Ishmael Had been thinking about Venice Shoreline College for a while, one of his pen pals had told him about how to sign up and get a free ride because he was in foster homes. Getting dropped off is fortuitous as the man working in the office that day is also one of the film teachers, Mr. Carnegie. Taking Ishmael for a walk around the campus. Showing off the Journalism, Film, Computer science, Counciling and General Ed Departments. They joke around and by the time they return to the front building, they seem to have a good rapport. Helping him fill out some simple forms. Ishmael’s dyslexia reveals its self. Showing Ishmael to a private room with one computer. Mail Man begins punching in his info.
Since he has no formal address yet he makes up some of the fine details. Finishing several tasks he is aghast to see an awful sight. His entire chair is filling with a brown fluid. Looking down his shirt is bleeding with a brown and red stain. MD tries to kick off his shoes and pants before he is totally inundated with this nasty stuff. Reaching under his shirt he can feel the catheter unhooked from his Colostomy bag. Just as this is happening. Mr Carnegie has come up to the plexy glass window and his smile fades as MD is sitting bare-assed in a pool of liquid feces. Medical waste discharge is a risk with any one with severe punctures leading to removal of the intestine. Making plastic tubes and discharge bags a sad reality.
With rare class and grace Mr Carnegie pops back in the room with yellow gloves, a disinfectant spray bottle with a roll of brown paper towels under his arm. At the same time Jasper, another intake staff comes and swipes a key card in the computer before Ishmael can stop him, saying “Some one spilled coffee?” Smelling his fingers and noticing what looks like chucks of tomatoes and carrot bits in the mess. Ishmael looks at Carnegie and tells him. “Im sorry my Catheter sprung a leak, I couldn’t stop it before it got every where.” Mr. Carnegie is an old hippie who smells like Frankincense and Myrrh, wears wooden Yogi beads with a calm and thoughtful demeanor. He smiles and says. “Help me wheel that chair out to the back.” Mr Carnegie waves Jasper back and says quietly. “Medical Emergency, leave that mess to me and mark off the room… keep out the students… turn off the lights please.”
Walking out the back door towards the field. Mr Carnegie asks, “Why do you know that terminology?” Ishmael says. “I got stabbed 29 times and lost 17 feet of intestine.” Lifting up his shirt to show white tubes and an artificial colon bag taped to his chest. Across the field Officer Willows see’s this and drops the basket ball she was about to do a jump shot. Mr Carnegie asks, “What did they call you inside?” Ishmael gives a clipped response almost under his breath. “Mail Man.” Mr Carnegie smiles and says. “I did some time back in the 60’s. Got entrapped by a Narcotics Agent. Spent 6 years in Federal Prison for a frame up on a dope bust. They called me ‘Looney Bin’ because I was an orderly in a Mental Hospital before they busted me.”
As Mr. Carnegie and Ishmael wheel the soiled chair to the dumpster, Ishmael asks Carnegie. “Why did you handle this so well? Shit being all over the key board and mouse…” Carnegie says, “I had a motorcycle accident in the 70s, had the same kind of injuries before they got fixed.” Showing his own scar that looks like a sideways 7. Ishmael nods vacantly. This is a bad look. He is considering excusing him self and never coming back. A shameful thing but at the same time Ishmael has fallen in love with Venice Shoreline College, their mascot of a baby devil riding a skate board. All the pretty girls, the wind in the trees. This was a damn shame. He should have checked the tape and valves before agreeing to do a couple hours of paperwork. He notices in horror his P.O. making eye contact and heading his way. He tries to avoid eye contact but its too late. In the back of his head he thinks she is there to arrest him.
Officer Willows jogs up. Carnegie says… “Hi Letecia, this young man had a medical emergency. We are trying to get him some fresh clothes from the gym.” Willows says. “I didn’t see any back there, but I might have a spare set of sweats and t-shirt in my car.” Carnegie says. “I have to get back to the office, but i hope to see you come back. Don’t take this set back as a reason to give up on school. We are happy to have you here and I want to hear more about your ideas for film projects.” Carnegie puts his hand on Ishmael’s shoulder and smiles. “Don’t sweat it, stuff like this happens all the time. We have great counselors at the disabled student center. Take my card and I will walk you though your Financial Aid options next time.” Willows asks. “What are you doing here?” He says he is, “Going to take Journalism and Film.” He asks about her classes. She replies. “Im doing a double Masters. Studying Criminal Justice and Women’s Studies, but I think my heart is more in Social Work and Therapy.”
