Above all, it's about feeling comforted. And safe. If, a long time ago, you didn't get it as a child, or even if you did, but it somehow wasn't enough, a hole opens in your soul. Are we condemned to live on and on, with this hole in our soul demanding to be fed? How much sugar is consumed by how many souls to salve a pain that can't be sweetened in that way?
The inner city features a large population of walking souls with holes. They slip, one by one, down to the corner stores to buy liquor, or cigarettes. They drive up and sit in their cars, motors running, cell phones to the ear, summoning their dealer. The dealers emerge from the shadows; their identities never quite revealed, their faces cloaked by hoods.
Lots of fresh bills from the ATM are handed through the rolled-down window in exchange for little balls of comfort, or a tiny bag of comfort power.
Addicts sometimes can't wait the time required to drive back home or wherever they are camped. They light up, shoot up, snort their medicines right there on the spot, in full view of a world that never sees anything.
Alcoholics do it at night. The telltale signs are slouching near the buildings, keeping to the shadows as they near the brightly lit neon signs of the store. The signs always speak of liquors, and that other great addiction -- the lottery ticket. People come and go all day long, pulling rolled up dollar bills from their pockets to claim a ticket, and they do it mainly on the two days a week that results will be announced.
As the hour approaches, people sometimes have to form lines to buy their tickets, especially when the take has reached multiple millions.
Smokers are on the run all over San Francisco. It's barely legal to smoke in your own home anymore. They stand in clusters outside every office building in town, dragging on their smokes. A French visitor, seeing so many attractive young women standing outside smoking, told us "You have zee prostitutes everywhere, so many of zem!"
Ah yes. In fact, the actual hookers work certain well-traveled streets, as they have forever. The whole world watches this, too, but never sees a thing. Early mornings are the worst time for street hookers in the Mission, you see them all smudged and staggering, headed home half-naked from who knows what, with who knows whom, from who knows where. If there is glamour, Hollywood-style, in the world's oldest profession, it isn't apparent in these young women's lost expressions. They look more like refugees from some unseen war, wandering aimlessly, and aging almost before your eyes, in real time.
***
My little boys both woke up with the symptoms of stomach flu. I kept them home from school. The plan was by mid-day I could drop them at their mother's, and make it down the peninsula for meetings at work. As I was showering, something happened that harkened back to my childhood. My Dad always said his nose bled easily and that's why mine did too.
Nosebleed after nosebleed, year after year.
But as an adult they disappeared many years ago; I don't remember the last time I had one. My second wife says she doesn't remember me having any; and that covers the past 17 years! It is cold and dry here; colder and drier than normal for this cold and dry season of our year. Between rains here is the coldest, driest weather we experience on this northern coast.
In the shower my nose started bleeding today. At first I thought it was just another typical nosebleed, but this one was different.
(Warning, those who feel faint when reading about blood may wish to exit my blog at this point.)
Blood was gushing out. The bathtub turned red, the floor was covered with drops. It was cold (if a bit above the low of 27 we hit last night), so I tried to dry myself off with a towel while also trying to pinch off the capillaries spurting blood everywhere.
I fought this dual battle for a while, and even tried to start shaving, before I realized it was a losing proposition. Now my sink was all red.
I grabbed a tee shirt and stuffed it up to my nose. Within minutes the entire shirt was soaked with blood. I grabbed a robe, staggered out of the bathroom, and lay down in the kid's room. I called Aidan to come and help. I felt fluid running down the sides of my head but I thought it was water from the shower.
In fact, he walked in on his father with a face covered in blood. Since I was lying down, the blood backed up in my mouth and I either had to swallow it or spit it out. It was running into eyes and ears. I'm sure it was a frightful sight. My little boy, as sensitive as he is tough, freaked out. I could hear him call his mother on the phone, crying, scared. He came back in a while and said he read on WebMD that a nosebleed like this in "an older person" could be the sign of other severe medical problems.
Luckily, at this moment, a Brazilian friend, Dionice, came to the rescue. Given what a mess I was making of the place, it's lucky it was Thursday, the day she usually stops by to visit. She came into the kids' room, and immediately started taking care of me. She brought cloth after cloth, ice cube after ice cube. She carefully wiped all the blood away from my face and hair and told me, in very broken English, to stay calm.
She seemed to think I had been overdoing something. “Not in 20's anymore, you David, so be careful. Not in 20's anymore."
As I contemplated what she could be trying to say, I realized the ice was starting to seal up the ruptured capillaries. I literally melted six ice cubes by holding them up against and into my right nostril over the next hour. Once the flow of blood slowed, she asked whether I was bleeding from the mouth and nose or only nose. I assured her the nose.
She kept placing her hand on my head, checking temperature, and at one point took my pulse. She also was cleaning up the mess, so she came and went that whole hour. Every time, she said, "Be back in 2 minutes. Don't move and don't worry." When it was clear I had this unfortunate occurrence under control, she brought the boys back in. Aidan broke down in tears, he had been so worried. Now he could let it all out. She comforted him.
Dylan (10) stayed calm, patted my hand, and actually acted very much like a grown-up.
Later on, I could get up. I discovered my glasses were red with encrusted blood so I washed them clean. I discovered dried blood behind my ears, on my neck. Washed that away. Meanwhile, we'd reached my doctor's assistant; she told me what I already knew, "you can't bleed to death from a nose bleed," though I must say my nose seemed bent on changing that conventional wisdom.
The prescription was stay in bed and don't go anywhere. So much for making the meetings at work. Lying in my own bed, under covers, I was shivering. It really was a cold day! Dionice came in and gestured that she wanted to put socks on my feet. I said okay. She carefully raised one foot, and rolled a sock on expertly. Then she repeated it with my other foot, and recovered them with the blankets.
I asked her in a combination of English and Spanish (she speaks Portuguese) how she got so good at that. She said as a girl she did that for her father, who could not pull on his own socks because he was so fat. She said she enjoyed taking care of me, and that I had blue eyes, just like her father. "I love, love, LOVE blue eyes," she blurted out.
She has the kindest face with the most beautiful smile. I thanked her over and over, and gave her a gift.
After Dionice left, and all traces of my bloody nightmare had been removed, the boys are I realized our power was out. No wonder we were all so cold; the wall heaters weren't working. I called PG&E, and was told someone would be out to us presently. Several hours later a nice young man named Keith showed up. He toured my apartment, but found no fuse box. I couldn't remember ever seeing one. I called my landlady, who said she didn’t know either, but to look in the closet.
Keith and I did, but all we found was a sealed metal box he said was the alarm system, not a circuit box.
I took him downstairs, to unlock the basement; then upstairs, to look through my neighbor's apartment, but he returned empty-handed, and only more confused. "I can't find any fuse boxers but you have to have them somewhere. Finally, after one more tour of my place and the basement, he apologized and left.
By now, it was early evening and really getting cold. Suddenly I had a flash of a memory. I removed a framed picture from my living room wall, and there was the missing fuse box. Sure enough, one fuse was tripped. As the lights came back on, the heaters started up, and my wireless router started blinking back to life, the boys cheered.
"Dad, you did it! You're a genius."
If only that were true. At least, we would order Chinese food and spend a quieter evening together. They feel better. I feel very tired. In the middle of the whole thing, I realized how nice it is to have a partner, and how hard it can be if you don't. Not that I don't have plenty of friends to turn to, and in fact, my ex-wife came over to try and help for an hour as well.
But it was Dionice who saved the day. Too bad she's married!
Just kidding. It's 9:30 pm here, freezing outside, but cozy in here. I've got to get my little boys to bed. As for the offending nostril, no news is good news.
-30-
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