Odyssey of the Honeybees (excerpt)

Chapter 4
A Run-in with the Law, or Two

The drunk man, whose name was Ron, Allie's husband, came barreling up the road in his golf cart just a few minutes later. He was yelling before he even got off the thing. He almost hit us, skidding to a stop a few precious feet from where we were laying on the lounge chairs under the canopy.

"Come on! You gotta come talk to these people on the domestic violence hotline! Leave the children here, they're fine!" He was shouting like it was an emergency. I'm sure it didn't occur to him that I might not want the entire Loop to hear him yowling about my business.

I was so caught off guard that I got up and almost went with him. I just wanted him to stop yelling. But something shook me to my senses and made me see that there was no way I was leaving my kids alone after dark, especially when my son had already said that the talk about bears scared him, thanks for that by the way.

"No, I'm not leaving my kids right now. It's bedtime. I need to be with them." He fought me on it, which is crazy because he was apparently so concerned about their welfare earlier. I stood firm. I wasn't going anywhere. He left as noisily as he arrived to go report the news to his wife.

Not five minutes later they both returned to my site, thankfully on foot this time. Allie explained in a calmer voice than her husband had that the hotline people couldn't really do anything unless I talked to them myself. I said thank you but I thought it was a conversation for the morning.

They kept fighting me. Ron was like a chihuahua, yapping yapping yapping about what I needed to do. I asked Allie to please tell him to stop talking to me. He wouldn't stop. I finally lost my patience and had to raise my voice. "Thank you for the help. GOODNIGHT." That scared them away. They ran off, Ron shouting, "She don't WANT help!"

As if I hadn't spent the entire day looking for, asking for, begging for HELP. I asked HIM for help! I asked him for a ride to Walmart. But he's so overpowered by his own demons that he can't even stay sober enough to drive. How is he supposed to help anyone? And he knew that, too. He knew he couldn't help me. That's why he wanted me to rely on an overburdened system and why he panicked when I refused the pushy type of help he tried to force on me. It was too uncomfortable for him to face a real person suffocating under the weight of Adam Smith's invisible hand. That's why he wanted to pass me off to the system. Best not to think about it at all. Just get drunk and blame the victim.

I was triggered but righteous. I had spent months learning to trust myself because I had a feeling there was going to come a time I'd need it more than ever. Something said girl, you're not gonna make it unless you have complete faith in your ability to navigate your family through ANYTHING. And now my confidence was being pushed to its limits and I was all alone.

But then the universe sent reassurance in the form of another guardian angel: A guy in his 20s approached us respectfully, kinda crouching as though he didn't want to seem like a threat. I assumed he had heard everything. How could he not? It's SO quiet after dark at a campground and Ron was practically screaming.

The guy said, "If I go to Walmart right now and get you a tent, would you use it?"

My jaw dropped. I said yes, of course. I said, "I have money."

"I don't want your money. I just want to know that you'll use the tent."

I was verklempt. I thanked him and said yes. He and a friend got in their car. I heard it leave the campground. I prayed that the Walmart was open 24 hours. Quiet descended once more.

And then the heavens opened. When I tell you that it poured…I'm saying that in my life I've experienced several instances of "getting caught in the rain" (Rupert Holmes). Once when I was studying abroad in Rome we had to skip beer and pizza and instead run all the way home from our calcio game because it was raining so hard. I love getting caught in the rain. It's a spiritual experience.

This was Noah's Ark. Rain was falling in rivers off all four sides of the canopy and pelting the gravel so hard that we got sprayed with both rain and rocks. Everything was getting wet except for what we put in the Bear Box, one of the befuddling trash cans they put in some campground parks. They fall in the narrow void between being easy enough for humans to operate and also able to keep out the bears. I had heard years ago that it's a difficult engineering feat to find that balance and I laughed derisively at how dumb humans are. But let me be the first to tell you that when confronted with a Bear Box I could not figure it out without looking at the directions, and even then it was a struggle.

The Camp Hosts had told me to go hide out in the bath house if it rained. I didn't see any other option because we couldn't stay out there all night getting soaking wet. I thought I should take the blankets and stuff there first before I moved the kids. So I gathered up our things and prepared to go for a run in the rain.

It felt like running in a dream, where you're pushing so hard and not getting anywhere. I ran for ages through a haze of rain so thick and misty it looked like smoke. All I could hear, all I could see, all I could smell was rain. How could it possibly be this far to the bathroom? I tried so hard to get there, realizing too late that by the time I got there everything would be soaked anyway.

One of the most tediously difficult decisions I've ever made, I gave up and turned back, everything even more wet for nothing but the plot. I got back to our site and used some tarps to curtail the worst of the sheets of rain coming down off the canopy roof. I hunkered back down with my kids and prayed for the tent angels.

And then the police arrived. I guess my friend Ron must have called them when I wouldn't talk to the DV hotline. The sheriff's deputy pulled up and got out of the car. It was still pouring. I didn't move; he came over to stand next to my lounge chair under the canopy. He had a flashlight.

He seemed to be embarrassed. The first thing he said was, "You're not in trouble or anything. This is just a welfare check." I can only imagine what my good buddy said about me on the phone.

I said, "Okay, I'm afraid of the police though," because I feel it's best to be up front about that. He waved a hand to dismiss this.

I launched into an explanation about what had brought me there. I made sure he looked me in the eye so he could see I was for real. He said he was sorry that he couldn't do much to help me.

He asked if he could take my ID so he could show he had been there. I said yes because I had been telling myself, "If I have nothing to hide, I have nothing to fear."

It's not like I thought I was too good for a homeless shelter or that I got a thrill out of not knowing if my kids would have a place to sleep. I called multiple shelters in each of the six states I traveled through on this journey. I was turned away at every single one. In some states you can't even apply to get into a shelter unless you're a resident of the state, or unless you have all of your children's paperwork on hand, which I did not. Most of the places I called didn't have space for a family unit.

More and more people are being displaced every day and the social services systems can't handle it. And yet there is so much space in this country, so many empty homes. It's not that there aren't enough resources, it's that they aren't being allocated properly. Owning more than one home that stands empty while children sleep on the streets? It's sickening.

So the sheriff's deputy went back to his car to fill out his report. It was right around then that the rain must have stopped because my angels with the tent returned and they said it didn't rain at all on them, the whole forty-five minutes to and from the Walmart. The universe was smiling on them too, apparently.

Their return was a moment I'll never forget. Their air of triumph and victory was infectious. They were so good-natured. They got out of the car and immediately started setting up the tent. They didn't say anything about the police presence development. The cop got out of his car and helped. He banged in a few stakes with his baton. I resisted the urge to ask him how many people he's beaten with that thing.

My tent friends even insisted on building back up the fire for me. They got it roaring so fast it must have been magic because how was the wood not too wet to light? They left, wishing me a good night. It was amazing to be the recipient of such grace and kindness and also to feel how proud and glad they were to help me. And thank goodness, because I needed a friend that night.

I have to admit, even when I plopped down in front of the fire onto a camp chair someone lent us, forgetting about the rain and drenching myself in the huge puddle on the seat, I felt like a queen. A homeless queen, maybe. But still a fucking queen. We're gonna be ok, I thought. It was the last day of June.