XII
Well they say that you can never
Never go back home
And if you're bound to wander
You're bound to be alone
You say I got no right
To feel what I feel
When I look into your eyes
But that I dream of you
Most every night
Comes as no surprise
Well I've been out on the road so long
Far and wide do I roam
But something in your smile tells me
I'm almost home
"Almost Home", Jono Manson
Six Months Later
Natalie Green was as excited as she could ever remember. The young Denver Post had pitched an idea just before she was hired, and, to Natalie's surprise, the Managing Editor, Rachel Schofield had enthusiastically backed the idea. It hadn't been a front-burner idea at the time, but after an Editor's conference, it had become a massive undertaking by multiple newspapers throughout the country, as well as CNN.
Today was the first day all the newspapers were running the first in the series, called "Hiding In Plain Sight: The Homeless Crisis in America."
Natalie herself had done interviews in Denver and Salt Lake City, one of a bevy of reporters who would share the byline for this huge undertaking. She was immensely proud of the work she had done. It had given her an insight into, perhaps, what Jo had gone through, or what she still was going through. She had hoped that, somehow, Jo would see some of this series, and realize she could come back home.
She had also been interviewed for the story, by a journalist for the New York Post, and by CNN. Rachel had, in part as a reward to Natalie for the idea that had become such an undertaking, to have Jo's friends be a part of the story-Dorothy, Natalie, Blair, and Mrs. Garrett being part of a chorus that had seen loved ones disappear, and even die, as a result of homelessness. Everyone involved had become invested in helping the plight of those without a home.
The fact that Blair Warner, a Vice-President at Warner International, one of the largest Corporations based in the U.S, was a part of the story, was sure to draw interest in both the printed series, as well as the CNN series.
"The truth about homelessness", CNN Anchor Chase Whitney said during one segment on the series about the homeless, "is that it just doesn't affect the poor, the downtrodden, or the middle class. It can affect anyone.
"You would think that a Vice-President of an international corporation, and someone who, will, in all likelihood, one day be the CEO of that company, would be unaffected by this scourge on America.
"But you would be wrong."
The video switches to images of the homeless, pushing old shopping carts full of items in them, and of those huddled around a small fire to keep warm, to a photo of the Warner International Building in Manhattan, then the image of Blair Warner, smiling and shaking hands at some function or another.
"This is Blair Warner", the anchor continued. "The name Warner is one of the most powerful and influential names in the business world, not just in the U.S, but across the globe. She is Vice-President of Corporate Finance at Warner International Corporation, and the daughter of the CEO, David Warner. She is on the fast track to one day, succeed her father as CEO of this multi-billion dollar corporation. You would think Blair Warner, who grew up in privilege, and will never have to worry about money, would be affected personally by this crisis. But you'd be wrong."
A camera is now on Blair, sitting in a chair, the back of the journalist is to the camera, as Blair begins her tale about Jo. She recalls meeting her at Eastland, and how initially they couldn't stand each other, but that, over the years at both Eastland and Langley, they had become best friends.
"Jo and I did so much together", Blair said with a pensive look, often looking down at her fingernails, picking at them absent-mindedly. "We weren't as different as we first thought. We could have these ferocious verbal fights, but God help anyone that threatened the other. We'd have given up our lives for one another."
"Five years ago, your friend Jo left", the female journalist said, "and you haven't heard anything from her since. Why did she leave?"
"She had hidden from most people the fact that she was a lesbian. I didn't know it, neither did our two best friends at Eastland, nor our Housemother, Mrs. Garrett. Apparently, her parents had..." Blair paused, thinking of what Jo had written in that goodbye letter so long ago. "They had told her for years it was just a phase, but by our Sophomore year at Langley, she had personally come to terms with her sexuality, but her parents didn't.
"They basically disowned her, cutting off her funding to continue her education, and arranged for her to be excommunicated from the Catholic Church. Apparently, that same day, her parents followed through, with many of her friends from her old neighborhood knowing not only about her sexuality, but that she had been excommunicated."
"Did she come talk to you about it, Ms. Warner?"
