Abusive Relationships

I had fallen asleep on the couch and was awoken by screaming and yelling in the middle of the night. A man in a red rain jacket was yelling at a homeless woman perched on a pile of blankets across the street. I popped up to see what was the matter, as he stormed at her. Making a beeline and flailing his hands about, he got her in face. He yelled and pulled the blankets from underneath her and pushed her around. He proceeded to beat her with her own blankets. She screamed bloody murder. I decided to call the police. This decision, whether or not I should call the police, is one I’ve had to contemplate on more occasions than I’d like to, was not made lightly. I believed the situation was about to get out of hand…

I dialed the police, not 911, but the San Francisco police. The reason I have this number dangling from my bulletin board is because at one point the building I reside in had a homeless problem. They would crawl over the front gate, which now has wooden planks nailed over it, and sleep in numerous places in the building, including, but not limited to, the stairs in front of my door. Leaving the house in the morning and having to step over a passed out bum is not the right way to start the day. By calling the police this night, I thought I was doing the right thing, my civic duty, helping a woman in need…in danger. I dialed, and the operator was on the line immediately. I gave him the details and the location. Immediately after hanging up, the guy in the red rain coat just walked away. It’s like he knew exactly how long was long enough for an incident like this, and I cursed him for it; I wanted to make sure he got what was coming to his sorry ass.

He was back a few minutes later yelling some more. Good, good, now he’ll get it, I thought. Peeping through the blinds I watched. He‘s yelling, she‘s crying, but no cops… He’s gone again. A tranny prostitute in a sleek black outfit comes to offer a tissue and a few kind words. She’s like an angel, a tranny prostitute angel, in black, whatever…at least someone has noticed, is doing what I cannot. He’s back. He pushes the prostitute, and she backs away, but not before suggesting he leave the lady alone. He leaves again.

He’s down the road somewhere when the cops arrive, lights blazing, pulling up right next to the woman. She starts to pack up her blankets, frantically shoving them into a bag. I feel like I’ve only made the situation worse for this poor woman, and it looks like I’ve called the police here for nothing, because on their arrival, there’s nothing happening. They drive away slowly.

But I… I kept watching, to see if she’ll be okay, or if he’ll return, and few moments later, he does. When this incident began I thought he didn’t know the woman, he was just harassing someone innocent because he’s crazy. As the incident progressed and he kept returning, I knew there had to be a connection between them in some way. As he returned this last time, I found out what that was. She’s standing up this time as he approaches, he hands her a cigarette. They light up together… He gives her a little cuddle…. He puts his arm around her, and rubs his head against hers. I’m outraged…I’m disgusted… where’s my camera…I’ve got to get this “couple” on it, NOW.

I find the camera. I try and set the ISO. I try and set the shutter speed. I put on the zoom lens. Nothing good is coming from all of this, all the while, my friends outside are getting along famously. I wanna puke.

My boyfriend’s youngest sister is moving in with us next month, and we’ve begun the process of looking for a bigger place. A bigger place means a different location. I’ve been conflicted. I’ve made friends with some of the shop keepers around here. I like them, I’ll miss them if/when we move. I’m obviously still in denial at this very moment. I’ve been thinking we should try and make it work here. It’ll be way cheaper for everyone, since we’d have to pay a bunch more for another room. The deposit alone to move in is usually the rent plus some. Also, all the places we can afford with 2 rooms are in places like, the Sunset, Outer Mission/Excelsior, or Bayview, which the boyfriend argues is an up and coming neighborhood. It hasn’t arrived, and I’m not taking the T train, at night, after work, over there. He argues that it’s pretty much the same as living here. I argue, it’s not. Plus, right now, we’re centrally located.

I know this for certain, I’m not moving to outer anything. So, I had sort of convinced myself that we should stay. And until tonight, until right now, I didn’t realize that, I too am in an abusive relationship, just like the homeless woman outside. The Tenderloin abuses me, and yet I love it still. It rouses me from my slumber, wakes me up violently, yells at me in the middle of the night, and yet, I love it still. And tonight, for the first time, as I try to rationalize the reasons to stay, and not go, I realize, I’m in an abusive relationship…with my neighborhood.

I couldn’t get the camera to work, because I’m inept with technology. I failed. So, I’m left with a few grainy pictures, and an understanding that I’m not unlike the woman outside, sitting on her blankets crying, because she’s in a messed up place.