@kaler

Railtown is beautiful, especially at night.  I hope that us yuppies don’t descend on the neighbourhood too soon.

I left the party uncharacteristically early for myself.  It was a great party and I bumped into a few old friends.  I also met a few people that may become great new friends.  However, thoughts of the class I would be teaching the next morning were weighing heavy in my mind.

It was a clear night and the taste of fall was in the air.  My hands were in my pockets as I was not wearing a jacket.

Railtown is located just north of the Downtown Eastside.  It’s safe and clean for the most part, but the neighbourhood does have its share of homeless and drug-addicted.

I hadn’t been to The Alibi Room since New Year.  It felt like a lifetime ago and frankly I wanted to forget that night.

The City of Vancouver Waterworks is completely incompetent.  There are chunks of streets around the city that have been uprooted for weeks at a time.

A big piece of sidewalk was missing from this street.  In its place was a patch of dirt surrounded by traffic cones.  And in the patch lay a person having a full-blown panic attack.

And I kept walking.

It only took a few steps until I felt that sharp pain in my gut.  It was the sharp pain that is supposed to tell you when you are doing something wrong.  I ignored it for a few moments because I had been feeling that gut instinct a little too often recently. She lay there in the patch dressed like an American Apparel model.  I instantly recognized the blouse and the leggings.  She was a mess but she was far too good-looking to be a homeless person.

“Are you okay?  Do you need help?”

She was still in the midst of her panic attack.  Breathing too heavy for words to come out.  I took her by her hands and stood her up.

“Alright babe, let’s breathe,” I said as I tried to steady her by looking into her eyes.  The word “babe” is my favourite term of endearment and I use it very rarely.

“What’s your name?”

“Elise,” she said.  (Actually, that isn’t her name.  It’s best if I don’t use her real name.)

“Well Elise, let’s put on our shoes.”

Her slippers were something an American Apparel model would wear, too.  Elise wasn’t in the best shape to stand on her own.  I leaned her up against a parked car and started picking the twigs out of her golden blonde hair.

“Were you at the Alibi Room?” I asked. She didn’t remember.

“Were you out with friends?” I asked.  She didn’t remember.

She didn’t remember her phone number.  She remembered the street she lived on but didn’t remember the house number.

The logical part of her brain had completely shut down and the emotional part of her brain was in charge now.

A waitress walked out of the Alibi Room and asked the same questions.

“Why don’t you go away!” snapped Elise as she stood up straight and raised her nose trying to look proud.  She had that catty tone of voice that women get when they are being judged.  Elise had probably been the popular girl growing up.  Always having to compete, always being judged.

As the waitress walked away, Elise slumped and returned to her old pose.

We walked a few steps to the curb and sat down.

“This is going to sound vain.  I’m not supposed to have problems. I’m beautiful.”

She was beautiful and I did understand.  We all have hairshirts that we wear and have burdens that we must bear.  The world’s expectations must have been weighing heavily on her that night.

She threw up a little before resting her head on my shoulder.  She was snotting on my one-of-a-kind t-shirt that I paid way too much money for.  I would have to hand wash it the next morning, but I didn’t mind.

It was a clear night and I just stared up at the stars.

“I stink.”

“Yeah, you smell a little bit.”

We sat on the curb and talked.  It was starting to get late and I was running out of options.  Elise had trouble spelling her last name.  I had my phone on me and I tried to Google her and look her up on Facebook.  I was able to find her profile, but she would have to approve me as a contact before I could see her contact information.  She was in no state for that happen.

I walked a few steps away and dialed 911.  It was my last option.

I passed along the details I had to the dispatcher.  He asked for her age.

“Elise, how old are you?”

She didn’t remember.  I told the dispatcher she was 22.

Two squad cars arrived a few minutes later.

“Elise, stand up.  These guys are going to take care of you now.”

“Oh my god.  You guys are freaking me out,” she said as I took one of the officers aside.

I whispered the details of what happened.

“Whoah.  She must have been drugged.”

The cops were taking care of her now.

With a shoulder full of snot and tears and a renewed sense of my own humanity, I walked away without saying bye.