An importunate voice begged me to meet her in Northeast Philadelphia. I am a sucker. Bigtime. "I found you on the Internet," she said in her Russian accent. "I must meet with you."
"But the Northeast is really far," I said. "Can't you come to Willow Grove?"
"No, no. It is impossible."
Then I heard a bloodcurdling scream in the background. And rapid conversation between her and 'the scream.'
"Is that why you're calling me?" I said. "Because there's someone there with a problem? It's your son, isn't it."
"Yes, yes," she said. "Can you meet me?"
Alright, I said and got the address of Jack's Deli where she wanted to meet me. Thinking quickly, I called her back & asked for her complete address, then got in touch with a mental health clinic to find out where to send her son. He sounded very very ill. Every word his mother said, he screamed at her.
I wanted to meet her on Wednesday, but no, she insisted on Monday, today. Me, god's gift to mental illness. That's what I thought when I left home. Except I thought of myself - rightly or wrongly - as McGuyver armed with my new cell phone.
Armed with directions and dressed in layers against the cold, I drove off planning to solve all of "Katya's" problems. (Name stolen from my son/law's blog today).
What goes thru YOUR mind when you meet someone youve never met before. First, there's a huge chance they'll stand you up. Second, you have no idea what they look like so you form a usually incorrect mental picture.
I'm sitting there at the deli munching on my 2 half-sandwiches - half-tongue and a half-chopped liver - she's 20 minutes late - and finally a woman in a hat strides in. "Are you Katya?" I ask.
"Yes, where have you been?" she says.
"I've been sitting here prominently looking out the window," I say biting into a pickel.
"Yeah, she's been sitting here watching every person come in," said Waitress Sue.
"Vell, I vas waiting over vhere they sell the meat."
"It doesn't matter," I said. "You're here now. Sit down & let's talk."
She refused to sit. She said she would wait until I finished. "Yes, but I'll be lonely," I said. "Keep me company."
"No," she said and disappeared.
"Geez," I said looking at Sue and another customer, Linda. We'd all become friendly during my wait.
I took my time finishing, tasting each delicious bite. Before I ate, I went to the 'meat part' of the store & spoke to Perry the meat man. He gave me a sample of the chopped liver which I told him was exquisite.
After paying my bill, I motioned to Katya who was standing idly near the rugalech case. Her bright red hair stuck up under her hat. Her age was indeterminable.
"Where should we go?" I asked her.
"We stand right here," she said leading me into the restaurant where two chairs were placed for outgoing orders. We were to conduct our public business in front of the customers.
"Tell me what's happening," I said beginning to think the problem was as much with Katya as with her son.
Her body language was very interesting and unusual. She kept her hand in front of her mouth as if she were contagious. I felt like pulling it away so I could hear her.
"I can't hear you," I said at least seven times.
The more she began talking, the more she saw she didn't need my help or anyone else's.
Some questions I asked her were:
How old is your son?
Thirty.
Does he have schizophrenia?
No. He has depression.
When is the last time he left home?
Five years ago.
Is he ruining your life?
Yes.
Do you have relatives you talk to?
Yes.... no.... yes... no
Did you ever hear of Jewish Family Services?
Of course.
Have you called them?
No.
Then I pulled my trump card from my pocketbook - the name & number of a Mobile Crisis Unit who would come out to their home.
That was the last straw. She was finished with me.
"I must go," she said.
"But don't you want my help? He's ruining your life."
"Do you want me to pay you?" she asked.
That was the last thing on my mind. Ya know what was on my mind? That I drove all the way down to Jack's Deli, having gassed up last nite in the dark when I can't even see to drive in the dark, that I cancelled all my plans for this woman, and then she rejects my help.
Ya know what? It's not a big deal. Not at all. But, look, I'm human, for chrissakes, & it perturbed me.
"Ya want me to pay you?" she says.
"Yeah," I said.
"How much?"
"Give me $10."
She gives me a how-dare-you look. She opens up her purse. Then she shakes her head.
"Well, give me something, anything," I say.
She closes her purse and walks out the door.
Before she goes, I say to her, "Look, you're going to leave here feeling terrible. I don't want you to feel bad."
I watch out the window to see what car she gets in. But she's vanished. I run out the store and look down the street. Is she a figment of my imagination? No, there she is walking down the side street, passing by all the cars. She has walked here. I am trying to pry money from a woman who may not even own an automobile.
But she does own a cell phone. Her son called her when she & I were talking. Her husband has died. Her son does not leave home. She is a character out of a Chekhov short story I wish I had never ever read.
On the way home, I get on my new cell phone. The last 4 digits are 2009. I call my psychiatrist friend Dr. Pam London Barrett to 'process my emotions.' She's on her way home from work. I say, "I'm on Bustleton Avenue in the Northeast & went on a fucking wild goose chase." She says she can't talk but will call me back later. So I call my house number and leave myself a message. I want to see what I sound like on my cell phone.
