A Woman Named D.

It was sometime during the past summer that I saw a woman start to set up residence under and inside the awning of a stadium that I live nearby.

She started small in her quest to make a place for herself while living rough.

From what I could tell from her first few weeks of inhabitation, she spent her days organizing the few things that she’d collected into neat piles and configurations.

I saw  her every time I took Jo past her place on our morning training stroll.

The first time we spoke she was standing, just outside of her space, hands on hips, face turned up into the late morning sun…like a warrior.
As a fellow enjoyer of days that are sunny, I quietly said:

Me: What a day, huh?

She (without opening her eyes or turning to me): It’s a gift from the gods, no?

She then seemed to decide that I might be worth a look…but only with one eye open, the other squeezed shut in the glare of the rays.
As she eyeballed me, we both agreed that yes, the gorgeous day WAS a gift from the gods.
We shared a smile and I moved on.

Since that day I always marked my walks by sharing a few words with her, more and more words each day, random greetings which turned into conversations as the summer started to wind down.

For some strange reason I’m embarrassed to tell you that I’m a creature of habit.

I like to walk the same paths, eat the same foods, practice the same stretches, listens to the same songs…sometimes over and over and over again.
I just do.
There has always been a very grounding and wonderful comfort in my same-ie things.

Since I started living solo, with the space and time to really learn who I am, I’ve been trying to step outside of that comfort more and more…but some repeated things, favourite things, safe things, just make me feel calm.
I deeply value that truth and am challenged by it at the same time.

Yes.
Two things, true at once.

One thing I don’t want to let go of, is the fact that I’ve mostly been eating the same breakfast for almost a year and there seems to be no end in sight…this is something I give myself to start the day…so, after I get up, dress, quickly make and eat egg on a bagel with low fat goat cheese, I put on my hiking shoes and hook up Jo, I stroll past the warrior woman who lives in and under the awning almost every day.

Seeing her hale and well, at least from my view, made me feel that repeated-type calmness…a bit of peace…of relief.
Which is…what it is, I know.
I don’t know why exactly I feel that way, but I do…it does.

Every single day I kept telling myself, as Jo and I moved past her, that I really should bring her something.
But then I wondered if I DO bring her something, how she will react.
Then I wondered if I should just try to bring her something anyway.
And then?

I forget.
I’m just being honest, I forget.
But I still think it.
And I still forget it, every day.

As the time passed and her collection of things grew and grew..pedestal lights, clothing, blankets, file boxes…things that all surround her sleeping pad (this was the thing that I was always most interested in…and it changed shape and composition every day)…I didn’t know what I could add, besides cash or food.

Then I soon discovered, through conversation and by being noisily observant, that twice a day she left her treasures, under duress, and walked the 200 feet to the respite centre nearby to pick up her daily meals.

And so it continued, my cycle.

Every day as I would see her and think about how I should get her something JUST before I would pass her and forget, she and I would just share a smile and some words.
It was easy to think that she was just fine in the summer.
To not worry about her or go too far into  what happened to her…or what was happening…or why…or what next.
What next?
Because I’m not naive enough to think she can stay there.
The forces that be will not let her…and one of those forces is the unstoppable Canadian winter.
The other is the neighbourhood cops.

She seems to invest whatever cash she gets in fortifying her ever growing empire of things that other people don’t want, that she spends the day folding and refolding, reorganizing and replacing.
Tarps.
Locks.

About two weeks ago, when we were having a fake late fall day…the air just warm and fucking gorgeous…I passed her in Liberty Village.
She was dressed in outdoor gear, neatly layered, matching in colour, and to anyone who might not know her, you would not think she lived outside.
We smiled and stopped to say hello, Jo barking her head off of course, and the warrior woman tutted kindly at Jo and told me that she was going to be leaving soon. That she’d found a place to stay.
Right away, the pessimist inside me wondered if this was a story…or a dream…or a wish…or a delusion.
I told her that I hoped her transition was not a difficult one.

She: I have to get out of the cold. Winter is coming. In three days, I will go.

But in three days, she remained.
We never talked about it again when I saw her.
I assumed it had not turned out, or that indeed it was a delusion.

There was a man who lived near her for a while, but one day, I saw him arguing with her…and then a few days later, he and his collection of bicycles were gone.
There was not a remnant of him left behind…like she’d mopped the cement of him.

Her collection has gotten quite large.
It seems to have rhyme and reason, but is very much a collection of things that someone who lives out side might never need…but in my mind, I pretended for a while that she was collecting things for her future home.
Again, it seemed best to dream and not live in reality about WHAT NEXT.

