Seattle Press on Line - The Women's Room

Writers' Corner

The Women's Room

By Lon McKinney

Mar 14, 2002 -- Part two of three

(If you haven't read part one yet, click here.)

I heard the din of traffic. It never stopped but, as I moved toward the wall, it diminished and then all but disappeared. I turned north, walking on a small path next to the wall. The area was littered with bottles and cans and other debris. It wasn't the most comfortable place to be this early in the morning. I came to a place that was obscured by trees and overgrown brush next to the vertical concrete starkness. It was a spot where the wall ran directly next to houses and yards and the path stopped. An intersecting dead-end street ended here in a grassy area surrounded by poplars and locusts, almost like a small unkempt secluded park. Vegetation covered the wall. I stopped suddenly in mid-stride because I'd seen some kind of a movement, a rustling in the brush beneath the trees. Part of the landscape began to rise.

A woman got up off the ground, stepping out of the long grass beneath the trees, brushing burrs and thistles and dead leaves from her clothing. Her faded green dungarees and navy and yellow spotted old flannel shirt blended together with the foliage like camouflage. I wondered if she planned her outfit with her surroundings in mind. She gave a sudden start, a little jump, when she spotted me standing there in a baggy sweatshirt, with dark, nyloned legs and headphones wired to another world.

"Hey, you startled me," she said, in a voice sounding like a cross between Janis Joplin and Lauren Bacall. "I didn't mean to scare ya. Just wakin' up and glad it didn't rain last night. But it was chilly, I was glad to have this old down sleepin' bag, sure I was, even if it's somebody's castaway. Kinda like me, I guess." She held up the dirty brown bag in her equally filthy left hand.

"It's okay," I said, "I just didn't expect anyone down here. You slept here all night?"

"Sure I did," she said with a big wide grin, "the wall here keeps a lot of heat in it. I just snuggle up to it and wrap up in my bag. It's mighty cozy. Even had an old tomcat check me out and figure I was okay to sleep with. He was a big fella. Kept me nice and comfy." She stopped speaking and did what appeared to be a strange hopping dance.

"You all right?" I asked in response to her jig.

"Sure I am. Just got to pee, that's all. I go down to the coffee place by the lake. I leave my rucksack there in some bushes and I use their potty. They got hot water so I can wash my face and brush my teeth and if I've got some change I get some hot coffee. Sometimes they even give me a free cup. I behave myself and they're nice folks. I tried goin' to the rec center for a shower but they kicked me out. Guess I wasn't up to their standards. So it's a sponge bath and a cup a joe." She laughed and I could see two rows of yellowed teeth like an old picket fence needing a coat of paint.

She must have been a beauty in her younger days. She seemed in good shape beneath her baggy clothes, not overweight or stoop-shouldered, and she carried herself with a subtle grace like an aging model left behind without a runway. Her curly dark hair was streaked with gray and dirt and her skin was deeply tanned and prematurely wrinkled from spending a lot of time outside. She put out her brown arm and offered her hand to be taken. I shook it apprehensively. Her palm was hard and cracked. I felt like a wimp with my pampered skin and manicured nails.

"My name's Beth. Yours?"

"I'm Megan, Beth. Pleased to meet you."

"Yeah. Hey, you got any spare change?" She said this without missing a breath.

"Nope. I only carry enough money for coffee this early in the morning. I go to that same cafe after I walk and do some writing before I go to work. I think I've seen you there sometimes."

"I might have seen you too. Just don't remember now. A writer, heh?" she said with a wistful look. "Lotsa writers sittin' around that cafe all hours of the day. I used to write some poetry myself. A long time ago. I might have some here in my sack." She started to root around in the rucksack beside her in the brush.

"That's okay, Beth, I really have to get going," I said. I was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

"Well maybe another time," she said a bit gruffly, as if she'd been put off by my abrupt signal to avoid her. "Like I said, I gotta pee. Len, Leonard, took the last of my change last night to go roust up a bottle of MD. He probably met up with some of his buddies from Nam and stayed and drank with them under the freeway. Len and me usually stick together, but I spend a lot of nights alone. Sometimes Len can be a real son of a bitch."

"He doesn't sound like Mr. Reliable." I said in agreement. I really did want to get going. Just finish the walk, have the coffee, and do some writing before Andrew woke up. My usual routine.

"Yeah, he's not," Beth said, "but he kinda counts on me. I'll bet you've got someone counting on you Ms. Megan, dontcha?"

"My husband. He's still sleeping while I do my walk."

"You're mighty lucky to have him waiting there for you," Beth said, wistful again, "mighty lucky indeed."

"Thanks, Beth," I said, beginning to show my impatience by glancing around.

"Now I know you gotta go Ms. Megan, but there's something you could do for me, something that would just make me feel mighty good."

"What's that, Beth?" I said, wanting to leave but still curious at the needful sound of her request.

"Well, this sounds kinda silly and all, but I haven't had someone wash my hair in so long, I've almost forgotten how good it feels. I mean really soap it up and scrub it clean. The beauty shops only take in potential beauties. And folks with money. Nowadays, I'm out on both counts. If you could just wash my hair, Ms. Megan, I'd, well, I'd feel like I was a new woman."

I was at a loss for how to respond. The way she said it, not pleading, but with a touch of dignity, confused me. I couldn't bring this old woman home with me like another stray cat. I already had a reputation for adopting one too many.

"Stay with me on this, Ms. Megan. I got some soap here I've been saving up for a special occasion. This here is pear and vanilla scent. It's just heavenly." She held up a bar of soap carefully wrapped up in brown paper and bound with a rubber band. "And I have a towel in here somewhere. What say you and me go to the cafe and I'll go take a pee in the ladies room and then you can pretend to go back to take a pee and duck in there with me. We can lock the door and you could do my hair. There's not a lot of people there this early. Just them joggers standing in line to get a drink and go. It wouldn't take very long, Ms. Megan. I would sure be grateful. Make believe it's a big adventure. Like something you might write."

"I don't think it's a good idea, Beth. What if someone who works there sees us go in?" Was it a genuine concern I had? Or just an excuse.

"Nah, not this early. It won't take but a minute or two. And they're mighty busy at the counter this time of the morning. It'll only take a couple of minutes. Then you can have yer coffee and do yer writing and I'll dry off and go back out to find Len. He'll think he had too much of the Mad Dog and got himself a new woman." She laughed out loud at this.

This poor raggedy lady looked so sorrowful. And the morning was certainly starting out quite unlike any other. If it made her that happy, I guess it wouldn't hurt to help.

"Ok, Beth. I guess we can pull it off." The look I gave her was my best attempt at positive anticipation.

"That's the spirit, Ms. Megan. You are a peach, sure you are," she said with a smile that stretched over her tan face so wide that it looked at though she'd crack.

Part 3 of this story will appear in the March 28 issue.

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