Christmas Rapping

What follows is my post from a year ago today. It still stings 12 months later. An update: RCK has been in jail since August 17th. He did a very bad thing. His trial is in early January. The Husband, who writes RCK every other day, has been called to testify, I guess as a character witness. I am not quite sure why there is a trail, RCK was caught while in the act... I am not understanding why anyone believes he will beat this. I rather love The Husband for his generosity of spirit, if not his reasoning.

Michael still lives on the streets & appears every few months at my place of employment. He asks for money. I give it to him. Did you understand that cash can pay off guilt? I am glad to know that little maxim. He will be 18 in a few weeks.

We have RCK's cat- Henry living with us. Henry is ancient & wise. Junior hates Henry, but Lulu, The Husband & I like him. Henry told me today that the true meaning of Christmas is: "You can buy love." I wish memories were like text messages. I could delete the ones I don’t like, & save the ones I love. Last Christmas Was The Worst Christmas Ever. Here is my post from one year ago today:

How can I keep it simple? There are so many layers. This story is right out of Dickens & I title it: The Worst Christmas Ever, or A Tale Of Two Shitties With Great Expectations at Bleak House.

He was brought into our lives by the most nefarious of people- RCK, one of several in a cast of characters that land on the doorstep of Post Apocalyptic Bohemia when something is really wrong & they are need help. I call them- The Strays.

RCK dropped back into our lives after dropping out 3 years ago. He disclosed that since he had left us in a blaze on Christmas Eve 2007, he had lost his job, his house, his automobile & his cat. After stints in the psych ward, rehab & jail, & after spending a year sleeping in parks & under bridges, he was going to attempt to put his life right, & even though he had screwed us over in the past, RCK was beseeching us for help. Right out of Oliver Twist, RCK had an orphan attached to him. He introduced us to Michael.

Michael’s story is one of the saddest to be told. He was given up for adoption at birth, but never adopted. Michael was in & out of foster homes the rest of his life. He was placed in a good Christian home in Coos Bay, where he was passed around to family members to be sexually abused. Released from that horror, he was next sent to central Oregon to a family that beat him so badly that he lost the use of one arm, which stayed the same size as Michael grew; he can’t use that arm or hand at all & he keeps it tucked into the jacket that he never removed in our view.

Michael, who will be 17 years old in less than a month, has been living on the streets of Portland since he was 13. At some point, he briefly found shelter with a gay couple, who got him hooked on crystal meth, & who took turns using him. RCK seems to have found him in a park in late summer & took to being his protector. Hooked on meth himself, RCK was moved by Michael’s story, & took to giving Michael solace & looking out for his best interests.

We allowed RCK to store what he had left in his life in our garage, do his laundry, & shower at Post Apocalyptic Bohemia. He declined offers to sleep on our couch, I imagine because he stayed up all night, & I was more than a little relieved.

I see now that RCK was grooming us. A master manipulator, he was methodical & knew just how to play us, working at the Husband’s predisposition to feeling guilty, & around my desire to do the right thing while protecting my own subtle, susceptible sympathies.

We slowly got to know Michael. He is a tiny little bird: 5’6’’, 120 #, & looks to be around 12 years old, pretty, sly, intelligent, street smart, a deeply, & mournfully damaged. RCK would bring him by & the Husband would make them food. I had a dewy-eyed, dreamy reaction to the sight of Michael as redesigned by the Husband. The Husband, it seemed, had purchased a pair of Levi 501s, a tight black nylon shirt with zippers, & pointy black boots for the boy. When Michael proudly modeled his new outfit, I realized that the Husband had created a petite, pint-sized, pocket version of himself. He had made a Husband mini-me.

RCK continued to drop by our home to shower & regroup, with the lad in tow. RCK slowly insinuated that we could/should foster/adopt Michael. It immediately seemed out of the question, but the Husband was moved by some guilt about his role as a father in the past, & even I saw the possibilities in saving this young life. I realized that I would need to become a role model, a position I never dreamed of fulfilling. I would need to give up whiskey & Mary Jane!