Yesterday, when I was crossing the street towards the park, a woman walked by with two, midsized white dogs.
One of the dogs was barking and barking at Jo, straining at the leash to get at her, and so I calmly put our training into practice.
I got Jo’s attention, offered a treat and told her to LOOK AT ME, and Jo did look at me, blessedly holding her tongue as we continued to cross.
Then, in slow motion, I watched the barking dog slip it’s leash and run towards us in the middle of King Street.
My instincts kicked, and I scooped up JO and held her high, as the barking dog lunged at me, trying to get to her and I kept moving across the street.
The woman ran for the dog…and all I know is that I just kept moving.
Somehow, with the help of bystanders, she got her dog..and hooked it back up.
This I saw from across the street.
I checked Jo, made sure she was okay, and shakily kept walking.

It bears mentioning her that about a month ago, I was near the respite centre when a very large dog charged a smaller dog, and mauled it.
It was…well, it was exactly as terrible as you can imagine.
That was the first thing in my mind as white dog ran towards us.

So, walking away with my dog intact, if shaken, seemed like that sunny day the warrior woman and I turned our faces up towards…a gift from the goddess.

As I approached the place where the woman lives, I turned back to look and see if the woman with the dogs got herself together, and saw that she was tying the two dogs UP TO A TREE TO GO INTO THE GROCERY STORE RIGHT ON KING STREET.

Now, this is the point when some would say I should have moved on…but I just thought, “that fucking dog is going to slip it’s leash and maul a dog or run onto the street and get hit by a fucking car.”…so, I yelled out:

Me: NO, no you cannot do that.

The woman looked up at me.

She: Fuck off.

Huh.
Okay.
I continued to yell.

Me: You cannot tie up those dogs there and leave them alone.

She: GO FUCK YOURSELF.

I am going to be totally honest here and say that this is the moment when I probably should have left…again.
But I didn’t.
I told her, yelled across the street at her, that if she didn’t take her dogs and go, that I would call the cops.

This is when the woman quickly freed her madly barking dogs, and started to run across King Street towards me.

RUN

And I just about had a heart attack.
What the fuck did I just do? What did I let myself in for?

The dog lady and her dogs were on me and Jo as fast as I’ve ever seen someone move.

And there she was, right in front of me, loosely holding her two barking dogs, me standing frozen with Jo scooped up in my arms, her telling me that she was going to hit me or kick my ass or kick me, that I’d better watch out…she was direct, she was threatening as fuck,  her eyes filled with mayhem.
Totally unpredictable.
I quickly turned and walked away, and she stayed RIGHT behind me…right behind me.

I’ve never actually been afraid of getting in a fight as an adult…but here I was.
With my 18 pound dog in my arms and two dogs trying to get at her…and a woman who seemed bent on fucking me up…BOTH of us up.

The only thing that flashed in my mind was someone sometimes somewhere saying that if you find yourself in a situation with someone who does not seem rational, who is physically intimidating you, that the very best thing you can do is stand your ground and act crazy.

So, I turned around, clutched Jo as tight to me as I could manage, and started screaming FUCKKKK OFFFF over and over at the top of my voice, straight into her scary-ass face.

It was at this point that I heard a barrage of profanity from just over my left shoulder.

It was the warrior woman.

She did not threaten dog lady…but she didn’t NOT threaten her.

She just screamed at her as she bore down on her like a forest fire.

The dog lady started to back up and the warrior woman turned at told me to GO.

When I didn’t move, when it was very clear I was conflicted about going anywhere…she said it louder

She: MOVE NOW. GO.

And I did.

As I moved quickly away I was zinging with adrenaline, I was terrified, I was ashamed, I was angry as fuck, I wondered over and over again why I had to challenge the dog lady, why didn’t I just walk away in the first place and why did I just leave the warrior alone.
I was 100000 emotions and thoughts all at once.

For a length of time I cannot even determine, I walked around aimlessly…I called a friend…I calmed down…and then I walked back.

I felt that I’d waited too long, I should have checked on the warrior woman earlier…but quite frankly, I was afraid…and I was ashamed of being afraid.

AND WHY DIDN’T I CALL THE FUCKING COPS!?!?

When I got back to the park, there she was, standing outside of her place, hands on hips, surveying the land around her, the dog lady long gone.

As I walked towards her, I dug through my small purse, found all the cash I had and held it out to her.

