Homeless

Leaving a car at pioneer park or walking past the soup kitchen on 4th west may make anyone uneasy. Nonetheless, these activities are required for everyday urban errands -- like eating at Caputo's and shopping at the Gateway.

I'm timid in my work clothes, eyes downcast, my high heels clip-clopping apologetically as I weave through the loiterers, carefully avoiding eye contact until, startled, I respond to the light tap on my elbow.

I fumble at my purse, stuttering something like,

"uh, I uh, see I don't, oh, well I mean, that is, I don't really carry cash, I mean, money, er cash, just visa? mastercard, oh I'm sorry, uh huh, okay, really, it's not you, it's me, I mean, god bless," finally rescuing a crinkled dollar bill from the unearthly abyss that is my handbag.

Awkward and uncomfortable, I tried to put myself in their shoes.

Consider it done. Aside from the fact that mine are Charles David and I have 50+ more pairs to spare, our shoes are now one and the same.

"Address, miss?"
"And where would you like that delivered?"
"Are you going home?"
"Are billing and shipping the same?"
"My place or yours?"

These are now the questions that leave me stuttering, my mind resisting the realization that I'm homeless.

A fourth of my possessions are currently in my car. The other three quarters, jumbled and disorganized, are in my friend's Eagle Mountain spare bedroom. And me? I live on a couch.

A vagabond, a gypsy, a nouveau-Boheme. Call it what you will, the glamor is wearing thin. I don't sleep enough. I'm missing half my mail, and it takes me 45 minutes to get to work.

I take comfort in the temporary nature of my situation. Desirable apartments are quite elusive in urban Salt Lake, though my pen is inked and my checkbook handy. So I remain without an abode, hearth-less, my bed in pieces in a basement corner.

I have yet to line up on 4th west for a hot cup of coffee and a Costco muffin, and it's been years since I've napped, wrapped in an olive blanket in Pioneer Park.

But for the time being, my pride stripped and my humility blatant, please sir, could you spare a one-bedroom?