Moments in a Year pt. 2

The entrance to the tunnel is dark, as cars zip out of its mouth as if they are running from some unseen boogie man. There is a small ledge that is next to the concrete barrier that lines the edge of the road. It is the I90 off ramp to Copley/ Backbay. We ready ourselves for the quick dash in. A feeling of apprehension in the back of the mind, hoping that nothing happens to us as cars and semi trucks, only feet away, speed past us. Quickly we make our way into the mouth of the tunnel and are swallowed. Eventually, we are greeted by an opening in the concrete barrier. As we pass through the opening, the ground slants down and is covered in gravel. The darkness has quickly embraced us and makes it so that we can only see shapes for the most part, the smell of exhaust and brakes fill our nostrils. Who would live down in the depths of a belly like this? How could they live down here? Time suddenly disappears, like clouds over the full moon, while we are in the tunnel. Is it morning? Is it midnight? Has time simply stopped. There is no way to tell. We are met with the shadows of those who call the tunnel their home. We move from one shadow of a person to another checking to see if they need anything. A person agrees to do blood testing for HIV, Hep C, and syphilis, and so we perform phlebotomy in the belly of that tunnel. The whole time, an angst in the back of the mind of not knowing what or who we will encounter. Is it going to be those fucking rats? Or worse, will we find someone dead. Finally, we get to the back of the tunnel and are met with pipes that run horizontally in front of us as if making a fence. We turn on the lights of our phones to see what is in front of us, the darkness gripping us like an intimate hug. We squeeze between the pipes looking for people...

The dirt path leads down the hill away from the bridge. It is a hot summer day, the sun beating down on us. To my right side, is a fence and on my left are a couple of pine trees that overlook the water next to the Fourth Street Bridge. The path squeezes between the fence and concrete barriers that keep a person from falling into the water below. Eventually, after walking under another bridge, the path opens up and is lined with makeshift homes of some of our forgotten people. We check on people to see if they are ok and need anything, making sure that our friends have supplies and narcan (as there has been a recent fatal overdose.) Some people are excited to see us and others eye us with suspicion. We come upon a lady that we have gotten to know, who is visibly sedated. As we check on her, there is a realization that she is on the cusp of overdosing. We begin to work on her and suddenly there is a young man next to us. His hair is long and matted with dirt. He has a ginger beard that has overtaken much of his face. Neither of us has ever seen him before. To our shock, he is cradling in his right arm, the dead body of an immature goose that he holds close to him like a sleeping babe, or a small child. The young man sits down by the woman and grabs a hold of her arm. Despite our attempts to explain to him that she is in a critical situation he insists that she simply needs to be held by him….

Eventually, we turn into the parking spot for AHOPE, still trying to wrap our minds around what we had just seen and experienced. We pull all of our gear out of the van and make our way back into the building. As we enter the ‘kitchen’, we find the whole team seated. Our boss has us sit down and then we are told that a good friend of the team has been found dead. Aubri has been a champion for the voiceless. A heaviness weighes on me. You see, I was introduced to Aubri while I was still living in Denver, Colorado before I had ever heard of AHOPE. A friend, whom I had worked under, had introduced us. Aubri was my first connection in Boston, giving me guidance regarding harm reduction work in the city. The familiar feeling of being gutted wrapped it's arm around my shoulders like a an old friend.