Modern Day A.K.

Ever since my pregnancy, they call me the modern A.K. As my story unfolds, you will know why. It’s an expression of their disappointment in my choice; a warning of how hard my life will become. There are many times that I myself don’t like the plot, nor the characters. If I could re-write my role, I would have given myself better brains, and a dash of “emotional intelligence”. For I have been told often that I have neither, because what kind of woman would choose to be pregnant and not have a home or medical coverage? I answer back with a rolling of the eyes, and a toss of my long hair. Beautiful women are never given credit for the brains they do have, right?

My name is Ashley Titan. I am 39, a single mom, and without a permanent residence. My baby, Ashley Junior, or little AJ as I call her, is five months old.

We have been living in my SUV for two months, here in San Francisco.

As you might have guessed, this state of homelessness is very new to me. And there was a time that I had quite a life, though looking back, it’s like looking at someone else’s life through pictures, and not feeling attached to that life. Now you might say that this is insane, and why do I not want to try to reconnect with those pictures again?

Since I have this SUV, I tell myself we are not homeless. I shower and primp daily at my gym, and I bathe AJ as well. I get free childcare for two hours a day there. I use that time for work outs, yoga or to meet my friends for a sandwich, or tea. I usually come back at night to park in their lot. AJ and I take naps out there.

But between 2:00pm and 7:30pm, there is a lot of time to kill.

And a lot of time to think. To review, and to plan my next life, which I must admit is getting harder for me to do. I do not have the contacts I once had, and my skills as a part time jewelry designer are not exactly in demand right now. Some of my friends have alienated me, and I have disappointed them. I also have a kid attached to me most of the time, and it’s hard to hold a serious conversation with a possible business contact while breast-feeding.

I cannot discuss this with my mom. “Go back to Raoul! Why can’t you work it out with him? Just until you can come up with a plan?”

Why should I work it out with Raoul? He gives me no reason to. I can live off the $900 I get from him a month in my own way—mind you, finding a babysitter or daycare would cost $3,000 a month, plus the pittance that I make on my own. After you do the most basic math, I cannot even afford a studio apartment, food, or diapers. The gym costs $75 a month, and the cheapest diapers, $150. My food is $150 or less, as I take advantage of soup kitchens and those things for the homeless. I get free soap from homeless programs and free laundry detergent. I’ve gotten clever at finding whatever for free, and I have at least $400, give or take, for the unexpected stuff that comes up in life: new tires, more baby clothes, new laptop. Or, in my case, new to me!

Oh—and storage. I have decided that once every two months, I will go inland to my storage unit that houses my previous, frivolous life. Jewelry, furniture, and high end clothes are stashed in there, along with books, and AJ’s baby furniture. That’s another $85.00 a month, because it’s close to Sacramento.

In a pinch, I could sell all of it.

So don’t feel too sorry for me, it’s not that bleak!

And just so you know, I chose this. I was married to Matthus when I met Raoul, and I was aware that the chances of Raoul wanting to marry me were slim. I became pregnant with Rauol’s child, and therefore, got only a meager divorce settlement from Matthus. I was angry, of course. I had planned on him being much more generous, more understanding, seeing as that he could not give me the baby I wanted.

My plans went awry, as I realized I would not be able to support myself in San Francisco of all places, on a $30,000 settlement! I took everything I could, our SUV, dishes, some furniture, and I cleared out our joint account, that—in the moment— had $6,866.00. I got my hair done one last time (back to brown, as I soon could not afford highlights), and I bought a $2000 Gucci diaper bag, pre-owned. The rest went into savings, and off to Rauol’s I went! Looking back, which is the only direction I seem to look nowadays, I wonder if Matthus was relieved and just wanted me out, car and all.

The settlement has not yet come. This is another reason why we are in the situation we find ourselves in. I was planning on receiving it two months ago; and when it did not show up in my account, in my Honda I went. I figured AJ and I could rough it for a few weeks, vagabonding with various friends who might have us. I guess I only have two weeks worth of friends left, because this is all the shelter we received. My former “friends”, I suppose, don’t like the idea of a screaming infant and a worn out new mom in their apartments. They kept complaining that they weren’t getting any sleep at night. Really? I’ll show you no sleep! Back in the Honda we went. Again.

