We Stand Together, X #3, June 2000
Writing from the Chicago Commons Employment Training Center, West Humboldt Park

Chicago Commons ETC is a welfare-to-work program for women of all education levels on the west side of Chicago. This group is also featured in a recent issue, "Be Prepared," with the Jame Addams Resource Corporation.

Read an excerpt from the magazine below. You can purchase this issue for $5.

Thirteen More Days
Kathleen M. Singer

My brother and I are one year apart. He is the only one out of five kids that graduated. We used to call him Einstein because he walked around with an encyclopedia. He would always ask so many questions. If he wasn't asking questions, he was giving answers. He is the greatest guy around, really.

Well, my family is really screwed up right now, and it's hard, not just for him, but for all of us. And we all have our own way of dealing with our problems. Some people smoke pot, some people do crack, some people drink, some people pop a few pills, some people do a few lines, some people shot up. Well not my brother – he has to cut up every sock in the whole house and pour his tolly on the sock and inhale it. For the past four months, a day has not gone by when I have not had to drive around and look for my brother, wondering if he's dead or alive. My daughter and I run around upstairs, downstairs, in the yard. We have to chase him everywhere.

This tolly shit is a paint thinnner. It's making him crazy. He looks like he's dead. His face is all white – you can see the bones in his face. He pours this shit in all kinds of containers, pop bottles, cleaning bottles, and jugs he can find. He can walk around for hours and hours. He doesn't sleep, he doesn't eat. I have to start looking for him two to three hours before work, so I can get him straight enough to go to work. He has thirteen more days before he is in the union, if he makes it. He might be dead by then. All he does is smell his rags, roam around the neighborhood; bothers every person who walks down the street. Neighbors are so scared of him constantly running around, hiding his tolly.

He lost his wife, three kids, and now we got him. We can't handle him anymore. My parents are going crazy. I don't know if we can handle thirteen more days of this. As soon as he gets in the union, we can put him in a rehab and he can get the help he needs. I just hope he doesn't die before then. All he wants is to meet a woman and lead a normal life. But with him smelling those rags, who the hell wants him?

I have been through hell these last four months. I pray every night that he makes it one more day. There are four kids running around the neighborhood videotaping him, all while he's screwed up on this shit. He thinks he's a movie star, and all they are doing is making fun of him. My daughter cries herself to sleep every night and prays to God, "Please let my uncle live." Well, all I've got to say is, I hope he makes it.

© 2000 Neighborhood Writing Alliance
All rights revert to the authors.