16 Coffee Shop

Having a good place to sleep makes a big difference. In what, I'm not so sure, but something. I think it's about feeling safe. Even though there were a bunch of us sleeping in that church room, it wasn't like sleeping in the park where you could get jumped or your stuff stolen at any time. That makes you sleep with one eye open, which is not restful.

Today I feel almost perky, sort of Tanya-ish. No, more like Cal. Both of them do the mood swing thing. Bipolar? Manic depressive? I forget. But Cal doesn't mutter or twist his hair until it falls out or try to dance with strangers. Plus, he has that room at his parents house where he can go any time. He invited me over once, but we couldn't get past the big sliding gate with the security camera. He tried to interest me in climbing over the wall, but no way. I'll bet he sleeps like a prince in there. Prince Cal.

Hey, since it's so early and since I am in a relatively jolly frame of mind, I think I'll cruise Latte Heaven and see if any of the handout people are working. Very quiet at this time of morning. No cars. Dew on the grass. I hear some chirping, no doubt the little brown birds up at the crack of dawn to start working.

Oh, look. The redhaired woman is there. My lucky day. Guess I'll wave at her. And there's the skinny guy too. I feel a feast coming.

"Hi, Betty." Redhair unlocks the glass door. "Come on in." I leave my cart outside on the sidewalk, unconcerned about thievery, or at least somewhat unconcerned. Safety is relative anyway.

Skinny guy and Redhair are bustling around getting the place ready to open. I settle at my favorite table, spread my fine patchwork skirt with my hands, and tuck my hiking boots under. The boots kind of wreck my fashion statement, so I'm glad that the skirt is long. Well, it's long on me. In fact, it's so long that sometimes I get tangled in it and trip, which pisses me off. The skirt came from the hippies, at least that's what everyone says. This pisses me off because it didn't. Or maybe it did. Okay, I don't know why this pisses me off.

Skinny guy brings over a tray of yesterday's pastries. They save these for us, so I feel entitled. I choose a croissant and a bran muffin.

"Butter?" he asks.

"No thank you, my good man," I say in a snooty voice and flick my napkin into my lap. They both laugh. Even I laugh. Redhair brings me a pretty blue cup of hot something.

"This is the super coffee," she whispers. "It expired yesterday and we get to use it up." I'll bet it's that $6 a cup stuff. Wow, she even put foam in it. Maybe some of that churchiness rubbed off on me and God is dropping goodies my way. The sun gleams on my table, and on the bushes in Perry's Park across the street, and probably everywhere. I pretend I am on vacation, having a morning snack at a quaint cafe. Mais oui!

Hey! When did I learn French? Un cafe, s'il vous plait. Oh, shit. Ou est le chien? What is this!? I don't have a dog, or a cafe! And where's my cart!? I get up too fast and spill my coffee. The table is wobbling almost as much as I am. I see the cart all safe, and try to settle down, sit gently down, not panic.

"Everything okay, Betty?" Redhair mops up my spill and puts a new napkin by my plate. She also puts a hand on my shoulder. I take a few deep breaths, pull back the tears, and poke at the bran muffin to show her I'm fine and she can take her hand off. Now. I know she's being nice but I'm fine ...

The door opens and people in bike riding outfits come in, take off their helmets, and sit too close to me. I quickly wrap up the bran muffin and put it in my pocket. I leave the croissant behind, and head for the door.

It feels good to be back with my cart. I wait while the light changes a few times. Still no cars around. I'm cold now. Skinny guy suddenly appears.

"Here you go, Betty." He hands me my coffee in a to-go cup with the sipping lid. Oh. Being nice. I watch him as he side-hops around the bikes, through the door, and back to his work. Redhair is bending over the coffee machine. Bike outfits knock against each other like balls on a pool table, everything very slow and quiet.

15 Sweaters

Sweaters are very important out here, at least they are for me. Sweaters serve two purposes. The first one is obvious: keeping me warm. That can be a challenge depending on the weather. But the second is maybe even more important: sweaters make me bigger. When you're a small person, especially if you're a small female person, others tend to push you around, or get too close in your personal space. Sweaters make me seem bigger than I am, even to me. Maybe not exactly scary, but big, which makes people think twice.

My favorite sweater is a dark blue cable knit with an anchor. I usually wear it on top of the yellow turtleneck and the orange cardigan that I found by the swings in the park. I know that orange one belongs to some kid, so I always wear it under the bigger sweaters. That way no one will see it and maybe recognize it. Would I get arrested if that kid's mother saw the orange sweater on me? I never thought of that. Anyway, it's not usually visible.

I have this half sweater that has very short arms and a rhinestone button. It's not warm at all, but it is powderpuff pink which makes me feel girlish. I don't know why that's something I'd want to feel, but there you go. Sweaters are not always logical. Tanya gave it to me, I think. She might want it back, but too bad.

