The Couch

When my tent was stolen by the Berkeley police, Emily, my new neighbor, came to check out the situation.

She heard, she showed up, she sat down on the woodchips outside the library, outside the empty space where my tent had been. Trying to be helpful, I guess, she said she’d call some friends, see if anyone had a blanket or a sleeping bag.

I guess no one did, nobody came by. No one ever showed up. No one ever brought a thing.

Emily wasn’t a stranger. I’d spent hours talking with her, outside my tent, laughing, feeling almost like I was in my old life, like I had a new friend.

She was tuned in, she got it—she knew what was happening to women, she knew about the hidden holocaust, she even said things that cheered me up. For a moment, it reminded me of my old life, when I made new friends all the time, when I’d invite them over to my house, pour wine, let them crash in the guest room, stay as long as they wanted.

So after the tent was gone, after she said she’d call around and nothing happened, I said: maybe there’s a couch somewhere I could crash on.

And that’s when I got the look.

Like I was insane. Like I had just crossed some invisible line of audacity. A couch? For me? For a homeless woman? The look said: why would anyone let you into their space?

That look has stayed with me. Because here’s the truth: she knew my story. She’d seen my work. She believed me. She wasn’t confused about who I was. She’d called me a goddess, for god’s sake. And yet the one time it mattered, she chose the system. She chose the line. She could perform care—show up, sit down, say she’d call—but when it came to the smallest act of solidarity, a couch, a blanket, a real gesture—her face told me exactly how far she would go.

And she’s the crazy one. Not me. You’re all fucking nuts. Of course you offer a woman whose tent has been stolen a couch. Of course you do. That’s baseline humanity. That’s not even kindness—it’s normal.

But I saw her face. I saw the refusal written across it, like a wall slammed shut. And that was it for me. I don’t want people like that in my life. No one should.