I gave my consent to live in my apartment in the projects
without ever actually seeing the apartment unit. The Philadelphia housing authority has a
waiting list that can take up to years to get one. It is the only way to for someone who is
independent and on SSI to have a place to live that they can afford; many
disabled individuals are stuck waiting with their families before the chance
becomes available to them. Pulling
strings through the independent living center I participated in youth groups
for, I was able to get pushed through the system to an availability. It was in the ghetto, but it was a place that
I could get in and out of myself in a power wheelchair; way more freedom than
I’d had in years. A chance to work, to go back to school, to live my own life
again the way I really wanted to. Calling the shots and in control. No more being trapped in others people’s
lives. No more self-suppression or psychotic caretakers.
My father told me I was crazy.
“Don’t be calling home when you want anything…we’re not
coming there. You’re gonna hear screams
at night…and gun shots…and you’re gonna be sorry.”
He was a probation officer for folks in Camden. 40 years on the force had traumatized him.
My parents have not been closely involved in my life since
the age of 7. It was ideal…until I
became disabled. Most people I meet have
the complaint that their parents shelter them and don’t let them do anything on
their own. I guess that I’m lucky. My parents do not want me live with them, not
because they do not love me, but because they know they can’t meet any of my
physical or emotional needs. They have
trouble enough keeping their own lives together, and a two story house with a
ton of steps. They are old and disabled
as well, but they support me however they can.
My dad built me a special shower chair using the legs off an old walker
that was the perfect height for a standing transfer in my new bathroom. Because I can’t afford it myself, he pays for
my monthly life-alert services so I can feel safe when I go out. My mother is always the first person I call
when I’m stressed out and need to get my head back on strait (pun intended). She was worried about me moving to the
projects too, but still drove me out to make the housing deposit.
The building attendant told us
“You can have a cat.
No Dogs. Utilities are included
in the monthly bill; it’s 20% of your income.
The handicapped units are floors 1-6. In case of a fire, go out on the
porch and the fire trucks will come and rescue you. These are the papers, sign here.” My apartment was on the 6th floor,
I was happy to be the highest up, because it was the farthest from stray
bullets.
I hear gunshots every night.
My friend says that when you hear them in a row it’s a good sign because
no one is fighting, it’s just people marking their territory. I’m not afraid of the people around
here. Everyone is very polite and
helpful. When there’s a group of people
in the lobby usually 2 or 3 of them will all go to hold the doors open when
they see me come out of the elevator.
There isn’t a single time I leave without a “Have a good day” or “God
Bless you Honey.” It’s made me really
hate white people though (I’m one out of about three in this building.) When I
go out into center city I have to ask at least a few folks for help until
someone even notices me. They stand
still on the corners chatting with their cluster of friends, while the pushy
people going places butthole around them, and the polite people in wheelchairs
wait behind as they block the curb cuts.
I like being independent, but I don’t like living
alone. I’m still in the process of
setting up with attendant care, but I’m also in the grey area of what I can get
approved for. I can feed and dress
myself fine. I can manage my needs, but only dangerously. I am a fall risk from the vertigo and blackout
occasionally from the POTS. I have my
life-alert, and my therapy cat. Sunday
night I brought Schrodinger over to the new apartment to stay with me. It was his first night in a new place, and I
wanted to make the change as easy for him as possible. With cans of tuna and cuddles he was settling
in just nicely. I fell asleep with him
beside me after setting my alarm clock for work the next morning. Yes, I am finally in a place where I can work
a job. It has taken four years, but I am
becoming a real person again. The
position I now have is as a Youth Transition Coordinator, basically someone who
helps others with disabilities get through all the things I am going though
now.
We woke up to the fire alarm. It was 3am.
I knew it wasn’t a drill; they had been running drills for months, but
never at 3am. The alarm and flashing lights
frightened Schrodie; he leapt up and hid under the bed. I was on the 6th floor, if this
was a real fire, then waiting to be rescued out on the balcony would have been
waiting to burn up. Acting fast I
stumbled out into the hallway. Two of my
neighbors, a man and a woman, were on their way over to the stairwell. I was panicking; my voice was loud but shaky
“Please could you help me get my cat, please.”
They were gold hearted, and the man came to help. He followed me back into my apartment and
tried to get Schrodie. Schrodie backed
up even further under the bed and clung in place, it took many attempts and
moving the bed across the room to finally grab him. He stiffened even more in the man's arms, as
we raced out the door. I almost fell
over before I got to the doorway. I can walk but my balance is poor and limbs
are weak from the Chiari. I needed a
cane or I wasn’t going to even make it to the stairwell, but there was no time
to go back and grab mine. Luckily there
was an extra I kept close to the door entrance.