In cold weather I usually wear some sweatshirts too, and the green Duffy's Pub shirt which is quite thick. I'm not sure if sweatshirts count as sweaters, but I guess so. I don't like them as much. I trade sweatshirts a lot, but I usually hang on to my sweaters, even that rainbow sweater that Marianne talked me into trading for the doll she was so in love with. That was a bad trade. The rainbow sweater makes me sneeze because of the yarn, but now I'm stuck. Maybe some day I'll find a sucker to trade for it.

I found the gray sweater coat in a Goodwill donation bag over by the mall. Jack says it makes me look like a Raiders fullback, which is just what I had in mind. I sort of stole it because the Goodwill truck was closed for the day, and that bag of clothes was going to get all damp, and maybe the sweater would be stolen by someone who didn't need it as much as I did. I would never have enough money to buy it at the Goodwill. When I get into my Needy Person head, I can rationalize lots of behavior that I know is not right.

The only time I ever got in trouble for stealing was about a Hershey's chocolate bar, when I was 9. But that was different. Then I had money, or my parents did, and I could have got that candy bar by legal means. Now I don't have money or parents. What's it called Goodwill for if they don't hand out some? During warmer weather like now, I keep the sweater coat in the bottom of my cart. But if I get stuck at night, it makes a good blanket. Hey! There's a third reason why sweaters are important: as sleeping blankets.

I wonder how many sweaters I have? Better count them.

I've been thinking about that red windbreaker again, the one that Tony got. A windbreaker would work quite well in this warm time of year, plus it would make me look huge when it puffs up with air.

But no. That red is just way too bright.

14 Church

Maybe this is not such a great idea after all. What is this place? I thought she said it was a church, but this looks more like the apartments I lived in when I was young. Or was that someone else? Oh, yeah, Aunt Ella in that pink apartment house, with the Birds of Paradise. I wonder what happened to Aunt Ella?

"Come on in," some guy is saying.

Oh, look, there's Gary, shaking hands. Shaking hands? Certain situations just don't fit with certain people, and shaking hands does not fit with Gary. This is creepy. Oh, no! That guy is walking over here. Oh, shit.

"Hi, I'm Reverend Rick," he says. I float away on his big white teeth. He takes the ticket out of my hand.

"Welcome, Betty," he says looking at my ticket. I say nothing. "Ah, Eva sent you over." I look at him a little. Where's his preacher outfit? Preachers don't wear Hawaiian shirts.

"Would you like some help with that?" He starts pulling my cart. Argh! No! But, but...think, Betty. He's being nice. Nice. This does not stop my heart from pounding. I clutch the cart and halt. He looks me in the eyes.

"It's okay," he says. "We're just about to eat." I ease up on the clutching and go along with him.

Nice. This can be my mantra for a while. Nice nice nice. I'll just keep thinking about that nice bed.

"You will probably want to be able to see this," he moves my cart through the door and pushes it to the side. I am suddenly hit by a tidal wave of noise, then by a tidal wave of smells. What planet is this anyway?

"The Samoans are cooking tonight, from our congregation," he explains to the bunch of us who are staring and blocking the door. "Come in."

So we do. It's an old fashioned multi-purpose room, with a stage. Makes me remember the fourth grade. L

ittle kids start bringing us food. They wait politely for us to sit down, so we do. My little kid spills some food on my skirt, but I don't care. He is so cute. It's easy to tell when a little kid is being nice, which is usually. The food is another story. This is weird stuff, not macaroni and cheese, that's for sure. Tastes good once I get past my usual fears.

I watch the preacher roaming around. He's weird looking for a preacher--- bushy gray hair on brown skin. Maybe he's Eva's dad. Naw. Or, maybe he is. You can't tell anymore about that, with so many mixed up races.

"Hey, Betty." Gary sits down across from me.

Oh, no! Where's my cart? I panic until I spot it, then shift my seat so the cart is in my line of vision.

"Good stuff, huh?" Gary grabs my grapes.

"Yeah," I say. Gary is okay without the rest of them.

"You staying here tonight?" he asks.

"I guess."

"Mike didn't get a pass," he says. This is not a surprise to me. I wonder why Gary did.

"Remember that food fight at St. Marks?" he asks. We laugh a little. That was funny. And stupid.

"Mike got the blame."

Again, not a surprise. Mike is the loudest, therefore the most often caught. Spotlight = blame. Gary looks dejected without his gang which makes me even happier to be only with me. It's not just that Gary's particular gang is mean, though they are, but gangs in general are not to be relied on. They can do a disappearing act at any time. Even worse, they can decide you don't belong any more and kick you out, or forget you. I can do without that.

"It wasn't all Mike's fault," says Gary.

He offers me a breadstick which I take before he can pull it back. You'd think Betty and Gary are best pals just looking at us from across the room...like that preacher is doing. Reminds me that it's probably time to go check my cart. Instead, I sit and listen to the drumming. There's so much going on all around, like a big circus with me in the middle. Or a dream, a good one. In a while the kids bring us cupcakes with pink icing on top.

"Now yer talkin'!" says Gary who disappears his cupcake in two bites.

I lick the icing off and then wrap my cupcake up for later. Ally-oop into the old pocket with the breadstick.

Oh yeah, I can do this gig, no problemo.