How I Got Here---By Bryan F.

Joshua Trees in the High Desert. They only grow here and are endangered and federally protected.

How I got here. Well, this sperm was swimming really fast and suddenly hit a wall and found a warm refuge. Oh wait, I meant how did I get to Victorville California and my current living situation. Geez, my mind has a mind of its own. But seriously folks, I would have starved as a comedian, so I’ll just get back to the subject at hand.

It was 2001, just after the World Trade Center disaster and I had just moved to Bellingham, Washington, way up in the northwest corner, a stone's throw from Canada and the cities of Victoria and Vancouver. Those very groovy places everyone wants to visit. The way I got there is interesting also and includes some drama and intrigue, well a little anyway. I’ll save it for later and just say I was forced out of my home by an unscrupulous person who is no longer on the earth, so I’ll not name him and my circumstance did improve, so there is that. 

The west side of South Hill Apartments, formerly St Joseph's Hospital  

My little place in Bellingham was the first place in a long time that was my own. I had gone on Social Security in 1994 for health reasons and was unable to afford a place of my own on the amount I received, so I lived in a variety of situations before I arrived in Bellingham, including two AIDS houses. The first in 1993 was a true hospice, a place in which I did not belong but that kept me off the street. The shit smeared on the wall above my bed came with no extra charge. Yes, I paid to stay there, we all did. The second in 1999, was in Seattle and was much nicer and more of a shelter for survivors of the epidemic. Unfortunately, the ex-priest house manager was a psychopath, so when a friend offered to rescue me, I went with him.

In between the two hospice experiences I spent part of that time, about three and a half years with a friend that let me live mostly rent-free with him and his partner. That was in both Palm Springs and later San Jacinto, California. 

I was languishing in a void of depression and nothingness for that period, uncertain of my future or any purpose in my life. In 1998, something began to change as a result of a trip to Seattle with one of the roommates  I just mentioned above. I fell in love with the energy of the city. The roommate was a native of Seattle and I accompanied him to a restaurant on the trip with some of his Seattle friends. I made a friendly connection with one fellow, older than I and after some talk, he said that he would allow me to stay in his extra bedroom as a paying roommate if I wanted to move to Seattle. I took him up on the offer and moved there in May of 1998. 

The restaurant we ate at on my first trip to Seattle.

The roommate situation lasted only about five months and I found myself in the AIDS shelter I mentioned earlier. It was in South Seattle in a run-down neighborhood and was OK, except for the house manager I mentioned earlier. I stayed there until about March of 1999 when the former roommate that had brought me on the trip to Seattle came to visit and offered to share his RV with me at a campsite on the side of Mount Baker north of Seattle. I went with him out of desperation. To clarify, he had moved from San Jacinto to Washington not long after the earlier trip we made to Seattle, but also retained a long-distance relationship with his partner in San Jacinto, my former housing benefactor.

Mt Baker where I lived in an RV for a year.

 Living in the woods on the side of the volcano is another story, maybe two. It lasted less than a year before my friend and I moved into an unusual dwelling on the Skagit River in Sedro Wooley Washington, southwest of our previous encampment on the volcano. The house was a small building built around a very old 1940's travel trailer. We were directly on the Skagit River and we could have cast a line into the river for the salmon fishing, had we been inclined, our neighbor did. The area was picturesque in the thick of the forests of the northern Cascade Mountains. The brisk river sometimes flooded to near our doorstep but never into the small shanty. 

My friend and I had signed a lease option and through some manipulation on his part, I lost my share of the substantial investment I had contributed over a two year period. I also became aware that I might not be safe if I remained there. I began a search to avoid homelessness once again. Of course, this all ended our ten-year friendship that began in 1992, even before he met his partner.

Sailboats on the Bellingham Bay, town of Bellingham in the background. Mount Baker at the top.

Having no housewares, not a broom to sweep with or a dish to eat from I found a quaint apartment in an old four-story hospital building in Bellingham Washington. It had been lightly remodeled into apartments with many still retaining hospital infrastructure such as built-in stainless steel cabinets that I think were surgery rooms in their day. Most of those were on the fifth floor. My apartment was on the second floor next to the old and loud elevator. I had a sideways view of Bellingham Bay that was breathtaking, especially when the weather was nice and all the sailboats were out. 

Street-level west view of South Hill Apartments facing the bay.

It was a tiny one-bedroom although I never slept in the bedroom because the window was tiny, maybe 12x 16, if that. Some of the apartments had bedrooms with no windows. I could not have handled that. I slept on the floor with no mattress, just some blankets under me and it was carpeted and I slept OK. The old radiator warmed me, some times too much so. 

Later I would buy a cheap futon at Walmart and by myself drag the large carton into my apartment. I’ve always been pretty much self-sufficient and with no friends or family to help, I guess that was a useful trait.

The main entrance on the east side is on the third floor. You had to take the elevator down one floor to get to my apt. on the second floor. Very confusing for visitors. The buildings in that area were built on the slopes that descended down to the bay.

I will write another post or two about living in the   South Hill Apartments the old St Joseph’s hospital building on South Hill in Bellingham later. This is supposed to be about getting to where I am now so, I’ll just say that Bellingham was one of the most important places that I would occupy in my life thus far. I was completely alone and isolated from everyone I had known. It would become my time of quiet reflection that likely saved my life. You see I had cancer growing in me. It was subtle and only because I was focused so completely on myself and not the distractions and noise from others that I realized something was wrong and got help. I also had insurance again as a result of moving there because I was back in a civilized area and able to access HIV health services and support. My Medicare Advantage Plan insurance had been canceled after the first year I moved to Washington. I didn’t understand that I could have received Medicaid along with my regular Medicare. My Medicare alone was useless without an advantage plan or supplement because of 20% co-pays that were out of my reach. Fortunately, my HIV did not worsen enough without medication, so that when I finally got help in Bellingham, I was able to become virally undetectable again.

