She and I have always lived parallel lives. We’re the same height, same complexion. She’s skinnier than I, due to all the walking she does and all the eating I do. My husband can cook his socks off and the last 34 years of delicious meals are finally showing up on my butt, my thighs and in my face. Her hair used to be so pretty, naturally curly and jet black. Now, it’s got specks of grey, and is not as pretty; actually it’s matted in places, big clucks of hair are sticking together. I’ve gone from natural twists, to an afro, to braids, to a long weave, then a short weave – my goal always the same! Keep my butt out of some crazy hair dresser’s chair who doesn’t respect my time, but loves my money! Joann probably just couldn’t keep hers up.
She’s not my best-friend but I love her. 10 years and we’ve never had an argument. That must be some kind of record. I look forward to seeing her on Saturday mornings at Starbucks, although our visits are always short. She usually has her eyes closed when I come in. I speak softly to wake her; always saying first, " Hi, Joann," my eyes lighting up like the silver ornaments on a Christmas tree because I’m so happy to see her. She smiles back, softly, like a kind hearted woman lives inside who has extra time and lots of money to burn. That’s what I believed in the beginning, silly me. She told me she was waiting on a trust fund to be released.
That’s when she used prance up and down Ventura Blvd in pretty dresses, and I would always see her. I was impressed with her stride. I’m a tall girl and love pretty dresses too, especially the ones that show a good set of legs. Jo Ann and I both have nice legs. I like dresses that swivel a little bit in a festive way like it’s made for a dancer. I love to dance. Jo Ann wears the same kind. Don’t know if she can dance. I remember her name because it’s the same as my sister-in-law. During the first couple of years that we knew each other, I would forget. But not anymore. Joann, Joann, Joann. She’s African American like me. We’re probably the same age. We’re both loners. I like being alone, except sometimes my husband is with me on Saturday mornings.
Let’s see what else have I done with my friend JoAnn. Once I sat on the bus stop with her a long time, when I noticed she was no longer wearing those pretty dresses. I needed to know why.
"People think something is wrong with me. They think I’m crazy walking up and down the street in dresses," she said.
"Wow," I never thought about that," I said as I had an Oprah Aha moment.
"When I’m in my dirty and dark clothes, people leave me alone," Joann said smugly, proud that she’d figured out how to get rid of jerks.
Jama Juice, I’ve visited her there once also, and I guess that’s it.
I’m proud of my city of Sherman Oaks. At first I wasn’t so sure about this place, coming from an all Black area in Los Angeles where I raised my kids, living in the same house for 18 years. I was sure that it was the most beautiful part of Los Angeles with its sweeping views from the Ocean to South Central. But the valley has turned out to be pretty nice – south of the Blvd, that is! Hate to be snobby like that, but I don’t like the rest of the Valley, really. My old neighborhood had the prettiest hills and views of the city. South of the Blvd, I can climb a hill to Mulholland and look down over the valley. But the other part of the valley is flat as a pancake. Lots of Hollywood stars live out here too. This makes me feel out of place a bit. Sometimes they’re friendly, sometimes they’re not. And Black people don’t speak to one another in the valley and I find that strange. Their eyes hop around when they see you coming. In my old neighborhood, I could count on a "How you doing, sister?" from time-to time.
But I like others in the valley. The people in Starbucks let Joann stay as long as she wants and that’s why I think valley people are nice. But not the church ones necessarily. Sherman Oaks Lutheran church, I’m mad at them folks. They used to fix Joann a blanket pallet and let her sleep outside of their locked gates and this made me really, really mad. So one day I walked up there – me with my bold self – and asked to speak to the bishop, priest , or whatever they call Mr. Man of God in charge. He was a tall white man. I didn’t like what he said. I asked him why they locked their gates at night and made a pallet for her to sleep outside. He said because there’s been poor people since the beginning of time and there’s nothing we can do about it. "Sure there is," i said indignantly.
Then to prove my point I frantically drove up and down Ventura blvd looking for Joann and when I found her, I hopped out my – I’m ashamed to say, new Range Rover – and begged Joann to come and live with me. She said no and it was a good thing in a way because I hadn’t cleared it with my husband and three sons. Don’t know what I would have done if she would have said yes.
A few more years passed . It’s funny how time marches on. I’m still here She’s still there on Ventura Blvd, and this time, I tell my husband and my sons that if I can talk her into it, I’m bringing Joann home to live with us. Their eyes protrude. Eight eyeballs are popped out looking at me as they shake their heads, back and forth. "Nooooooooooo." I’m so mad
because more than anything I want my sons to care about others, especially those who are less fortunate than them.
But that was then and this is now. They’re off in college actually 2 finished college and are just off. It’s been almost 12 years since Joann and I met. I am still here by the Grace of God; the Sheriff didn’t cart me off in foreclosure like they did so many others during the deep depression. It’s funny how life hops around and skips over folks. But still it all hurts so badly, foreclosures, abused kids, people who don’t have all that they need, homeless people. It all makes me so sad. I wonder why Joann is homeless. I know how I got here. Had a smart Mama who went to school and got her a Ph.D. There was never a question mark. I would go to college and make something of myself. Same with my sons. We moved here to take care of my Mom when the doctor said we should concentrate on having fun in her last years as she was battling cancer. Better move on cause talking about my Mama still makes me sad.
Anyway, today was going to be an easy Saturday morning after the holidays. I had stuff to do and wanted to start with a Starbucks coffee. As soon as I opened the door to Starbucks, I spotted Joann. I felt really, really happy to see her. Maybe cause I knew I was going to be there a long time and I was glad I would have good company. The line was almost out the door. Joann’s eyes were closed when I came in. There were people all around her; two men on lap tops, two women on the other side. It seemed like everybody had brought their kids this morning and that made me a bit disgusted. I prefer a quiet Star Bucks experience. I love my boys but I'm done raising kids. Yeah!
I whispered, "Hi Joann." I didn’t want to startle her. Her eyes popped open and she smiled and my insides started to warm. I took a deep breath and let out a sigh as I smiled back. "Can you believe this line?" I asked. I don’t have to think of clever things to say to Joann. Our relationship is easy. She chuckled and said, "You came at the wrong time. I know, it’s really, really long." She could also understand why I wasn't moving from the line to come over to talk to her like I usually do. The men beside her continued to ignore her and now me. I wondered how they do that. A few people softened their faces. I asked how she’d been and she responded with her usual. "I’m doing fine." When a lady walked up behind me, I asked her to hold my place, and I popped out of line and went over to Joann. I fished in my purse. I had an extra $20.00 so I gave it to her. Not enough, I know. We locked eyes, I told her where I lived again. "I am on ____directly next to the___; it’s a two story house. Knock on my door at any time. You can come and stay with me any time you want. I mean it." I rambled for the um-tenth time. I’d written my phone number down a 100 times so I just didnt bother this time. She always takes it, folds it neatly, and places it in her purse. She always carries a nice purse. But then she never calls me. After 10 years, you’d think I’d be mad. But I’m not.
I just want anyone reading this who can help me get her moved in a permanent place, not a temporary shelter, to message me. Time is marching on, and I don’t’ know how long I’ll be here and how much longer JoAnn can prance up and down the street. It's been 10 long years. I love her so much
Meme
