The Legacy of Shrieking Woman and Cell Phone Man
Daily Writing Exercise: Guided Imagery
http://www.outbackonline.net/tram/activity2.htm
All Images Collected From The Internet
Date Completed: 02-24-06
These are little images, little sounds and smells and emotions that have worked their way into my writing. There is nothing profound here, just people being themselves and images that I catch and collect as I live my life.
I try to save them all and choose which ones to ‘keep’.
The reality is sometimes they choose to ‘keep’ you.
A few years ago a woman tried to kill herself by jumping off a bridge. The Authorities shut down the freeway so they could try to talk her down. That tied the traffic up and the conversations I heard that followed a few days later destroyed my faith in humanity.
Not only did I hear some of my co-workers echo these exact words; radio DJ’s said the same thing. “ Why didn’t she stay home and shoot herself or something? I was late for work because of her.”
During my lunch break the woman sitting next to me said, “ she inconvenienced a lot of people, how self centered can you get? No wonder she tried to kill herself she’s one of those ME people”
Those are real quotes, spoken by real people I know.
(This is where I work...if you were to stand at the black railing and look down you'd see the train tracks and my loading dock. This was taken after the eathquake we had a few years ago and that's why you see all the busted windows and damaged to the buidling itself)
The Railway tracks that run outside my warehouse are the ultimate story starter. Sometimes I go out there and just stare at them…and I’m sure they stare back.
One Spring a homeless man was sleeping by my loading dock and he was coughing so loud you could hear him up on the street. That street was full of buses and cars and at the time heavy machinery because the Earthquake had happened about three days before and we were starting reconstruction.
All you could hear was that painful coughing.
Now, up on the street and one building over is a very hoity – toity place called “ The Lofts”.
Basically you pay almost an astronomical amount of money to live in a brick building with an unobstructed view of a tavern frequented by the less fortunate members of society who live in the alleys and under the bridges here in Seattle.
So those are the Lofts and on the day a homeless guy was coughing his lungs up just outside the gate that separates my building from The Lofts a woman was over at the Lofts in the parking area with her son who was about four and she was shrieking…I couldn’t emphasize that enough shrieking “ LOOK AT THE TRAINS HONEY, AREN’T THOSE TRAINS PRETTY? LOOK AT THE TRAINS!” Everytime the homeless man started to cough.
I’ve seen people urinating on the walls; I’ve walked through vomit and seen some awful things on the street up by the Lofts
That woman minimizing human suffering and worse yet teaching her child to do the same was the lowest, most vile thing I’ve ever seen out there.
That image haunts me to this day, and I’ve used it in at least two forms in short stories at the Café.
About 5 years ago I saw a circus train outside my warehouse door on those railroad tracks. It had open beds and tied to the beds were big top rigging. There were empty cages for the animals and most mysterious of all were the private cars. I could see curtains in the windows but I never saw a living soul. No kidding. It was like that Circus Train was driving itself.
It stopped for about 10 minutes and then started back up again and was gone.
No I didn’t go near it.
I was afraid it might bite.
Last month I saw a drunken man, I couldn’t tell how old he was because his body was wasted and used up from his addiction wandering around in the middle of the street. The street was not empty. It was full of cars and buses and trucks.
Then he passed out.
I went out there and was able to pull him across the road to the sidewalk. It was easy because he couldn’t fight me and I’m use to moving deadweight from my previous job.
No one helped me; no one called the police or an ambulance. Though one guy did pull over, he was driving a silver sports car and he was on a cell phone. He pulled up and said, “ That was a waste of time”
Then he drove off.
I had to walk back to work to call for help.
Things like this happen around me every single day and there are other things I’d rather think about and remember and experience. Only then I’d be just like those people I wrote about. The Shrieking Woman and Cell Phone Man.
I’d only be seeing what I want to see.
What kind of writer could I be then?
posted by Anita Marie Moscoso @ 2:34 PM
4 comments
The 
4 Comments:
In the US, many mental institutions were closed years ago because of the outcry that patients were treated badly and that there were patients who only needed monitoring not institutionalization. These folks were supposed to be helped as "outpatients" in clinics, but addictive personalities and mental cases frequently forget or decide against taking medication. Or, they simply can't cope with the paper trail to keep them in the system.
To make matters worse, sro's were closed. These "single room occupancy" hotels were used mostly by alcoholics and called flop houses. Yes, they were tacky and dirty. So, where did the people go? To the streets, where else? The situation now is horrible.
On a personal note, I let an old friend and co-worker move her stuff into my house when she was evicted in November. Plan A was that she'd stay with another friend. It fell through and she was with me for two months. She is manic-depressive and was off meds. My neighbor had to call the police when she threatened him and they took her to the hospital. I was advised to change my locks. In six hours she was back. The cops returned and took her back to the hospital. A few hours later she was back but left because I wouldn't/couldn't let her back in.
It was freezing that night and I died inside thinking I'd put her on the street, but she called a friend, who took her to a mental hospital the next day. They kept her for 3 weeks and let her out. She went back in shortly and bounced out again. Two weeks ago she came to pick up her mail and some of her stuff but the police had to be here before she came in. I can't do any more for her, nor can her relatives, who fear her anger.
This woman had a professional career. She writes amazingly well, and is smart as a whip. She is a great gal when she's well, but she hasn't been well in a couple of years. She is in a shelter trying to get a place of her own. I am hoping she gets two rooms of stuff out of my house soon.
We have homeless men in our church cemetery. They scare people who come to visit the graves. They urinate all over. One lay naked in front of the parsonage one morning. My pastor has kids.
The system has failed. As individuals we can still help, but we do need to be careful. I always smile and say hello to the homeless who come to the library. Most people won't even look at them.
Not seeing them is the worst. Closing our eyes (or shutting the eyes of others)is unconscionable. Thank God there are some who help, like Anita.
Would I take in a homeless person or my mentally ill friend again. No, it was a tough couple of months and didn't accomplish anything for my friend. Would I call an ambulance or offer food to someone, you bet. Will I speak up or write from their point of view? Yes! As Anita has and you, Lois. There lots of us and we have to keep writing and speaking up in the name of compassion.
Thank you Lois and Barbara for your responses to what I wrote.
In my own way I wanted to let people know what my day to day life was like and how it inspires me to create.
My family, The street people, my friends at work, the people I ride the bus with make my life so rich and colorful. I could not, would not be a writer if they weren't with me.
And to a large degree I wanted to let Shrieking Woman and Cell Phone Man know that every single time I write about an evil twisted monster I'm thinking of THEM.
anita marie
True of many places, Anita. Phoenix, Arizona must be the crime and drug capital of the world.
One thing my muse prompts me to do quite frequently is to write from another's POV. I have written a couple of poem/stories of homeless people and the experience leaves me drained--there go I, I think, but for the grace of my higher power.
My poetic insight has taught me that these unfortunates are folks just like me. The difference being that they have by destiny or fate stumbled into hard times.
Vi
That really makes one think... so many of us just go through life with blinders on or try to ignore what is happening around us. I guess I do the same thing with a homeless woman who is always begging at my freeway offramp stoplight. I want to yell at her "go take a shower and find a job" but all I do is avoid eye contact.
But then, why do we owe anyone anything? Am I being my own devil's advocate here? I am not sure to what extent helping her would be a good thing or just encourage her to keep begging, ya know?
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