The next morning, after a night of huddling with little sleep in the cold on a nondescript park bench, I made it in time to the shelter before breakfast was over. A plain clothed older woman volunteer took my name and gave me a number, pointing to the trays and explained how the food line worked.
It was crowded and musty, with more than a hint of unwashed body odor, and I knew I didn’t belong there. But, I needed help, and no one would believe my story. I could only start with the basic facts, and rebuild myself from there – with a little luck and supportive guidance, hopefully from the agency.
After picking at the breakfast, a mixture of items that tasted like they’d come from long-term storage in musty church cupboards, I resolved to wait as long as it took for my number to be called. I made myself doze to avoid eye contact or awkward conversations with the other women of various ages and impoverished circumstances. It distressed me to be there.
Around 11:30 am my number was at last called, and a younger woman by the name of Kyra began my intake. The usual stuff: name, date of birth, address, phone number, place of employment, nearest relative, circumstances that brought me there today.
I gave my name and date of birth, and then jumped to, ” Look. I’ve found myself in a weird situation. Apparently, I’ve had amnesia. I know my name and birthdate, but is there a way you could help get my fingerprints run to find out where I’ve been – and where I belong?” I was determined to hold out hope I’d had some form of life in the past ten years. “I also don’t have ID, money, food, clothing – or a place to stay. Can you help me with this?”
Kyra’s look of mild surprise was followed by unsure belief, “Er…we’ve never had your kind of situation here before. Maybe you should go to the police?” “I thought of that,” I replied, ” but I’m worried about what circumstances brought me to this. I don’t know anyplace to go that is really Safe while I figure this out. I really need your help, Kyra. I don’t know who else to turn to.”
The concern in her bright blue eyes deepened and she somberly nodded her head, “Well, of course. I will see what we can do.” “Thank you so much,” I said, sagging back into the chair with relief. This action on my part seemed to strengthen her resolve, and she hurried out of the office to speak with a colleague.
After a few minutes, Kyra returned with a tall, older man with worry lines worn into his brow. “Hello, Miss. Kyra has explained your situation to me and it does seem more a matter for the police to handle. However, realizing you must be exhausted, confused, and in need of some support, we can get you a room and some counseling, as well as a visit with our confidential nurse. They’ll make an assessment as to what’s to be done from there. Sound good?” And he rose to lean across the table to give my hand a firm shake. “Welcome to The Women’s Sanctuary.”
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One thing I had not realized, but learned I could now count on, was that once you were admitted under the protective wing of The Women’s Sanctuary, no influences – police, or others – could find out you were there, and thus, could not gain access to you. It was kind of its own private society, bound by rules to uphold a woman’s safety, where man and society had before let her down. I resolved to discover how I could stay there – at least until I knew more about the external situation.
I was not naive, however, and realized I must still learn to trust noone. I must stay on my guard, be ever alert, and rely upon the kindness of those who seemed genuinely caring.
i learned that many women there came from harsher backgrounds. What’s the loss of the last ten years by some mind wiping compared to enforced prostitution, domestic violence, and childhood enslavery? There was a rumor going around that “spies” had infiltrated among them. Some women still shivered and cried at night, afraid someone would come to get them. But, it was better than being on the streets, and nobody complained. It was hard enough to get a warm bed – and keep it, with a staff that seemed genuinely sincere.
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