Graffiti on the Shelter Wall
“ Get knocked down seven times, get up eight.”
I sat by my backpack and overnight bag. I was waiting for the ride to a transitional housing facility, the case manager came to get me. We took the five or ten-minute ride to the next leg of my journey.
I was on the streets for over a month, it might have been two months. My sense of time died somehow. I kept getting upper respiratory infections. My sanity and will to live were slipping away.
After going to the Hospital with the second upper respiratory infection in two months. The Social Worker at the shelter wrote a note to the Shelter Team.
The Shelter Team was responsible for collecting the money and assigning beds.
The shelter provided beds upstairs. You could stay all day and night without having to be on the street. I didn’t know at the time, but the occupants had to pay for those beds.
I read the note as I walked down the hall to the shelter team.
“ Please assign Lawson a bed upstairs. He needs a break.”
I received a voucher. I was assigned a bed in a room with nine other guys. I was there for three months.
There was another team upstairs that was assigned to find rooms for us at Transitional housing facilities.
Three months later, they found me a place to stay for two years.
The case manager dropped me off at the ugly brick building two blocks from Nicollette Mall. I filled out some paperwork then I was led by a resident to the laundry room.
My clothes had to be run thru a dryer cycle. It was to kill the bedbugs. After the dryer cycle finished, I was led to my room and given the key.
There was no running water or bathroom. I had to walk down the hall for that. There was no fridge, and there was a sign above the door that said “ No cooking” in red block letters.
I thought I was in Heaven
There were two walk-in closets and a desk and chair. The bed was a thin rubber mattress on a wooden box. I thought I was in Heaven.
On the wall by the bed, there was a corkboard; covered in graffiti. One Graffito caught my eye.
“ Get knocked down seven times, get up eight.”
“ Damned Right.” I thought as I left the room to explore my new home.
We all get knocked down, and quite a few of the people I met in Minneapolis stayed down. There’s always hope and a light at the end of the tunnel. We have to keep plugging away.
I was walking to the library one morning. The nights at the shelter had worn me down. I was crossing the light-rail tracks. I ignored the bells and the arms of the crossing as they came down.
The driver of the train leaned on his horn.
It’s not that I wanted to die. I didn’t care one way or the other. If I had given up and let the train hit me, I would have missed out on the good life I have now.
If I could talk to anyone struggling, I would tell them, “ Never give up.” There is always a way through it.”
Get up one more time.