June 10, 2010 @ 8:52 am
Food For Thought
Shopping on the Lake, Vital Bridges, Chicago, IL (32)
Sometime last year my husband and I were making one of our daily trips to the Walgreens just across from our home in Dallas. I had to stock up on my hourly fix of Sour Patch Kids and Zours, and he was pretty much along for the ride. As the automatic doors slid to the right and we headed toward our car in sight, a middle aged man stopped us in our tracks. Now let me be the first to tell ya’, I know a thing or two about being stopped by homeless people. For some reason, we had the great idea of moving to the center of downtown Dallas after leaving Kentucky in June of 2006. We thought it would be a fabulous scene; very chic, very quick, and very “cross the street in your textured poncho and green stilettos as cabs fly by.” We were to immerse ourselves in the city, the people, the culture in order to truly find the value in this new adventure. Looking back, we probably should have rethought this altogether. From the first day we’d arrived (with my mom visiting no less), as the pugs were making a quick stroll through the courtyard, my eldest pug, Hattan (a.k.a. the regulator), barked at a passerby. He responded with a, “Your life’s better than mine dog.” Fantastic welcome to the city of Dallas (plus, can you imagine the look on my small-town-Kentucky mom’s face?)! Of course to be honest I’m not sure things improved all that much moving uptown. There was the man who asked us if we’d buy him some food, to which we responded absolutely “yes,” but then he felt the need to make recommendations on where we went. First he wanted us to drive to Taco Bell-are you kidding me? We weren’t really up for traveling anywhere and we were only near a store that had snacks available. After reluctantly agreeing, he then wanted to make suggestions. Finally we settled on some Little Debbie Oatmeal Cream Pies, certainly guaranteed to unwrap a smile in this case (Oh, what I would have paid to have been a fly on the phone pole during this conversation). And then there was the man who made his permanent residence in the Porta Potty behind our complex (eventually the company caught on and padlocked the door). He always needed something, and generally, we didn’t mind helping him out.
Anyhow, this time it was different. I immediately knew something was wrong. His thin body was hardly standing, and he spoke quietly as he asked, “Could you give me directions?” Willing to help, RJ asked where he needed to go. He responded by spelling “A-I-D-E-S,” and then said the word, “arms”. We weren’t really sure how to help at first, but then after repeating it back and noticing his uncomfortable demeanor, we realized that he had incorrectly spelled the disease, either for confidentiality or embarrassment… I’m not sure exactly why, but regardless, he was trying to find AIDS Arms, an agency which supports those affected by HIV/AIDS.
Honestly, at first I was frightened. Of which I was aware, I’d never met anyone battling either of these diseases, certainly not to the extent of this man. And then, as I saw the pain in his eyes, my fears slowly disappeared. Compassion was the only emotion overwhelming me. His directions had been given and still he stood in front of us, blankly staring at our faces. Slowly he opened his backpack. Piled only with medications I remember him pleading, “I never do this. I’m trying to get to this organization. I start a job on Monday and I’ve been sleeping behind the fence near the back of the store. Could you please get me some food?” We said yes, and returned from the store with a sack full of food. After saying, “Thank you,” he left quietly, disappearing into the dark.
That story frequently enters my mind. I wonder what happened to the man and if he still lives today. I wonder how I would react now as opposed to then. Though that was my first encounter, I knew it would not be last. I so very much wanted to volunteer with some type of HIV/AIDS organization, and after several failed attempts, Chicago proved to be just the place.
Just over twenty years ago, volunteers gathered throughout the Chicago area to provide food, shelter, education and care to those suffering from HIV/AIDS. Eventually, through work and dedication, Vital Bridges was created. With Chicago being among the highest areas affected by the disease, the organization provides to roughly 2,000 people each year and since their opening they’ve served “more than 10 million meals, 600,000 nights of shelter and 250,000 hours of counseling to over 10,000 clients.” Vital Bridges allows the people they help to learn, live and grow with dignity.
After briefly getting lost (Thanks a lot Pete-you remember my GPS system, though it may have been my fault this time), I saw the small sign advertising, “Vital Bridges” propped against the glass window in a building right near the corner I’d just passed. Turning around and then finding some princess parking (c/o Victoria), I knocked on the heavy door and watched as a friendly face appeared on the other side.
This would be an experience right up my alley. A large number of those battling this disease live right at or below the poverty level. Dealing with the heartache accompanying the disease, attempting to pay medical bills, and maintaining the ins and outs of a home are just some of the worries crowding one’s mind. Finding food should be something easy, so today it would be, as I would be doing their shopping for them…gathering food and home products to possibly make life just a little bit easier.
Shopping…I can do. There’s nothing I enjoy more than the feel of the zipper tightening at my waist…the black tulle falling against my legs. The way my toes glide into the tip of the brightly colored, jewel covered heels send shivers up my spine, and the reflection of the bling around my neck sends me with a first class ticket to H-E-A-V-E-N. So it was no surprise that at some point I would find a way to work it into my schedule. As people with HIV/AIDS stood at the counter, I would take their orders, and gather the requested food items into my red-handled shopping cart.
In they came. Their faces were like the ones you see as you walk down the street, through the mall, around lonely corners. They wore tee shirts, khaki pants, track suits, long dresses. Their smiles looked like any others, and their stories were familiar as well.
Standing in front of the cold seeping from the other side of the doors, I grabbed pork chops, cheeses and sliced vegetables. Checking eggs for cracks, and passing through stacked shelves around me, cans of peaches, and boxes of cereals and muffin mix made their way in to my basket. Strolling through the aisles, reaching up and then down, I sometimes got lost in the broccoli and the apples, the stews and the toilet paper. I love the aura of a small grocery boutique. Everything’s fresh and whole, smells crisp, bright, and creamy, and lets us start the week new with fewer problems, and more to which we can look forward.
With the cart full, we’d walk back to the counter, and match the list they’d requested to the food we’d picked. As we read off the chicken and carrots, the peppers, then the milk, they packed their bags, smiling with thanks and relief as they accepted these small gifts. The day had just gotten better, the weeks ahead were promising.
My visit to Vital Bridges left me with a completely different impression than I originally imagined. The people we were helping weren’t people with this terrible disease that inflicts terror into every aspect of their lives. These were people who had a disease, but for much of their lives, it was their decision as to how they would allow it to affect them. For the most part, I saw men and women talking with one another, laughing, playing on phones, listening to music, and facing life as any of the rest of us…with the hope that we’ll be here another day…surviving and thriving in this great big world.
