Jack and Jill

Like Jill, I climbed, or more exactly, drove up the hill. Over the last seven years, developers had transformed Campus Drive from a weed patch leading to Merritt College, into a row of luxury homes, many with tiled roofs that glowed in the afternoon sun. It had a great view, a place where you could watch fireworks or the Blue Angels zip through the clouds.

I lived at the bottom of said hill had but had never been inside one of these homes until now, entered a large kitchen, a slab of granite large enough to butcher a grown deer, set with a row of wine bottles and a tray of profiteroles, crème puffs filled with a custard. An older woman, wearing a diaphanous blouse that floated around her midriff, arranged the profiteroles on a large aluminum tray, and stepped back for a quick moment to admire her handiwork. The home was already filled with people like myself who’d come to meet and greet mayoral hopefuls discussing homelessness in the city.

Homeless tents had moved from beneath freeways and around industrial warehouses only to colonize parking lots and cul-de-sacs, make-shift homes and chop shops with rusting car parts littering streets everywhere. But here at the top of the hill, I looked into a garden where groups of neighbors clumped together holding wine glasses and plates of food. Children chased after bubbles pouring from the mouth of a plastic elf. I filled my plate from the refreshment table, partial to guacamole and chips with salsa. The host mounted the speakers platform. Everyone ebbed toward the front lawn and moved in front of a makeshift stage where three candidates, dressed in jeans and T-shirts, stood with their hands at their sides until it was time to address us.

Jill Trenton took hold of the microphone like she was born to go first. There was a round of polite applause. She began her story about escaping years ago from drug dealers and coming to the Bay Area. She launched into her plans for combatting homelessness which involved offering more social services and building more housing, but didn’t specify where she’d find the money to do so. The other two candidates stepped from side-to-side impatiently as she laid out her vision for a safer city, but suddenly, the stage was rushed by a man in bright red pajamas, his hair balding on top and wispy around the sides. Jill hid behind a bush, tangling herself in a rose bush, thorns catching in her long dark hair. “Ow!”

The other candidates, tried to distinguish themselves with a more positive response, but stepped aside as the man’s smell wafted toward them. The intruder tripped over a ball that a youngster kicked across the lawn. He landed face down, whereupon two hefty bouncers from a local high school football team grabbed him.

The profiterole lady immediately took control of the situation. The flesh beneath her arms flapped angrily in the air. “You have to leave. Now.” She pointed to the street outside.

The man struggled to stand up. “I came to hear you talk about homelessness.”

The host was having none of it. This was her meet-and-greet. This was her party.“You can’t rush in here and just start yelling.” The man was badly in need of a shower. She backed away.

He looked longingly at the refreshment table. “How about I fix myself a plate and then I’ll leave?” There were tons of leftovers on the table. The host pushed an entire shrimp tray into his chest. “Leave,” she ordered.

By this time Jill had released herself from the rose bush and resumed her rightful place on the podium. The rest of us stood around not knowing what to do.

The man began to weep. He dropped to his knees with the shrimp tray in his lap and asked for forgiveness; he didn’t mean to scare Jill; he’d only come to ask a single question.

The profiterole lady shrugged and reminded him that the candidates had to speak first. But she was ready to make allowances. “Go ahead then. Hurry up and ask your question.”

He shook himself loose from the high school bruisers. “When can I see our daughter?” He asked Jill. “I miss her.” He began to cry. “It’s not my fault. None of it is my fault.”

Jill climbed down from the stage holding a tissue.

“Not here,” she hissed. “Are you crazy? I’ll talk to you later.”

Satisfied, the man nodded and picked up the tray from the ground. He began to eat, leaving a trail of shrimp tails behind him as he walked out the door all the way to wherever was home.