Blair shook her head, barely hanging on to her emotions. "No, I never saw Jo after that blowout with her parents. She left me a phone message saying she'd be at her parents that entire week, dealing with some issues, but would be home the following weekend. That Friday, I received a letter in the mail...informing me that she had left for good." A few tears slipped out of Blair's eyes.
"But why didn't she come to you, or even your former Housemother at Eastland."
Blair took a calming breath, but the hurt on her face was easy to see. "She told me that she could no longer live with me because, as she had told her parents-had apparently told them two years earlier, in fact, and that very week-that she had fallen in love with me, and with everything going on, it was just too much for her to live with me, knowing she was in love with me, and believing I couldn't reciprocate those feelings."
"Ms. Warner", the journalist said kindly, "if you could give Jo one message, if by some miracle she sees that, what would it be?"
Blair looked directly at the camera, for once in her life, not caring that she looked less-than-perfect, as her eyes were red, tear stains on her flushed cheeks. "I'd tell her this: Jo, no matter what, I am always your best friend, and I love you with all my heart. We all miss you, and still want you to be in our lives. Please, Jo", she concluded, wiping her eyes, "come home to us. Come home to me."
The camera faded to black, and the program went to commercials.
Five Months Later, San Diego
For once, Jo Polniaczek, her hair an almost rusty red color now, and still short, had remained in one place for a while. San Diego's weather kept her from burning up in the summer, as had happened in Phoenix once, or numb with cold, like in Denver. Yet other than the weather, the young woman who, at one time, had so much promise, and so many possibilities, was continuing to waste away. Heavy drinking and moderate drug use had left her emaciated, and void of the joie de vivre that she had discovered in far-away Peekskill, New York.
She was becoming more despondent by the day, not seeing any way to shake her abuse of drink and substance. Unfortunately, she hadn't seen or heard any of the stories nationwide that had focused on homelessness, especially for younger LGBT people, who, like Jo, had been literally disowned by their families, or had run away simply because of their sexual orientation. Had she seen it, it might have given her the strength to, perhaps, return to her roots, and try to salvage her life.
It was an unusually hot day in San Diego-nothing like Phoenix could get, but it was in the low nineties, which was scorching for the area. She had found some shade under a palm tree in one of the numerous city parks, blessedly drinking a cold water that she had bought at a local convenience store. Yet even with the bottle of water, she had a fifth of booze with her-her standard which was whiskey. And, as usual, she had a small stash of heroine.
The park was busy this Saturday afternoon, with families and young lovers making up a large part of the scenery in front of her. Despite her own desperate situation, she had to smile, as it had been rare over the past five-plus years to see so many happy faces. She was partially hidden by a clump of bushes that lay near the Palm tree cluster, and the irony of her pulling out her needle and shooting up in the middle of such a placid scene didn't cross her mind.
She felt the first rush, as she had on so many occasions, going out of focus for a short time, but the pleasurable feeling followed. She took a swig of her cold water, deciding to rise and head over to an even shadier area not too far away.
As she walked over the soft grass in her bare feet-her shoes in her old backpack, along with the booze, she crossed paths with some teenagers with baseball mitts, throwing a ball back and forth while shooting the breeze. She caught sight of two young parents, sitting on a bench in the shade, holding their infant child, dressed in blue, so Jo believing it was a boy. The scenes, combined with the euphoria of the heroin, had her feeling as if she had no problems in the world.
Halfway to the shady area she had picked for her destination, Jo suddenly began having trouble breathing, her breaths coming in gasps, her mouth running dry. She could feel the prickles on her scalp, and her skin becoming clammy. Despite her sudden disorientation, Jo Polniaczek knew she had OD'd on the opioid, panic beginning to set in.
Before she even had the chance to raise the alarm to those nearby, Jo's eyes rolled into the back of her head, and she fell in a heap into the grass.
Forty Minutes Later
The physician on call at the UC San Diego Health-Jacobs Medical Center had seen images like this before: the classic signs of heroin overdose. The pale skin, the blue lips, the rapid heartbeat and breathing. Fortunately, this patient just brought in was still alive. Many who came in never made it in alive.