I never use it; I just keep it there for decoration and sentimental
reasons. I bought it for Jesse’s
grandmother “Me-mom” for Christmas so she could have a decorative cheetah print
cane (to match the one I had that she liked so much) so we could take walks
together after she got out of the rehab center.
She passed away a few days later.
As I was going out the door with it, I thanked her in a quiet voice.
As we opened the door and made it into the hallway, I
thought we were going into the fire itself.
The whole area had completely turned to thick black smoke, it was hot
and there was little room to breath. I
could hear screaming everywhere. I
thought of my father’s words. This was
the first time in my building I had heard screams. We ran to the stairwell, I wasn’t running,
but running as in as fast as you can physically go. I was running. The man was walking and waiting for me. With Schrodie in one arm he helped me down step
for step with the other, making sure I didn’t fall as I wobbled and people were
running down around us. With every group
that came down at least one person stayed at a side of me making sure I was
balanced and steady. I had a whole team
at all sides of me…I was flying down the stairs…all six flights. I could feel my heart rate machine-gunning in
my throat, my vision was darkening, and the pressure in my head felt like my
skull was going to burst. I was not the only disabled person on the steps, I
saw my neighbor who has artificial legs go by, as well as wheelchairs being
carried down because the elevators are shut off in the event of an
emergency. At the bottom the man
carrying Schrodie had to go find his sister, so he gently placed him into my
arms. Anything more than 3lbs affect my
symptoms, Schrodie weighs over three times that amount. Mustering all the strength and adrenaline in
me, I held him close to my chest and carried him out of the building. I made it over to the railing outside, and
leaning into it almost passed out. A
young girl of about 14 saw me, and came over to help, helping lift Schrodie out
of my arms and getting me safely and seated.
EMTs were called, and the firefighters went by as the few gentleman who
I always see hanging out in the lobby helped me into the community center room
where it had been cleared safe to go.
One of them who helped me down into a chair looked me in the eye
“Don’t worry, I got you.
Just know that, I got you girl.”
These were the people of the projects that my family and
friends were so worried for me from being around.
He put Schrodie onto my lap and stayed with me till the
EMT’s arrived. My vitals had stabilized
by then. It hurt like hell, but I was all
right. Everyone was so impressed at how
calm and collected Schrodie was. Despite
all the chaos, He sat on my lap loving as always, as a few young kids came over
to pet him. I’ve wanted for a long time
to get him a therapy animal license.
After concluding that I was stable, and that the fire had been
successfully put out, the EMT’s helped Schrodie and me back up into my
apartment. I came back to a bedroom of
residual lingering smoke…I do not have the strength to open windows. I laid in bed and waited three hours for my
alarm to go off for work.
Though I felt like a bomb had gone off in my body, the last
thing I wanted to do was to acknowledge it.
Just wanted to keep swimming. Unfortunately
when I left the apartment I was greeting by an elevator repairman,
“Sorry there was water and fire damage from last night,
elevators are closed today”.
I went back in my apartment and checked the news. The report said it was a mild fire, no causalities,
and only one person who had to be evaluated by EMTs. Second time I’ve made the news this
year. The fire had started on the 17th
floor, but had spread through the trash chute.
The chute on my floor has a broken handle and is always open, that’s why
the smoke had been so strong. Aching in
physical agony and thankful for life, I spent the morning in my room writing a
song.
They told you not to
run
Because you won’t be
any fun
They said you gotta go
To the balcony show
But you really get the
feeling
That there’s smoke
above the ceiling
And you gotta get down
somehow
Angels in the Ghetto
Flames grown in the
meadow
Angles in the Ghetto
Bring me down
Bring me down
Bring me down
Tonight
Cast out from the box
We are locked inside
domino blocks
And they push for us
to fall
Out of this world
But we won’t go
without a fight
With out doing what we
know is right
Get the cat under the
bed
Get all the chairs
down the stairs
Angels in the Ghetto
Flames grown in the
meadow
Angles in the Ghetto
Bring me down
Bring me down
Bring me down
Tonight
They wont tell you
All the danger
Do not come from the
strangers
But from the words
they say
When you follow their
way
The heroes aren’t in
blue
The system don’t want
to save you
But the angels in pain
Will rescue a demon in
distress
