Saturday,
August 20, 2005 (CWS1)
You
seldom see a homeless person around Beaufort, but yesterday I saw a man sitting
on the curb, holding a sign that said, "Anything Helps.Ó I tried to look the
other way. My eyes kept cutting to him as I waited for an opening into traffic.
I rolled down the window.
"You
a veteran?" I asked.
"Yeah,
Da Nang," he replied.
"Here,
take this.Ó I handed him a ten-dollar bill.
"Are
you sure?" he asked.
I
waved off the question and asked, "What are you doing out here?"
"Just
got out of jail this morning. I gotta alcohol problem. Cops kept my car and my
dog. My gear, too. I gotta get some gear."
"Look,Ó I
said, "I'm a Marine. There's a meeting at 12 at Alano Hall in Port Royal.
12th Street. Go there. Those guys will help you. And even if you tried AA
before, try it again. Use that money for food, not booze."
He
said thanks, and I drove off to finish my shopping. But I was crying. I couldn't
pick him up and take him to the meeting myself. It was the injustice of being a
woman in our society. It was the injustice of not being able to help. It was
the injustice of futility. It felt worse than looking the other way. I drove to
a friend's house, a guy, and told him about the vet on the curb. He went after
him, to take him to the meeting, to get him off the street, but the guy was
already gone.
Guys
like him are why I started the workshop. There will probably be a
Cadre
of women vets from the Iraq War to join him. The government cares about winning
wars, but the real battle unfolds here, at home, years after the war ends.