An aerial view of Bellingham and the Bellingham Bay.

Another view of Soth Hill Apartments. That evergreen was way smaller when I lived there and was right in front of my windows.

Anyway, I’m living this serene monk-like existence and getting myself put back together and healthy again when in December of 2003 while visiting my Mom and Dad in Southern California for the holidays my Mom begged me to move back to California to care for my 89-year-old maternal Grandmother. She had been mostly unwillingly but manipulated into moving out of her house in Highland, California, where she had lived for fifty-two years. My Grandfather was gone and my two maternal uncles moved her out while my Mom was undergoing hip surgery and unable to be a part of the decision that I don’t think she fully supported. Grandma went first to live with my aunt, the wife of one of the uncles. This uncle knew he was dying and I think wanted to be sure that after his death my Grandma would be safe. 

The stay with my aunt was very rocky and the death of my uncle was not helping with anyone's emotions. I’ll add no further details here as there are living people that might not want this all disclosed, but ultimately she moved in with my Mom and Dad. My Dad and my Grandma had a long history of hating each other's guts. So, when I heard about this development and knowing the makeup of my extended family, I knew that I was going to be the next asked to step in. So, the request, or should I say a plea from my mother was expected.

An Alaska Airlines flight out of Seattle. Maybe I was on this one. Who knows.

I left California in December of 2003 after my holiday visit knowing that my stay in Washington was over and I returned to my beautiful little apartment and began preparing for the move. As a side note, even in my poverty, I was able to visit family in California regularly because my brother worked for an airline. He, per company rules, allowed me to take the spot that would have been for his significant other, wife for instance, that allowed for free unlimited flying on standby.

I didn’t ask for financial assistance in my move from my Grandma or family, although I had every right to do so and should have done so. But, I instead began to sell my belongs to make the move. The items I had acquired in those two and a half years in my peaceful nest. The only items I regret selling were my books. I had lost many of my books by being homeless so much, you know, couch surfing and hospice shelters. I still had a couple boxes when I moved to Bellingham and books were always a priority for me. But situation where I had to, over the years store some in my parent's garage and my Dad would just throw them in the trash because they were in the way, had reduced my collection substantially. 

There is a core of books I never let go of though and shipped back to California when I moved.

You see the problem was that I didn’t think my car would make it to California that winter, especially with the chance of snow in some of the Oregon passes so everything had to be shipped and I would get there by air. Shipping was expensive, so I sold what I could and paid for the shipping with the proceeds to get personal effects and some of my books to California. I donated my car to a fellow AIDS survivor by way of the Bellingham AIDS project. Turns out all it needed was a new timing belt. 

Village Book about a mile from my apartment in Bellingham. I spent many hours here.

I sold many of the books I owned to the same bookshop in the Fairhaven Village in south Bellingham where I had purchased them. Village Books was a sight to behold and there will be a picture included here. I spent many hours and days there. It was multi-level with a small restaurant on the lower floor. The basement had a used book shop where I acquired most of the books I sold back. They were by the way, very generous in the buyback. Of course, my books were always in pristine condition.

So anyway, after everything was sold I made another trip to California to locate a dwelling for Grandma and me. I found a mobile home in Hesperia California in our price range. This place turned out to be a "meth nest" and resulted in another move to my present location in Victorville in 2006. It is mostly nice even after some drug-related problems with some of the residents in the older more run-down section. A new manager recently hired has been helpful. The park is named River Ranch Mobile and is on the Oro Grande Wash, part of the Mojave River, a federally protected land area. It is usually a dry river bed in my section. Wet further south where the water surfaces in the Silver Lake area. The mostly dry wash except when we have a wet winter is home to a large homeless population. On its west side are busy rail tracks. I got used to the low rumbles and not so much the less frequent loud train whistle.

Overall it is a perfect solution for me. I had Section 8 housing in that old hospital in Bellingham, which kept my rent at 30% of my income. I have reduced rent here that’s a California reduced rent for seniors thing and a tax benefit to the landowners. It’s not rent control. It’s a tax thing passed on to residents in the park. My rent is much lower than the 30%, I would have had in Bellingham, so a great advantage for my fixed income situation. 

Seventh Street is the main drag through old town Victorville, about a half-mile from my house. This famous road, Route 66 was traveled by my maternal ancestors on their way to their new home in San Bernardino in 1946. It ends in Santa Monica, California.

My brother also lives here in the newest section of the park in a mobile home my parents bought after they moved from the home they bought in Hesperia, California to be nearer my Grandma while she was still with my aunt and the place where my Grandma lived with them before moving in with me. My parents bought the mobile home here in my park, in Victorville in 2008 after my Grandma died in 2007. 

I did end up taking care of my Mom as well. My Grandma died in June 2007 and my Mom came to live with me in 2011 after she fell ill in September of 2010 and nearly died. The aftermath left her with stage five kidney failure and acute diabetes requiring insulin injections and a colostomy. The fact that they lived in the same park where I did, helped at first as I went over multiple times a day for insulin injections and colostomy care and three times a week to take her to dialysis. My Dad was not up to the task and was suffering from early dementia. After she moved in with me in 2011, I took care of her until her death in 2016. 

My present home in Victorville California in the High Desert of Southern California.

That brings me to this moment and the nearly three years I have been on my own and living in a way much as it was in Bellingham. Just not quite as lonely. I am grateful for my brother's close proximity and companionship. I have very little family left, only four that I ever see. It’s a lonely existence that usually suits me and I can think of worse places to spend it.

Dawn in the desert.

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