I Woke Up in a Car

I had been here now for almost a month. Winter was starting to hit southern California and while it was still warm, it was cooling. I was prepared, I had my blankets, my sleeping bags to keep warm as I could. To try and keep warm, to keep my mind sane, to keep things fresh, I would do an occasional open mic.

I played the few songs I knew mostly around coffee houses, I always played the song first, the way it was written. Someone once told me that you had to know all the rules and once you knew the rules, you could break them. Often, the second time around, I'd play the say song and then make it my own, channeling my frustration, my anger, my grief, my loneliness, and my desperation into the song. My voice wasn't much but it was more the way I played that seemed to capture people's attention.

It was at a particular show in Carlsbad, CA that I caught the attention of a man named Raul Reyes. He was young, olive skinned, black hair, and a pastor at a local church. Nevermind that the church was hispanic, he told me, he wanted to talk. I declined the first time but as I played more coffee houses Raul would be there time and time again.

It wasn't until the third or fourth time that Raul asked, did I accept his offer for coffee. So, Ruby and Myself, and pastor Reyes sat in a corner. I sipped on hot chocolate, he on some tea.

“Arianna, your music, it is very beautiful, but, it screams that you are in pain.” Pastor Reyes said as his hand rested on the table.

I couldn't help but let my eyes wander to his collar, to his wedding ring, he obviously had, at the very least a wife. He seemed like a good man, one who would never touch his wife in a manner less than respect. “Perhaps I am.” I said.

The young pastor looked confused at first, “You are sober, are you not?”

I shook my head, “No drugs. I am sober.” I said, idly swirling the hot chocolate in my cup to mix it some.

Raul was a man who was patient, he was a Pastor after all. “How old are you?”

My eyes flickered, “18.” My birthday had come and gone though I remembered that day. I scrimped and saved the pennies from playing Ruby on the street-corners for a few days. I called home, called Ray, the man from Montana, to let them know I was clean, I was sober, I was still in my car. I told them I was in California now. I bought a cupcake and celebrated by myself.

It was the best damn cupcake I'd ever had.

Raul reached across the table to gently take my hand. Not in that creepy way but in that comforting way, “Arianna, Let me help you. I have friends who can help you. Who would be interested in giving you a hand up.”

I looked at the younger pastor, “With all due respect, Pastor Reyes, but you make your own opportunity. I have never accepted a hand out, for anything.”

Pastor Reyes withdrew his hand, “Ah, your pride is so big for someone in such a situation as yours.” pastor Reyes paused, “How long have you been on the streets?”

I relaxed and sipped my hot chocolate when Pastor Reyes backed off. “Two years. I ran away from New York.”

Pastor Reyes didn't bat a lash when I mentioned my age or location. It was then I assumed he had seen it all and heard it all before, “So young.” and, for the first time in the whole conversation, he frowned.

After this informal meeting, Pastor Reyes left me his card and told me if I needed anything, for any reason, to call him no questions asked. I decided that I liked Pastor Reyes. He was honest, he didn't try to persuade me from staying on the street in my car, he just let me be.

Pastor Reyes offered me hot chocolate and a conversation, though, not always about god anytime I saw him. I found myself taking him up on the offer. Don't get me wrong, the conversations I had with Ruby on the streets were great but, the human conversation was what I had missed.

The conversations continued into the late fall/early winter. As they progressed, I found myself relying on Pastor Reyes more and more. I asked for an occasional shower at his home. His wife Yolanda was more than accommodating. She would often ask me to regale her with stories of the big open skies of the mid-west. Soon she began to offer me meals when I would shower there. That led to sleeping on their couch.

I felt incredibly thankful for Pastor Reyes and his wife for letting me stay in their humble home but sometimes I felt like I was over-staying my welcome. I expressed concern to Pastor Reyes after an open-mic show and he said maybe it was time I go stay with a friend, that he knew someone who was perfect, who was, in-fact, offering to take me in.

I looked perplexed, but he told me that he sensed for some time that I would eventually be asking and he'd reached out to some contacts in the local and nearby communities. I was a bit nervous when he told me the gentleman would be at his home in the morning to come pick me up.

I went to bed that night, unable to sleep but I wasn't sure if it was from nerves or from the once comfortable now un-comfortable couch in the Reyes' living room. I was up, and early, so I fixed the Reyes' breakfast and packed my things, organized my car as much as I could and somewhat prepared myself to meet the person who'd be letting me stay with them.

I heard a car pull up around eight in the morning, followed by a door slam. My body tensed at the knock on the door. Hopefully it wasn't some skeezy old guy who lived by himself. I stood up as Pastor Reyes and Yolanda answered the door and a young man about my height walked in the door. He had the bluest eyes I'd ever seen and glasses. His hair was tucked away under a hat that read proudly in white, “Support local skate.” and his shirt was sprawled with a word in large letters, “Dakine”.

Pastor Reyes, Yolanda, the unidentified man, and myself all quickly closed the large gap between us. We looked at each other awkwardly until Pastor Reyes spoke, “Ari, this is a friend of a friend, his name is Eric Jackson. He'll be the one you'll be staying with.”

My brown eyes flickered at Eric's blue ones, my voice was quiet, “Hi.” I said.

“Hi.” Eric said with a smile. Holy crap, his teeth were white. I reminded myself not to smile around him, not until I could properly begin brushing my teeth again.

Pastor Reyes cleared his throat, “Eric has brought a friend to drive his truck home to the town, Eric is going to ride with you and give you directions so that you know how to get to his home.”

I was mortified. Pastor Reyes hadn't told me this.. stranger would be riding with me. How did Pastor Reyes know that this man, this guy, wasn't some serial killer who would murder me and rape my corpse. My voice stammered, “Oh, okay.”

I tucked a piece of my red hair behind my ear as we all headed outside for my beat-up Honda. It looked so out of place next to all the cars. There was Pastor Reyes' car, a newer Hyundai Accent in a deep kind of ocean blue, and there was a truck, with what looked to be a passenger inside who had blonde.. dreadlocks. That must have been the man's truck.

I took a deep breath and turned to hug Pastor Reyes and his wife Yolanda, thanking them for everything they had done for me and that I wouldn't forget them and that I'd promise to keep in touch. I unlocked the driver's side door and opened it. I pressed the unlock button and it unlocked the passenger side door.

Here went nothing.