IV's were set up, the nurses noticing the multiple needle marks in the arm of the young woman. An oxygen mask was placed over the mouth and nose, to try and steady her breathing, as they tried to stabilize the patient.
There was no identification in the backpack that had arrived with the stricken individual, just a bottle of water, an almost-empty fifth of whiskey, and the syringe, needles, and small vials of what was obviously heroin. The efforts to stabilize the woman seemed to be proceeding nicely.
At one point, the nurse noticed the eyes of the patient fluttering open, confusion reigning in the face of the rapidly-wakening woman. The woman looked around frantically, trying to piece together what was going on."
The physician, Dr. Robert Walk, bent down to address the patient. "Miss, I'm Dr. Walk. You're in the hospital, and you've suffered from an apparent heroin overdose. Do you understand me?"
The woman nodded, her eyes still darting around the room.
"Miss, there is no ID on you, or with your belongings. Can you tell me your name?"
Jo was conscious, but her head and mind were swimming. She did understand the question, but she was still in a slightly different reality, as it were, that the others. With all the confusion, she didn't even realize what she said next.
"Jo...Joanna Polniaczek", she squeaked out. She hadn't said, or even thought of her own name, in several years.
"Jo", the doctor said with a kind voice, "your vitals are improving, but if would not hurt you if you tried to get some sleep, even with this noise? Do you understand?"
She nodded, and, despite the insanity around her, she did drift off to sleep.
As she entered sleep, one of the nurses came up to Dr. Walk. "I'm sorry, Doctor, but what did that young woman say her name was?"
"Jo Pol-nia-chek, I think she said. Why?"
"That name sounds damn familiar, Doctor, but I can't place it. Where do I know that name from."
"If you figure it out, Gretchen", the physician advised her, "let me know. We have nothing to go on right now."
Within an hour, Jo was stable, and had been taken to a recovery area in the ER. She would be transferred up to ICU shortly. The Emergency Room she had been admitted to was being cleaned up, Dr. Walk getting ready to type his notes in the hospital's computer system. As he was going over the information that had been gleaned when the woman was admitted, the nurse Gretchen startled him.
"Son of a bitch!"
"What is it, Gretchen? You remember something?"
"I think I know where I've heard that name, Doctor", she said, excited with the flush of discovery. "You remember that series of stories that the L.A Times, other newspapers, and CNN did on the homeless crisis?"
He didn't beat around the bush. "You think that's where you remember her name from?"
"Yeah, I believe I do. I think her name was actually mentioned in one of the stories."
Without answering the nurse, Dr. Walk picked up the phone and dialed the hospital security office. He asked them to contact the San Diego Police Department. He gave Security the best spelling he could for the patient as he could, and wanted to see if there was any kind of hit in the national database.
Later That Evening, Manhattan
Blair had put in some long hours the past week at Warner International. Although a Vice-President, and because of her lineage in the company, she worked as hard, if not harder than anyone else in her department. She worked her people hard, but she also rewarded them for their hard work, having pizza Friday's, or an occasional dinner or get-together for those who worked for her. Despite being the CEO's daughter, those working in the Finance department at Warner Tower loved Blair, loved her passion and her commitment to the company.
She didn't socialize much outside of work, except when it came to matters of Warner International. She would see Dorothy and Mrs. Garrett occasionally, talk to them and Natalie at least once a week on the phone, but other than that, her job was her life. It helped her to keep her mind off of other things.
She had gone into her office late Saturday afternoon, to check up on a few issues that would be brewing the next week, then was going to head home and relax for the night. As Blair was closing up shop, her office phone rang. The Caller ID indicated that it was her father. A smile lit up her face.
"Hey, Daddy, how come you didn't call me on my cell?"
David's voice was hard and tight. "You have it turned off or the battery has run down Princess. I've been trying to get in touch with you for the last half hour on it."
The sound of his voice alarmed Blair immediately. "Daddy, is something wrong?" Blair was now back in her chair in her office.
"Honey, I just heard from Dennis Levine. The NYPD contacted him about forty-five minutes ago." He paused for a moment to calm himself. "Blair, Jo's been found, and she's alive."
To Be Continued
