Ask Me Why I Hurt Read Free Page B

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    The waitress brought our burgers. “Why not take all that money and just put one homeless kid through college?” Amy’s dad asked, picking up a fry and dipping it in ketchup. “Might be more effective.”
    “We want to reach a lot of kids,” I said.
    “Hmm. Seems like stocking this medication unit would have been a big part of your thinking then.”
    “I guess we just assumed they would have insurance,” I said, feeling I was struggling to explain myself. I felt defensive. The last thing I wanted was for my wife’s father to think I was a fool, and it sure seemed I was doing a good job of it. It occurred to me we could have used someone like Amy’s dad on our planning committee. He would have pierced right through my pie-in-the-sky thinking. I berated myself for not having been more prepared. We needed someone like him.
    “Eat your burger,” he said, pointing to my plate.
    A few days later my father-in-law called me at work. He had talked to Amy’s brother and sister about their late mother, who had left a trust. He had asked them if some of the funds could be used for medications. Both Amy’s brother and sister said yes, though they were saying good-bye to some of their inheritance. “We all agreed it would have made their mother happy to help homeless kids,” he said. It was a huge gift, and I was overwhelmed by gratefulness. This was an inheritance that Amy’s brother and sister could have kept. Instead they were giving it away. When I told Amy that night, she just hugged me and said she wasn’t surprised. She was low-key about it, but I knew that was her family’s way. “You seem much happier and more relaxed,” she said.
    “A huge obstacle was just overcome,” I said. I hugged her backand thought that now Amy was even more a part of the van, and so was her family.
    Once we had the meds all ordered, we had a party at the Dial Tower to celebrate and to thank our financial supporters. We parked the remodeled van in front of the building. It was gleaming with new blue paint and our new Crews’n Healthmobile logo across the front. The back of the van held a dedication to Amy’s mother. When her father saw it, he got tears in his eyes. It was March in Phoenix, perfect light jacket weather. All the supporters were there. A local chef made soup, which we served in blue bowls, to illustrate how homeless kids need more than soup kitchens to get by. Amy had brought cases of beer and wine from Costco, along with water and soda and iced tea. We didn’t want our supporters to have to spend any more money. I sweated through a speech in a blue suit I had bought for the occasion. I had never organized such an event, let alone been the subject of such attention. Jan navigated the crowd, a dazzling smile on her face.
    I felt a tremendous sense of pride as I led tours of the van. Everything was ready. The meds were stocked. The oxygen tanks were on the walls, along with a defibrillator machine. There was a big examining table in the back room and smaller tables along the sides. The walls were painted a crisp hospital white. Tubes for blood draws were lined up on sparkling counters. There were two fridges, one for lab work and the other for vaccines. There was the reassuring smell of antiseptic. In my mind I could already hear the hum of the centrifuge machines. I was elated. Taking health care to homeless children seemed like my life’s calling. I must have told myself that a hundred times that night. I felt a surge of happiness, of anxiety, and, more than anything, of conviction.

    The van was finally ready to go. I woke up before dawn that Monday, having tossed and turned all night from nerves and excitement.I was usually such a sound sleeper. These nerves were new to me. I put on my new work uniform: cargo pants, loafers, and one of the new bright yellow shirts we had made for the few of us working in the van. There would be Jan and I and sometimes a volunteer or two. Our Crews logo was proudly