Me: I don’t want to buy your help or insult you…but please take this.

She said she didn’t want to take it as she took it.
As she folded the money into her pocket, she looked me full in the eyes with BOTH eyes, and in her wonderful Russian accent she said:

She: You have to be tough now. You live in Toronto. Toronto is a piece of shit. You are warm and have a home and this baby to take care of. AND YOU have to protect it all…every day…and fight for it and NOT be a little bitch. You have to BE a real bitch. You have to be a bitch. We don’t need guns or knives…we don’t need to be killers…but you have your voice. BE a bitch. Don’t stand down. BE a BITCH. You are a nice woman…too nice…be a BITCH.

Did she…did she just call me a little bitch?

I laughed.
She narrowed her eyes.
It was nervous laughter, to be sure.

This woman who was half my height, half my size…just told me I was a little bitch.

I GUESS to her (and probably some others) my reaction would have looked soft.
To be totally honest, I thought I was actually doing amazingly in the situation with my screaming thing.
Who really wants to get in a fist fight? I don’t.
But the warrior woman was so sure of herself.
So fierce that dog woman ran away…proverbial tail between her legs.
The warrior woman was…a bitch.

I tried to smooth over my nervous laugh…I really didn’t want to seem like an asshole…and I told her that I’d never really had to protect myself in that way…and as I got to the end of my sentence, I petered out.
And I felt…I felt…grateful that I’d never had to protect myself in that way, and grateful that a woman who HAD had to protect herself that way…protected me.

Two women who didn’t even know each other’s names.

Me: May I ask your name?

She narrowed her eyes again. Then…

She: You can call me D…it’s the initial of my first name. I don’t like people to know my name.

Me: I understand. I’m Sharron. Thank you. Really…thank you. I think…I think I’m gonna take a marshal arts class or something…I hope I’m not too old to do that.

She: You aren’t. You should…that is a good idea. You should know how to protect yourself. Be a fucking bitch.

We stood quietly for a second, and I have no idea why I asked her, but I then asked her if she had a plan for winter.
She looked up at the cloud filled sky…it was about minus one outside.

She: Do you remember that day I told you I was leaving. That I found a place to stay?

Me: Yes, yes I do remember that.

She paused for a long time…she didn’t look away from the sky.

She: It fell through. I’m not sure where I will go yet or what I will do…but I will survive. I survived a husband and a father who fucked me over and fucked me…a heart attack and a trip across the seas…I will survive. I am a bitch.

She laughed. Ruefully…but a laugh all the same.

I had no idea what to say, so I thanked her again for helping me.

She said good bye and walked back to her stuff.

I walked away.

I was overwhelmed by what she’d done, by what she’d said…but the events of the last couple of hours had left me more than a bit foggy…but I was clear about the fact by need to know better how to defend myself.

Now that I’m living a solo life, a life of my own in which I am lucky enough to have a roof and clothes and food and a car…I life I’m so blessed to have and an act/chapter that I didn’t know I WOULD have…a life that I love being inside of…I need to know how to defend myself.

I wanna protect myself…and that life.

Is that a weird takeaway? I don’t know…but it was a part of the takeaway.

It would be a real boon to get out there into the world at large, knowing that I can kick some ass, if I need to.

Be a bitch.

Hm.

As I walked away, I could see D in my mind…wrapped up to the hilt, plastic bags inside her shoes, two coats on, tarps over her sleeping place, surrounded by her treasures…and surrounded by snow.

She could not stay there forever.
I felt that hard.
Not as hard as her, obviously.
What next?

That was two days ago.

Today, I went by for a walk…and she was gone.

She was fucking fucking gone.

The only thing left was a wrecked pedestal lamp laying on it’s side.
The place where all of her mountains of stuff had been stored, arranged and rearranged by her for months was neat as a pin…just like when she swept away that dude after he left.

She was gone.

She was there…and now she’s gone.

What did it all mean?

Am I weird for thinking it all had to mean something?
To want to look inside of it all to see what I can salvage?
And yes, to use it and write it all down here?

It was a meaningful experience knowing her even a bit, even before she saved my ass…and save my ass she did…but the last hour I got to be in her presence was super charged and filled with information.

It was indeed a gift…a gift from the goddess…like that sunny day.

May she be somewhere warm.
May she be safe.
May she feel strong.
May she live long in some description of peace.

May she continue to be a bitch.

And I will do my best to be the same.

 

November 19th, 2022 – S.M
Toronto, ON

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