I carried my last load out to my car on W 87th Street with my decision made. But it didn't feel like a decision; it was my default action. Where else could I go? I can't carry on as a vagabond and expect to get healthy. Maslow insists, I need a home.
I crammed the remainder of my possessions into my trunk and as I did, the owner of nearby parked car requested a jump start. I offered up my battery without any hesitation. I was already plenty late to my Sunday night church service; another 15 minutes wasn't going to hurt. Besides I wasn't going to hear the sermon; I was going to say a few fare wells and help my small group co-leader identify a replacement for me.
I drove South along the Hudson to W 22nd Street, determined I would hang with people from church for a bit, then start my drive back to Michigan, pausing in Pennsylvania to get some shut eye for the night.
I arrived in Chelsea shortly after the service finished. As I crossed 8th Avenue, a couple of girls called out my name. They were students I had worked with at The King's College. They caught me off guard, and my interaction, to my regret, was minimal as we passed each other in the street.
At the church I found Nate, my small group co-leader and told him the news. "Nate, I don't think I'm well enough to stay in New York." I teared up as I spoke. Nate was working the visitor's table, and couldn't leave his post. I told him I'd find him later and entered the sanctuary, trying to find the guy who reached for my hand the previous Sunday. But instead of finding him, I found another student I had worked with at TKC; I pulled myself together for some chit chat and then pulled upstairs to the balcony, away from the crowds.
I couldn't keep face.