I left Missouri in February, 1994. I had been living in my car in Columbia, and suddenly I realized "I'm living in my car, why the fuck am I still in Missouri?". My first stop was Terra Haute, Indiana. I had almost gone to college there and wanted to see what my life would have been like if I had.

The only night I spent there, I met Andrea at a coffee house. Andrea was 29 years old and on SSI. Her mother had power of attorney and controlled her finances. The night I met her in that nameless coffee shop, she asked me "Do you want to go to Boston?". I had been planning to make my way down to New Orleans for Mardi Gras, but I figured what the hell and replied, "Yes".

The biggest problem with our trip was financing. I had little in the way of funds and Andrea couldn't access hers without her mother's permission. Her mom would never consent to a haphazardly planned trip across the country, so we came up with a plan. I met her mom, and Andrea told her that I was a nice Jewish girl that wanted to go tour the Jewish History museums on the east coast. I did as little talking as possible, worrying that my voice could give me away. To my amazement, her mother bought the story and gave her $650. We left.

At this point the plan was to go to Boston, then head up through Canada and then down the west coast. It was an ambitious plan in a 12 year old 1982 Buick LeSaber. But, I had nothing to lose, so what the hell?

Our first stop was Indianapolis. Nothing very interesting happened there. In fact, we were pretty much bored to tears. Neither of us knowing anyone or even a good place to start looking for interesting people lead to us pretty much not doing much.

Next stop was Cincinnati. Apart from almost getting killed a couple of times, it was about as interesting as Indianapolis. We decided to make the rest of the trip to Boston in one go.

Unfortunately, we didn't make it all the way to Boston as easily as we had hoped. My car broke down in Pennsylvania crossing the Appalachians. We were near the top of a nameless mountain, and pushed the car down to some nameless town. There was a mechanic in that town who was very kind and noted the low-cash situation we were in. He offered to replace the coolant system thermostat for just the cost of parts, which was $40.

We spent the night in the town, then headed on our way. By the time we got to Boston, the car was having problems again. It would only go so far before it overheated, but we completed the trip.

One of the first things I saw upon arriving to Boston was a homeless man being chased out of a Dunkin' Donuts with a broom. I took that as a bad omen.

To save money on parking, we decided to park the car in the outskirts of town where it would be easier to find a spot. Instead, we ended up spending the first night in Roxbury as the car refused to travel only a mile or so at a go. The second night, we stayed on the floor of a ratty apartment of some slight creepy guys Andrea had just met. The third night, we stayed in one of the back alleys of Central Square.

By this time, I was ready to leave Boston. Andrea had just wasted around $60 on new boots while I was struggling to deal with the parking situation. I was very worried that I might lose my car. I told her that I was leaving Boston and she had two choices: come with me or get her stuff out of my car. She refused to do either, so I ended up leaving Boston with a good deal of her stuff.

My car was doing quite badly at this point, and could not go over 40mph. I got pulled over on the Mass Pike around Framingham for going too slow and was told to take another route. I took Route 9 from that point to Northampton. The cooling system was acting up during the trip as well, and I had to make frequent stops. I ended up spending the night on the side of the road somewhere along Route 9 in Central Massachusetts.

After waking up, I noted I needed gas. I had a black cloth skirt on with a black button down shirt with a high collar. I hadn't had access to bathroom facilities, so my face was quite stubbly. I pulled up to the gas station and pumped the gas. When I attempted to pay, the attend said "It's free for the church, Father." Figuring at that point that I could use free gas more than the church, I went with along it.

After limping the rest of the way to Northampton, my car finally died in the parking lot behind the Haymarket my second day in town. A blizzard hit that night, a snow emergency was declared, and my car was towed.

The following morning Liz, who I had just met the night of the blizzard, used her AAA membership to have my car towed from the tow lot to E lot at UMass in Amherst. A semester parking pass for E lot cost only $10 at that point and wasn't restricted to students, so I was able to have my car parked legally until the end of the semester. My car was my home until June, by which time it had decayed significantly and was quickly towed.

Yesterday wasn't the first time being a bit chickenshit saved my life. When I was homeless I lived by being a coward, though I didn't think of it as cowardly. I thought of it as "thinking like prey". I let my instincts take over. By adopting the mind of a prey animal, I was able to better size up potentially dangerous situations before I got into them. I learned my range. I knew where the safe spots were, where to run if I was chased, and where to hide if I didn't trust something I saw. I was very good at disappearing into the shadows, and could do it efficiently.

I knew the habits of my predators. For a period of time, every night I'd walk alone from Northampton to Amherst along route 9. The trip took me about 3 hours with a 30 minute stop at the Dunkin' Donuts in Hadley. There really weren't that many places to run. Usually this walk would take place around neitherday, the deepest hours of the darkness. I would set out around 2am and arrive at my destination around 5am, when the janitors would let me into the basement of the UMass Campus Center (which didn't officially open until 7am) where I would crash on the couches and pretend to be a student. I learned quickly on my walk that the dangerous drivers would approach me with offers of a "ride". The best way to avoid these drivers (90% of the danger on route 9) was to always walk on the left side of the road. They would only accost someone who was both walking the same direction as they were driving and was also on the same side of the road. Observation = knowledge = safety.

Even getting rid of 90% of the problem does not guarantee safety. And earlier in the evening is often more dangerous, as there are more predators awake to prowl the isolated settings. I had my run-ins with them on route 9 and elsewhere, but managed to evade them. I wrote a poem about one such encounter entitled "Paths in the Corn". Those days seem so far away now, but I still carry them with me. I am somewhat feral, and always will be.