Recently our research group has been
experimenting with juxtaposing moments from the past with moments in the
present. This provides insight for us in our interpretations of our
stories. It is also consistent with our reflections when, in hindsight,
we can often see the interrelatedness of our experiences. In Me and Ron
at the Shelter, Quinn Wilder provides an example of how we are doing
this.
* * *
Me and Ron at the Shelter
Quinn Wilder
The shelter smelled of urine and ammonia. The
kitchen was bare save the linoleum, and the dining room had a large wood
table with bench seats. The walls were dirty, the furnaces full of
cobwebs, and a neglected bookshelf had dusty books randomly piled on
several shelves. But stronger than these features, the shelter had a
wild feeling to it; it seemed to always feel as though the “residents” were plotting an uprising that was about to be launched.
No saying “Folks” in the shelter.
Here Lamar, I'll help you with your French homework. How do you say this
word?
It’s a 24-hour shift, but you can’t fall asleep.
You can't use the van, you’d have to walk. The park is 15 blocks away.
Watch for the drug dealers if you go.
Lamar, you know I care about you man.
C'mon lets go, finish your breakfast, you got 10 minutes to catch the
bus.
New kid arrived today. Was sitting at table when I got in. I got an
earful of the horror stories, the kids told me one of the staff
yesterday was mean. At bedtime, Lamar got my arms locked up behind me
and Kurt was pretending to punch me.
As with each shift, I was exhausted and thirsty from chronic stress.
Made a pitcher of white grape juice, drank it all last night.
I had spent the night trying to save Ron from being tortured by the
other boys. At the end of my shift, after getting the boys off to
school, I went to the Fuel cafe to drink thick coffee and write. I end
up writing about the shelter:
Its about 11pm. There’s a muffled scream upstairs, and I leave the
office and go upstairs where the boys are supposed to be sleeping. The
steps of the shelter are carpeted. Its an old, dusty carpet and the
walls up the stairs are nicked up. I open the bedroom door to the
familiar smell of urine that seems to be steeped in the floor.
What’s goin' on up here?
Ron can’t sleep.
What’s wrong, Ron?
Nuthin'.
Ron, why are you sleeping on the floor over there? Are you in the
closet? You guys, what are you doing to him?
Silence.
Ok Ron, come downstairs, you can sleep on the couch down here tonight,
you wanna do that?
Silence.
Well you can if you want.
Ron slowly gets up, a small and scrawny kid. He’s been in the shelter
for over a year. He has some volunteer mentor come pick him up sometimes
and they go to Bucks games.
Ron's face is red, and he’s sobbing tears. He runs up to Kurt and
attacks him, Kurt just pins him down and laughs along with Lamar.
Get off of him Kurt, you and Lamar are going to go to bed, and to school
tomorrow, but tomorrow after school you and the staff are going to deal
with whatever’s going on here, ok?
Now, Ron, you’re going to sleep downstairs where these guys won’t bother
you. C'mon.
Ron just sits on the floor, red-faced and seething with anger.
Ron, you can’t stay up here, we’re going to figure something out
tomorrow, but for now, you have to be able to get some sleep tonight.
Ron will not budge. I walk up to him and hold his shoulder and pull
gently, to get him to get up on his own.
C'mon Ron, lets go.
He screams and pulls away from me. The other boys are laughing at him.
Ok Ron, your choice.
I leave the bedroom and go back downstairs, this time listening closely
for noise coming from upstairs. I hear Ron screaming and run upstairs.
The other boys are laughing while taking turns pinning him on the floor.
As I walk in the room they get off of him and sit on their beds.
Both of you two are getting bumped down a level.
I sit on the floor next to Ron. You ok? No response. Hey, I don’t want
you to have to deal with these guys tonight. Lets take your pillow and
blanket downstairs and you can sleep there tonight, ok? Ron, you cannot
stay up here tonight. Will you come with me? No response. Ron, what do
you want me to do? We have to get you downstairs – do you want me to
carry you? No response. Cuz that’s what I'll do unless you want to walk
down yourself. Silence.
He just sits there, fuming. Ok, I'll take you downstairs.
I hold under his arms and lift him a few inches off the ground and he
starts screaming and wriggling around frantically. I let go. Ron, come
walk down with me, it'll be much easier. Nothing. Ok, and I pick him up
and carry him down the stairs. He’s screaming the whole time. I put him
on the couch and he sprints for the stairs. I chase him and he tries
kicking me and hitting me as I hold onto him so he can’t hurt me or
himself or the house.
Please Ron, calm down a sec and tell me what’s goin' on? Why do you want
to sleep up there and not on the couch?
Nothing, just seething, red-faced anger, breathing heavily from the
struggle.
Well you are going to have to stay down here tonight. I close the door
to upstairs and sit by it, and Ron stays on the floor in a ball, crying
to himself, eventually falling asleep.
Listen to this