I already tried living with Raoul once. After being with Matthus for so long, it was like going from a palace to a cottage. I was eight months pregnant, learning how to deal with his children, expected to help with carpools, groceries, and his ex-wife. Shall I say things were off to a rocky start? I wanted to scream. Oh but it gets worse! After AJ came, there wasn’t a moment of silence for three or four days in a row. He had his kids three days a week, except for when the ex wanted to take a vacation, so sometimes seven days in a row. I was expected to help him with them. Oh please…How? With a two week old infant, how am I to help with homework? I have to do the laundry, which is located in the basement? He told me to get used to it, that this was going to be our life; kids sleeping on the floor, cereal boxes and popsicle sticks everywhere. This was the arrangement, all in a two-bedroom apartment.

Get used to it? “Screw this!” I yelled out, unable to manage. Poor Raoul…He recognized what I was going through better than I did. “You are making a terrible choice to leave, Ashley!” he yelled. “You have not had sleep in a month, but this is how it is with new moms! This will get better, why can’t you see it? You are making life choices while sleep deprived!” One night, when AJ wouldn’t stop crying, I packed up our Honda and acted like I was going to go drive her around, just to calm her a little. I’m still driving her around two months later.

This was when it hit me: I was getting ready to look at poverty steadily in the eye. To me, it’s not how much or how little you have, it’s how you live…and living in crowded conditions to me meant poverty. Add up loud voices and sticky floors…and you have it.

I still have not told him about living in the Honda, which I know is mean and dishonest of me. He thinks I am living in a studio apartment near the Mission. I have met him there in “my parking lot”, while he takes AJ for a few hours, along with a few bottles of my milk, so that he can bond with her. I appreciate the break. I go down to the beach, I sleep in my car. A few times now, I have done laundry.

Eventually, my settlement will come. It has to! I know Raoul will not pay $900 forever. I am aware that nothing is permanent, and yet, I can’t seem to look forward far enough to get a good plan together. I can think two hours ahead of time, and this is all.

Today I am meeting him, but I will show up half a hour early. That way, my plan is protected.

Little did I know that he would show up an hour early. Raoul has three jobs, his time is always tight. I did not anticipate this today. I see him glaring at me, as I push AJ down the sidewalk. I had to park far away, and I anticipated this accurately, but I did not know that he would be here so early. Now he knows, or suspects that I do not live here.

“Hey there,” I say, out of breath, more from my anxiety than anything. AJ starts to stir in her stroller. I adjust the shade, and this makes her cry.

Raoul continues to glare, and does not say hi, or hello.

“How has she been?” he demands, his voice gruff, and bits of his temper are showing through. He is wearing a white tank, and those plaid shorts I hate. His hair is greasy looking, and I wonder if he is trying out some new style that doesn’t look good on anyone.

“She’s doing great.” I say, defensively. “Starting to teeth a little, but she’s fine.”

He looks at me, but then looks away.

“What, Raoul?” I bark, and AJ starts crying again.

“It’s nothing, Ashley. Except for that you do not live here. Not in this apartment complex.”

I don’t have anything to say. I arrange the bottle in the bottom part of her stroller, which buys me time to gather some sort of response.

“Raoul…” I say it softly. “I’m sorry. I could not…”

“Who is he?” He demands.

I laugh. “He? Who on earth would want me right now? There is no ‘he’.”

And then I can’t stop laughing. The idea of someone wanting to be with me is absurd, as I travel to Muir Woods by day, the ocean by afternoon, except for the days when I am at the gym—oh yes! I have so many great things I can offer right now!

“It’s not funny, Ashley.”

Oh, but it is. But I stop laughing, as I feel like I could just about cry right now at my absolute unattractiveness.

“Sorry, I’m slap-happy tired. Here, scroll through it.” I say, as I hold up my phone, allowing him to look at my very narrow life that I currently reside in. “Look at my texts.”

He takes me up on it, and he scrolls through. We walk in the direction of his apartment.

He shakes his head. “I don’t understand. Why are you lying about where you live? If it’s not a guy, then—what, Ashley?”

“Look—don’t worry about me, I don’t want to make you concerned, but…”