The Story of Alicia

Steven: “Hi, I’m Steven. What’s your name?”
Alicia: “Alicia.”

Steven: “Nice to meet you, Alicia. We’re in Syracuse, right?”
Alicia: “Yeah, Syracuse. I stay around Westcott most of the time.

Steven: “How do you like it here?””
Alicia: “It’s quieter than downtown, and people are a little more open-minded here. They’re nicer and they’re willing to speak with people like me.”

Steven: “That’s amazing because I know many homeless people just want someone to speak with, and that’s what I’m hoping to do…do you mind telling me how long have you been homeless?”
Alicia: “About three years now, but it feels like a lifetime ago, though. Man… now that I actually say it outloud, three years doesn’t seem like a whole lot but it feels so long when you’re out here.”

Steven: “Yeah, I’ve heard that from others before…could you tell me what happen?”
Alicia: “I was a teacher. I taught high school English for almost ten years. But then… I got sick with Lupus, which is a autoimmune disease. It started with fatigue and joint pain, but it got worse, and I missed too many days of work, and eventually, I had to leave my job. Disability checks barely covered my medications, let alone rent and well things just got worse from there. I don’t have a family anymore too.”

Steven: “That’s so unfair, and I might write an article in the future about disability from the state because I heard that they don’t give much… I can’t believe how you dedicated your life to teaching, and the system just let you fall like that.”
Alicia: “That’s exactly how it feels. One day, you’re helping kids write essays about “To Kill a Mockingbird,” and the next, you’re standing in line at a food pantry, begging for food. It’s really sad.”

Steven: “Do you ever think about going back to teaching?”
Alicia: “Every day. But who’s going to hire a homeless woman with a chronic illness? Even if I could, I don’t have the energy I used to. Lupus takes so much out of you. Some days, I can barely stand long enough to wait in line for soup down in the food shelter.”

Steven: “That must be incredibly challenging. Is there anyway you cope with it?”
Alicia: “I read. I always have a book with me. Right now, I’m rereading “The Bell Jar.” I know it’s heavy, but it reminds me I’m not alone in feeling like this. You know reading is such a powerful thing. More people should read, especially those who are out here because we need to find a way to forget that we’re out here. I want to start writing my own book and I might with all this time on my hand.”

Steven: “Have you written or published any books?”
Alicia: “Not really. I almost did but I keep it to myself. I guess I’m scared people won’t get it, or worse, they’ll pity me. But there’s a part of me that hopes one day, I can publish a little collection maybe something honest, something raw.”

Steven: “That sounds incredible. You should absolutely write about it because I think a lot of people would be interested in what it’s like to be homeless. I can help out with that processing and promote it on my website. People need to hear stories like yours.”
Alicia: “Yes! That sounds amazing. People do need to know about what we suffer out here.”

Steven: “Now, what would you say is the hardest part of being out here?”
Alicia: “The loss of dignity. It’s not just about not having a home but it’s more so about feeling like you’re invisible. Like you don’t matter. People walk by you, and it’s like you’re a ghost. I used to have students who looked up to me, parents who thanked me, and now, I’m lucky if someone makes eye contact. Speaking of which, thank you so much for talking to me”

Steven: “Of course, and thank you so much for sharing your stories. It means a lot because I want to learn more about what the homeless go through and spread that to others to create change…Being homeless is hard….do you have anyone out here you trust?”
Alicia: “There’s a few people I see at the clinic sometimes. The nurses who volunteers their time to help people like me. They don’t just treat us like a patient because they actually talk to us, asks about your life. They’re all so nice and when they do check-ups, they don’t just ignore us and do it like it’s their job. They make conversation and remember us…”

Steven: “That’s beautiful. Do you ever talk to the nurses about your dreams?”
Alicia: “Sometimes. They always tells me I’m stronger than I think I am. I don’t always believe them, but it’s nice to hear.”

Steven: “I totally agree with them. You are a strong woman. Oh, also, is there something you do that people wouldn’t expect?”
Alicia: “I play the violin. Well, I used to. My dad taught me when I was a kid, and I was pretty good at it. I even played in a community orchestra for a while. I haven’t touched a violin in years, but sometimes I close my eyes and imagine the way it felt with the bow in my hand, the vibrations of the strings, I miss it. It’s one of the few memories that still feels warm.”

Steven: “Do you ever dream of playing again?”
Alicia: “Yeah, but violins aren’t exactly lying around. They’re also really expensive and people aren’t willing to let a random stranger play their violin.”

Steven: ” I think there is a community building a few blocks away that allow for people to borrow violins. We can check that out later. Right now, what keeps you going, Alicia?”
Alicia: “Not much but just like moments like these where people are interested in speaking to me “

Steven: “Yeah, more people really need to give the homeless another chance because just speaking to them means a lot… if you had three wishes, what would they be?”
Alicia: “First, I’d wish for my health back. Lupus has taken so much from me, and I just want to feel strong again. Second, I’d wish for a little apartment, a place with bookshelves and a desk where I could write. And third I’d wish to play violin again. I think if I had those three things, I could be happy again.”

Steven: “Alicia, thank you so much for sharing your story. You’ve been through so much, and yet you still have so strength. I’m sure you’ll find your way.”
Alicia: “Thank you.”