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Willows sees his backside and bottom of his shirt covered in brown discharge but doesn’t ask. Ishmael tells her. “I got into it with the Mexicans inside, a large part of my colon and stomach had to be removed.” She has tears in her eyes, directing him to the showers while she runs to her car. Ishmael undresses, leaving the stained clothes in a rubber trash can. Standing there as the cold water almost burns his skin with its frigid blast. He has a flashback of getting stabbed that causes him to lose his footing.
In his minds eye, see’s callous eyes and 3 enemies plunging prison made shanks into his skin is intense. White flashes of being punched in the face. Hit with bricks, beaten as a kid with electric cords finished off by his mom setting him up for his case. He is rocking back and forth, in a daze as Willows has returned but hangs back around the corner. Too shocked to speak seeing him rising from the floor nude. Ishmael finishes up washing him self once the water is hot. Turning around they both have an ashamed look on their faces.
She smiles and says. “These aren’t clean, i hope they don’t smell sweaty.” He smells the clothes and says. “Better than smelling like burnt coffee and medical waste. No… they smell sweet.” Holding out the shirt. It says, “UC Santa Cruz. Banana Slugs.” Willows bursts into laughter. “Sorry, it’s their mascot.” He smiles. “No, this is cool. I want to check out this school some time.” Walking out towards the front parking lot together, she sees him walking towards the bus loop and decides to drive him back to his place. He tries to talk her out of it but her official capacity as Probation Officer kicks in. Orders him in the car.
For a while they don’t talk, grooving to obscure Hip Hop, Classic Soul and R&B. Pointing the turns. Willows starts to see the area getting worse and worse until they arrive under a freeway. She thinks he is scamming her and leans down to look where he is staying. High above on a cement platform is a homeless camp up on a concrete span under the freeway about 40 feet up. Following him up the hill, around a fence covered in blackberry thorns and deep into the shadows there is a path up towards the freeway fence. She slides a little bit on sand and broken glass, he helps her up the rest of the way to an upper trail against a chain link fence separating them from speeding cars.
Ducking bellow a steel beam full of nasty bolts and spiderwebs, the space beyond is surprisingly big. A jarring sight as the ledge is at least 50 feet above a pile of rusty shopping carts, stripped down abandoned cars and burned pallets. He smiles and says. “Its even got a fire place.” A giant empty space inside the freeway bridge. The ninja turtles theme song comes into her head. They are alone in a place that feels like a lost metal Cathedral. Silent save for pigeons taking flight, dusty and lit from above. Torrents of swirling ash and smoke… rays of light from a grill in the bridge above give the place a strange peaceful feeling. Breaks in the traffic horns, the whooshing sound can almost fool you into thinking you are listening to a waterfall. The racing cars have a rhythmic thumping you feel more than hear, except when a bus or harley passes over then there is a zipping sound of big vehicles on the drain grates above. Willows surveys the place. It’s so dusty. Every thing is covered in a while film of dust and grime. Other than what looks like space dust, its surprisingly clean.
Ishmael smiles and says, “For now this is my pad.” She grimaces. “You can’t stay here. There is too much risk of other people leaving drugs or weapons around, I would have to violate you for that.” He says. “It’s just me and my road dog Bird. He is only here once in a while. He stays with his girlfriend in the city. This was his place before me.” Looking around she sees a pile of cardboard stacked 10 inches high, flattened into a makeshift bed. A crate full of paperback books. Several cat food bowls and a family of raccoons peaking out from inside a drainpipe. She asks. “What about when it rains?” He smiles and says. “Ive never been washed out, but i haven’t been here for a big storm either.” He strips down and returns her shirt. Her eyes follow his hands to take in the scars and the tubing. He picks up some alcohol wipes and tosses the leaking rig and bag down into the darkness bellow. She smiles and says. “I should take you in for littering.”
Ishmael grabs a new Ostomy bag and tubing from inside a plastic and paper wrapper. Putting on his own shirt. He says. “I will give you back the pants in a day or two once I do laundry. She smiles and tells him to “…keep them.” Walking her back to her car. She says. “I will work on getting you housing. Officially we will go off the bogus address you gave me, but I can’t have you out here in the elements.” He smiles and says. “This is the freest I have ever been. Im not going to live in some shelter or county facility. Besides the train and fire trucks. I enjoy being outside. I found serenity.” She smiles at his use of the word and repeats. “Serenity… You have a poet’s soul.” Smiling at each other where any other situation they would go in for a kiss. She catches her self and blinks away the obvious crush she is reciprocating. Formally she extends her hand. “Alright then. Remember your appointment and no police contact.”