I didn’t need or want to move too fast, much to RCK’s ire. I started asking questions: was it legal for us to harbor a 16 year old, does DHS let you choose your foster child, are we out of our minds? I went to the owner of my business, who has fostered a child & is married to a former State Supreme Court Judge. She advised against it: “what will you do if you discover he is Bipolar, very possible considering his life so far? Are you prepared to deal with that?” This proved to be true when we discovered that Michael had been off his meds for Bipolar disorder & ADD.

Agonizing over my selfishness, I advised RCK that we would like to be Michael’s Gay Uncles, but due to our finances, health problems, small house, & emotional state as a couple, we felt we were not a good choice for foster parenting or adoption. We would help with clothing. I would help him with his paperwork & the money to file for emancipation. We would help get him into a school or get his GED. We could take Michael to movies, plays & museums. We could act as family, if not The Family.

RCK had texted that Michael had bolted & had not been heard from. Would we contact him if we heard from Michael? Last week, Michael, who does not have a phone, was able to call the Husband & ask for help. He had spent the very cold & very rainy night in a park & wanted help. The Husband had Michael locate the closest intersection signs; we Google mapped his location & drove on I-205 in the most ghastly traffic as the heavens opened up with profound, pelting rain. I texted RCK with news that the boy had made contact us & we were on the way to get him. Michael called once more & I instructed him to stay put, we were on our way.

At the location, Michael was nowhere to be found. We drove around a ½ mile radius, in the winter rain, praying that we had not got it wrong. We were deep in SE Portland, not in our hemisphere. We were in a panic & crying when RCK texted with news that the boy was back safe with him. Michael always returns to RCK. We had already surmised that the kid was in love with his benefactor & we saw this as a possibly insurmountable obstacle to his moving forward.

Mid-week, we heard from RCK . Michael wanted to spend the holiday with us & the husband didn’t even blink when we understood that we could provide Michael with a real Christmas. We spent the 23rd gathering cool clothing for the kid.

I worked 3:45am-6pm on Christmas Eve. The Husband brought Michael to my store & I introduced the kid to my staff, including a young Puerto Rican Gay Boy. They had lunch & were off to a movie. I noted that Michael seemed calm & happy. I even saw him laugh. Late afternoon, I saw the husband & his mini-me walking across the plaza at Director Park. My heart was once again opened up to the possibility of fostering or adopting. The staff had remarked that the Husband & the kid looked alike.

I returned home after a 14 hour workday to a fire in the fireplace, holiday music playing, candles lit, homemade spaghetti on the stove, & wrapped Christmas gifts waiting for the kid. The Husband met me with deep sadness & a touch of panic in his demeanor. It seems that the kid had spent the day attempting to get away. Michael had talked about nothing else all day. The 3 of us sat down & had an honest discourse. Michael: “Please don’t hate me. I can’t do this. I have a friend I need to see. I can’t stay here. I have serious problems & I can’t be at your house. Don’t hate me. I am selfish. I need to do what I need to do.”

The Husband & I realized that Michael would be fleeing no matter what we did; & I understood that stopping him would be tantamount to kidnapping. I gave Michael my Tri-Met Transit Pass, which allow him to travel on any bus or train. I collect $2 bills, & the kid had been fascinated by them. I gave him a $20 bill & a handful of $2s. The husband gave Michael a sweatshirt to wear under his jacket & my favorite pair of boots that the orphan had been eyeing. The Husband drove Michael to our Max Train station.

When the Husband returned home, he was in deep despair, we stared at the pile of gifts for the kid, we both sobbed, & I took 2 doses of Citalopram, crawled under the covers & cried myself to sleep.

Sometime in the night, RCK texted that Michael was with him. On Christmas morning, the husband handed me my tea, hugged me & whispered- “the worst Christmas ever?” I had to concur. “God Bless Us, Every One!”

2010, Michael & RCK... so, sue me.