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Down in the Dirt, v158
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Even The Ones That Hurt The Heart The Most

Cathy Porter

    Sara couldn’t remember the first time she saw her flipping out –she just knew it changed everything. Watching her - The “Crazy Lady” - as the kids in the neighborhood called her –triggered something in Sara. Call it curiosity. She just felt better knowing someone seemed as miserable as she was. Sure, not very nice – but when your own life has been nothing short of a horror movie, well, you start to not care so much about being “nice.”
    Here’s the deal: Sara also envied the hell out of The Crazy Lady. She wished SHE could cut loose like that, not care what anybody thought. Watching her over the years having her sporadic freak-outs for the entire block to witness, showed Sara that she wasn’t the only one hurting – and there is no shame in letting that hurt out. But talk around the neighborhood was anything but positive. Words that stood out: nut-job, looney tunes. And those were the good ones. The Crazy Lady would be her official “legal” street name.
    One day, Sara came home early from work. Of course, her boyfriend Sam was gone. Probably out getting drunk. He sure wasn’t working. Sam hadn’t had a job in over 6 months, and he wasn’t looking very hard for one either. Sara decided to play a little hooky from work, come home and just jam out to some tunes. Maybe some Sabbath, Queen, a little old-school rap. And of course, The Beatles. John knew pain. You could hear it in his voice. Help! wasn’t just a song, it was a war cry from one generation to another. John understood.
    Sara was just about to crash to the fade-out of Abbey Road, when she was jolted fully awake from loud screaming coming from outside — like someone was getting murdered. She jumped out of bed, and peeked out the window. And she saw her: The Crazy Lady was in high gear, screaming and running up and down the block, preaching about the Lord and some other stuff Sara couldn’t quite make out. That’s it-Sara was going outside to talk to this woman, and see what was up.
    Sara made her way outside. The Crazy Lady was in full wacked-out mode. When she saw Sara approaching, she threw her hands up and shouted, “don’t you come near me, or I swear I will kick your butt” Sara stopped in her tracks. “Okay, but I just wondered if you could put a lid on it. I’m tryin’ to sleep.” The Crazy Lady just started to laugh. Now, Sara was angry. Who did this lady think she was? She was causing a commotion on the entire block. Sara couldn’t get any rest. And now, she was going to kick Sara’s butt? For what? Sara stopped for a moment, took a deep breath. Something told her to talk to this lady. Just talk. Hell, nobody does that anymore. Everybody’s on their phone 24/7. Just talk.
    “I’m not gonna bother you. I was just wondering” ...Sara couldn’t finish what she was going to say, because she had NO idea what she wanted to say.
    “What, you got somethin’ to say? Say it!”
    Sara decided to go for broke. “Why do you act the way you do? I’m not tryin’ to be a jerk, I just really want to know.”
    The Crazy Lady was stunned. Nobody ever asked her why she did anything. People just made fun of her and called her names. Or worse – just plain ignored her. Ghosted her. Well, she asked, so she decided to give it to her:
    “You know, I used to be normal. But the war took care of that. Don’t ask which war—doesn’t matter. All war is the same. Death and destruction. From the battlefield, all the way to the “home” field. But the parades don’t talk about that. Oh, no. All they do is wave flags, and paint a rosy Americana picture that is anything but rosy. So, this is my way of getting’ it out. Nobody listens unless you scream the loudest. And even if they don’t, at least I get something out of me. I have to do this – ‘else I would just be silent and drift away to dust. And silence doesn’t do anybody a bit of good. There. You asked.”
    Sara was rattled. She expected some sort of sarcastic comeback, or an angry outburst filled with four-letter words. THIS was not what she was ready for. But she had to admit, she was intrigued. And genuinely concerned. Wow. That was a new emotion. She decided to continue the conversation. She politely inquired about her name-she had one, right? The Crazy Lady told her that wasn’t important – to just appreciate each day, because they all matter — even the ones that hurt the heart the most. Even the ones that hurt the heart the most. And with that, she ran down the street, yelling for all the world to hear, turned the corner, and disappeared. Like a ghost. More like she ghosted Sara.
    Sara went back to her house and tried to lay down. She couldn’t get this lady out of her head, or the words that seemed to spear her heart into a combination of acute pain and action. She went over it all in her mind, until finally, she fell into a deep sleep.
    Sara woke the next day to someone, or something, banging on the front door. It was her friend Scott, who had some weird news. Something about some lady found dead behind the shelter last night. Could it be that crazy lady always flippin’ out? Sara didn’t know for sure, but from the description Scott gave, it sounded like an identical match. Scott said something about how she tried to crash at the shelter, but they were full, so she went and drank herself into a stupor, took some drugs, and OD’d in the alley behind the shelter. She had no ID on her; the only thing the cops found in her jacket pocket was a picture of a young man — really a boy, he looked so young – in an Army uniform. The cops were asking people around the area if they knew this guy in the picture, as a source of possible identification, so maybe they could locate him or any family members. Nobody knew the boy in the picture – or anything at this point.
    Sara didn’t say much after Scott filled her in. He was in a hurry to get to work, so he gave her a quick hug goodbye, told her he would see her tonight at the party. Oh yeah, the party. Sara remembered she had promised Scott they would go to her cousin’s party together. Now, Sara didn’t feel much in the mood to party. But she didn’t say anything to Scott as he headed out the door.
    Later that day, Sara walked by the shelter and kept on walking. Some guy tried to talk to her, told her she looked pretty, and hey, could she spare any change? Sara kept on walking — ghosted the dude as fast as the pull of a trigger. She had things to do. She saw this job online that looked like it might be a good fit. Something about working with the homeless. That sounded more interesting than her current job at Bag N’ Go. Sara knew nothing about how to help anyone. She needed help too. But that didn’t matter. People fight wars every day and most don’t have a fancy name. But every single one matters. Even the ones that hurt the heart the most.



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