Bonnie

Saw Bonnie today. Her apartment was wall to wall stuff reminding me of older sister's homes. Bonnie carved a path between boxes, bookshelves, dressers to be able to travel from main room to bathroom. The kitchen had boxes and stuff piled high to the ceiling. Hoarding can be dangerous.

http://www.heraldsun.com.au/news/world/husband-finds-missing-wifes-body-buried-under-rubbish-after-four-months/story-e6frf7lf-1225912294891

Building being renovated; need to walk around construction barrier, onto Anaheim Street to cross over side street. Which is why I stayed on north side of Anaheim, to cross at traffic light and back track to my destination. If I had crossed at the previous light and dealt with walking on Anaheim a short distance risking getting creamed by speeding, careless drivers, chatting merrily on their cell phones even tho' it is now against the law to do so in Long Beach, I would not have seen Bonnie. Kicked self for being wimpy. 'Cept too many almosts crossing streets along Anaheim.

Saw the homeless woman leaning against wall, a quick glance, not Bonnie, phew, much prettier than her. Walk eyes downcast so I will not step on any cracks, do not glance up as I pass her, only to hear her calling "Mary, Mary...". Drat. It is Bonnie, hair recently blonded? Fresh from Village or MSC shower? She looked good and I told her so.

First thing she says is "I was mean to you last time I saw you and I am oh so sorry." Or words to that effect. I had forgotten about that incident. Or the hundreds of times she was mean to me. Bonnie starts talking and keeps right on going. All about her. And Luke or is that Ed? The ex-husband. He was screwing all kinds of ladies, even said he was with you. I doubt that her accusations about him are true, and that he would lie about being with me. Who knows?

"Look at me, look at me," Bonnie demands. I was watching pedestrians, traffic, a butterfly, looking at flowers, whatever, wondering how to extract myself from this one-sided conversation. A normal me would lose my temper, say something like "How dare you tell me what to do." Or use of the F-word and other unkind stuff telling her what I think about her.

"Where do you, live? Gimmie your phone number? I'll walk home with you." No, no, no. I tell her manager does not allow company. Hawk eyes. Do not have phone. Have already told her I can only afford minutes to speak to my daughters. That produces more lectures. Not that she would remember or ever listened to any word I could get in edgewise.

She grabbed her baby buggy laden with stuff, turned and walked away muttering. She knows I know she knows I am lying. "You were always nice to me," she said early in conversation which is why she felt bad yelling at me. Yes I was nice to her. She was nice when I first met her in the shelter. Hello crack cocaine and she has never been the same.

Except her crying, nobody loves me jag. I gave her a hug, though felt no sympathy for her. "I am going to die," blah, blah, blah, liver problems or whatever, "alone." She claims to have stopped drinking, no more drugs, getting baptised "on Saturday." Tells me where the church is, 'round corner from where I live. I inquire about time, she says "oh it is at the beach" contradicting what she said earlier in her blathering. She was banned from the Village for using foul language. "They can't stop me. I will go anywhere in the building I want to and say whatever I want," she shouts.

Poor, poor, Bonnie. At least she did not die when still in the apartment, to be found buried, weeks later, under piles of junk.