Dopp Juice Archive

Walking down to the beach last night after dinner, I noticed there was a young athletic-looking guy lying on his back on a platform, shirtless and in basketball shorts, staring at the sky.  It looked like a nice place to rest and look up. I walked past him.

Before I got to the water, I heard a loud yell.  Like an “AAH!”  Then a pause.  Then another one.  Then I realized it was coming from him.  No one else was close enough to notice it or respond.

For a minute, I rolled my eyes and shot an accusatory glance at the ocean. That’s nice, but I have to work tonight. Get someone else, okay?

Two more yells.

Okay, fine.

I walked up to him.  “Hey! Are you okay?”

He shook his head like he was trying to talk, and nothing came out.  I saw that he was shivering, and took a few steps closer.

“Hey.  Do you need me to call an ambulance?

He found my face and said, “No. No. No. Please.”

“Okay. No problem. What do you need?  Are you cold?  Do you need a blanket?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I’ll see what I can do.  Did you take drugs?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of drugs?  Did you take LSD?”

“No.”

My brain ran out of other drug ideas.  “What did you take?”

No response.  I looked at his scattered stuff.  There was a backpack, a textbook, a book called Kama Sutra for Gay Men, a towel, and a jacket wrapped around his leg.  He couldn’t move.  I climbed onto the platform and wrapped the towel across his chest.  I pulled the jacket off his leg, lifted him up by the shoulders, and placed it underneath his back.

I ended up spending four hours with him.  The first two were just sitting there, in the cold, trying to get him to talk.  He passed out a few times and I shook him back awake.  His name was Joey. He was 31.  His parents were in Arizona.  He hadn’t seen them in a long time and they didn’t accept him. He was gay.  He was a massage therapist.  He wanted to join the military.  He loved to cook.  He was addicted to meth, and was in a harm reduction program. He was homeless.  He wouldn’t say whether this was a suicide attempt or not.

After awhile, he sat up.  He was convinced that I was in the military (it finally dawned on me: the haircut. right) and kept trying to convince me to let him join.   “I want to fight for freedom. I want people to know I’m strong. I want to cook for the troops in Iraq.  I want to bring them comfort. Nobody ever fought for me.  Nobody accepts me.  Nobody’s there for me. I want to be there for them. They need me.”

With much effort, we eventually got him to stand up and climb over the fence around the platform.  After much many versions of the same question, he finally gave me the address to the shelter he was staying at, on the opposite end of the city.  After much stumbling, we finally got him to my car.  I put him in the back seat and let him lie down.

“I’m hungry.”

I had two eggrolls and some chicken curry in a leftovers container from my dinner.  I handed them to him.  He devoured them.

“I’m hungry.”

I took him to McDonalds and bought him a big sandwich, fries, and drink.

“I’m hungry.”

He insisted that he needed five more sandwiches from the dollar menu, plus another large fry.  I bought it for him on the condition that he wait until the shelter before he ate it.  I really didn’t need him puking in my car.

Outside of McDonalds, he bummed a cigarette from a nearby woman and introduced me as someone from the military. I corrected him, and said I wasn’t.  After she walked away, he gave me a look of worry.  “I’m sorry!  Of course! Your work is secret!  It’s classified!  You can’t tell people! I didn’t know!  You should have told me!  I’m so sorry!  You know I didn’t mean it.”

He went on to beg me for advice and guidance on how he could get to where he wanted to go in life.  What he wanted to do next.

Driving down the street, heading toward the shelter, he asked me to let him off at the music store instead.

“Are you sure?  You’re going to have to find your own way back to the shelter if I leave you here.”

“I know.  I want to go here.  I’m okay.”

“Okay.”

“But first.. Tell me what i need to do.  You know, to get my life on track.”

I ripped a piece of paper out of my notebook.  “Okay, I’ll write you a letter.”  He watched me from over my shoulder.

Dear Joey,

I found you on the beach tonight.  You were shivering and alone and crying out for help.  I sat and talked with you for a few hours, and then we got some food.  You ordered six sandwiches!

You thought I was in the military and you asked me how you can join.  Here’s how you can join:

First, you need to get clean.  They won’t take you if you’re on drugs.

Then, go to 670 Davis St in San Francisco, and talk to a recruiter.  They will tell you what you need to do.

You want to fight for freedom.  You love to cook. You’re a massage therapist. People love and accept you.  You’re going to be OKAY.

Love,
Sarah

He cried as I wrote.  I put the letter in his backpack, gave him a long hug, and told him he was okay.

He nodded.

And left.

—-

For those who weren’t watching my twitter or facebook updates last night, here are the smoke signals I sent:

Beachwalking, passed a young guy shivering, crying, on too many drugs. Sat with him for two hours. Getting him food now. about 13 hours ago

He’s gay. Parents far away. Keeps saying no one accepts him. Sez he wants to join the army to fight for freedom cuz nobody fights for him. about 13 hours ago

Just figured it out: he thinks I’m in the military and is trying to convince me to let him in. Ah. The hair. Right. about 13 hours ago 

I bought him what he wanted from mcdonalds: six mcchicken sandwiches, two large fries, and a coke. He promised not to eat it all at once. about 13 hours ago 

I wrote him a letter before I dropped him off and had him put it in his bag. It described the night and told him he is loved and accepted. about 12 hours ago

Home now. I think I spent three hours with him. He’s homeless, a meth addict. He kept repeating: “I want people to know I’m strong.” about 12 hours ago

He also kept repeating: “I love to cook. I want to cook for the troops in Iraq. I want to bring them comfort, to feel like home. Home.” about 12 hours ago 

When I found him, it looked like a suicide attempt, and he begged me not to call 911. What would you have done in that position? about 12 hours ago