Brian, Dixie & Rose

After the archery shop (see previous post) I stopped to get water. While awaiting the jug's filling, a guy and his dog stopped by. He said the dog smelled water but he, the guy, didn't have any money. I said I'd share some of mine and asked if he had a bowl. He rummaged in a backpack and soon produced a collapsible, rubber bowl. I poured; Dixie drank.

Over the course of the next three bowls Brian told how he'd grown up in the neighborhood and had lived here until his mother died three years ago. They sold the house and divided the proceeds between the six of them; he got $40k. He'd tried to make it last and had been working until 7 months ago when he'd been shot in the leg by a drive-by shooter. (I tell yuh, Albuquerque's an exciting place!)

The guy shot six other people and was now in prison, but Brian had lost his job, ran out of money, and was now homeless and living on the street in Old Town (the area around Albuquerque's original plaza).

He'd taken the bus, they're free, up to the Albertson's at Eastdale Shopping Center intending to panhandle. He said people are kinder up here. Down where he is, at Old Town, there're so many homeless and people can't help them all so they don't help any. 

Intimidated by the security guard at the Albertson's, he was reminiscing about what it was like when there was a movie theater, a bowling alley and other stores that made the corner of Candelaria and Eubank the hub of the universe.

Around Dixie's fourth bowlful a woman came to use the water dispenser (fill her jugs sounded too suggestive). As Brian talked she kept winking at me as if what he was saying was jive. Soon though, she started to ask questions. Brian's answers not only showed his story to be true, but it drew Rose, that was her name, in and she began offering solutions.

This story is just getting going, so you may wanna stop here. I'm documenting what has been for me an amazingly numinous day...a rarity in these parts, so I'm engaged. But you, hapless reader, may wanna consider yer options.

When Rose asked about his doctor appointments and getting disability -- Brian is 54 and eligible -- Brian said he doesn't have a phone.

"What about an Obama phone?" Rose asked.

"No longer available," Brian rejoined.

"There's a sign up by Lomas advertising free phones."

"I saw that. I'm gonna look into it. But I have no money."

At this point I decided to help. Saying, "I think I have some cash," I went and, realizing the smallest I had was a $20, gave it to him. His gratitude was palpable and along with a heartfelt "thank you," I got a nice pat on the shoulder.

Intrigued by Rose's knowledge of the safety net (such as it is), I asked her how she knew of the services she was referencing.

"I was a juvenile corrections officer and have been fostering children for 34 years. I recently accepted a five and three year old. They're mother was deemed unfit, probably into drugs. I've had them for two years now."

The subject switched to children. Always derisive of Albuquerque, I took the opportunity to scathe the lack of entertainment for children; and don't get me started on the lack of anything for adults. 

"I send 'em outside." said Rose.

"What is there for them out there?!? Nothing but pavement." My umbrage swelling to the topic.

"I have a huge backyard and a twelve-foot sandbox, teeter-totter, monkey bars, swings."

"Well, that's something, but we used to ride our bikes down to the little creek. And then, on weekends, we'd ride 'em the two or three miles to the Big Creek. We had BB guns. We made gunpowder. All of Albuquerque's arroyos are paved, there's never any water in them and parents are afraid to let their children out of their sight." 

"It's true things have changed," she said. "And now they want to give the children back to their mother."

"That must be hard," I said.

"Yes, but it's the nature of the work."

After wishing Brian good luck, Rose got in her van and I got in Schvoogie. Brian & Dixie were ambling back toward Albertson's. As I watched, Rose's white van slowed to a stop. Brian paused and looked, then moved closer. Suddenly, an arm shot out the window, the hand clutching something that might have been money. Brian, smiling broadly, accepted the gift...and I, I continued on my Moose way home.

Methinks that's a magical water dispensor.