and half a dozen musical instruments.
At another table sat a woman, chatting with a guy who's ripped her off so many times in the past that you wonder they're still talking. But she forgives him because she's fond of him. He's very charming, and about the same age as her son.
So, I err on the side of caution with my camera.
This week the place was packed. Shoulda counted. Didn't. But I've no doubt we set a record.
A few old faces have returned. One of whom is Lovey, along with her man. He wasn't looking well. Kind of puffy and flushed.
But she was her usual brilliant self. She's got a job at the local McD, cleaning and organizing and such. She was glowing, talking about it. Seems quite happy. Which is good. The last thing I heard about her was that she was living with another woman while her man faced charges. Something about her being burned and locked in a closet.
The charges were dropped and they're back together.
CL and I got talking about how many people were there that night. She knows we've had the chance to talk to the prospective buyers, and that we're trying to connect with them again.
She said to me, "You've got to tell them that we need this. Look at all these people. We need this."
I promised I'd tell them, if I get the chance.
For some reason, it reminded me of the night the Olympic torch relay went through town. The route took them right past the Motel, so I drove over there figuring to watch the parade with some of the Motelians.
To get there from my house, I drove past the fire station whose parking lot was full of partiers, then past the grocery store - same deal. Hundreds of people packed together drinking hot chocolate and coffee and waving flags and laughing. Drove another block to the Motel parking lot and it was completely empty. Dead.
So I sat in my car and phoned CL. Asked her if she wanted to see the torch go by. She said she was too tired to go anywhere. I said, "It's going right by your front door." Told her where I was.
Heard through the phone her door creaking open as she looked out and said, "Oh, I see your car!" and told the dogs to shut up and get back inside.
She hung up to put on her coat.
In the time it took her to get ready and walk over to where I was, the first truck came by. A major soft drink company. Handing out a cheap LED battery operated light-up replica of one of their bottles, and a small sample in a 'collectible' bottle. I was standing there alone in the dark on the far side of the sidewalk from the road watching the happy dancing people on the truck.
One of the guys got off the truck, walked over to me, handed me their giveaways, slapped me on the shoulder and climbed back on board. Half a block away, I saw the truck stop as a crowd of people rushed up beside it reaching out for theirs. Guess that's what I was supposed to do.
I wondered what my benefactor thought of me standing alone in the dark parking lot of a scary Motel. I liked him for stepping out like that. And put the light and the drink in my pockets.
By that time CL had joined me and was quite excited by the whole thing. It did look impressive, coming up the street, the music booming and the police cars and everything.
She turned and looked up the street where the truck had got to and asked what they were giving away. I took the light out of my pocket and gave it to her.
She thought that was great, especially when she realized it was changing colours.
We stood together shivering and watched the torch bearer jog past, grinning and waving. Stepped out of the way so the ones running alongside on the sidewalk had a clear path. Saw the video link camera, the laptops showing a map of the route, the people in the van who'd be running later.
And when the show was over, I watched CL walk back across the dark parking lot to her room, the glowing LED bottle in her hand going red and blue and green.
I pictured her opening her door, yelling at the dogs to shut up and get down and finding a place to put her new souvenir.
I was really really glad I'd phoned her. She was the only person at the Motel to come out and see the show. Either the rest didn't know, or didn't care.
Or maybe nobody phoned them to say, "Hey, come on. There's something worth seeing out here."
Maybe they didn't want to be the one standing alone in the parking lot in the dark while the party went by.
There's a lot of aloneness at the Motel. But every now and then you get the chance to put your arm around someone and say, "Let's do this together."
Right now, some of the team are doing that with G. They were able to find out, somehow, that R. was sent from the hospital where he died, to the local mortician as an "unclaimed body." So he was buried at Union Cemetery in the town next door. They went there and talked to the manager who looked in his book and told them where the plot was. They went to the unmarked mound and took a picture to make it easier to find again later if G. wants to go there. And they're talking to him about putting together some kind of memorial of R.
Standing in the dark. Together.
r
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