The view from the top of the world.

Allen was the one that introduced me to the top floor of the parking deck that overlooks Moore Square transit station. He and I spent Christmas Eve downtown, and the eighth floor was one of our stops.

Before that, my highest vantage point was the sixth floor of the parking deck by the convention center. This was like seeing the world with a new set of eyes.

The unobstructed view of Raleigh's tree-lined streets never stopped thrilling me, inspiring me to climb higher. I wanted to scale the outside of the 584 foot PNC Tower and breathe in the rarified air.

The grey foreboding sky felt as if it was only inches outside of my straining reach. Eventually the rain that had been threatening all afternoon came to fruition. The fat drops chased us from the rooftop, down into the streets below.

Photos from the streets of Raleigh

In the shadows of giants, pt. 2

Everywhere I turn, there are people resting in the shadows of giants. In some parts of Raleigh, those giants are the looming crystal towers and condominiums. Not far away, the giants are those guardians of legislature in the Capital Building. Built in Greek Revival style, it sits surrounded by lawns dotted with memorial statues to the dead of several wars.

Also peppering the pristine lawns are a few homeless figures. The paradox is amazing to me: society's most powerless separated from its most powerful by an expanse of lawn.

Penthouse suites, Joel Osteen, and a fresh pair of kicks.

I went back to the spot under the overpass where people apparently find lodging against inclement weather. Kindred and I dubbed it The Homeless Penthouse Suite. You have to duck precariously low to get under the first beam, but it's remarkably peaceful under there...once you learn to tune out the cars hurtling down South Wilmington Street a few feet above your head.

One of my finds was a fairly pristine copy of a Joel Osteen book, Become a Better You. The irony was not lost on me. It occurred to me that if the book was any good, it wouldn't be in the "front room" of an overpass penthouse suite. But then, neither would its reader.

Back at the shelter, I watched a new guy lovingly cleaning his Chuck Taylors. They clearly weren't new, but he wiped them with affection and care. Noticing the attention of another resident, he shrugged, almost to himself. "I got to take care of them. These shits the only I really got." To me they were just a fresh pair of kicks. To him, they were a reason to take pride in his appearance.

Bus rides, neckties and funerals

This guy was on the bus struggling with his tie. So I offered to tie it for him. He was on his way to the funeral of a good friend and wanted to look good.

Joan and The Captain

My pride made it hard for me to reach out for help. In no aspect of my life was this as pronounced as in my dealings with my parents. As far as I knew, Joan and The Captain (as I affectionately called them when they were out of earshot) were completely unaware of my residential challenges. When I spoke with Joan on the phone, I made it a point to emphasize the positive points: I've got a job! My boss says I'm great! Things are really coming together!, I trilled. I tried my best to distract her from the train wreck my life had become.

My parents were high school sweethearts, raised in a time when marriage was forever. They've been through a laundry list of problems: The Captain's frequent and long deployments when he was in the Army; financial struggles as they tried to make it on my mom's career as an English teacher and my dad's military career; all the miscarriages.

Both before and after my birth, they experienced several miscarriages. I recall once coming home from an outing with The Captain, only to have Joan meet us at the door with the statement, "The doctor said it's like I was never even pregnant." It didn't occur to me until much later how devastating that moment, like the others, must have been.

When I did grasp the full extent of their losses, I felt a tremendous amount of guilt. Of all the pregnancies, I'm the one who came to term? I imagined them cursing their luck. It didn't help that my life seemed to consist of a series of false starts and screwups. I went to college and dropped out my sophomore year. I joined the military, only to get kicked out to for being gay after two years. They stuck with me through repeated incarcerations, employment terminations, even a couple of boyfriends. Never once did they express what I'm sure was their profound disappointment in me.

Even knowing how much they loved and supported me, I still couldn't bring myself to tell them their only child was living in a shelter. I couldn't bear to be their screwup kid one more time. I decided early in my homeless adventures that I wouldn't tell Joan and The Captain about my circumstances until I'd improved them. The only thing they could do for me was worry, and they'd done enough of that on my behalf already. So I decided to do it on my own. You got yourself into this on your own, I thought, you can get yourself out of it alone.

Ad astra per aspera

Photo credit: Alfred Perry