Gimme Shelter

Jayne Brown

2008

I decided that vomit wasn't a good look and so passed up on the congealing eggs that morning in the communal kitchen. I opted instead for the traditional Scottish breakfast of a cuppa tea and a cig. The taxi was booked for 10am and I'd been up since 5am, the curls of fear in my abdomen rendering sleep impossible. The taxi would pick me up from the hostel I'd been living in for a year and take me to the Bridge Theatre, in Easterhouse to perform later that day for the first time in my life, my first published work. A poem I'd written about my homelessness experience, called 'Gimme Shelter'.

Six hundred invites had been sent out by the staff at the Big Step in Glasgow who rescued me from the chaos within the hostel walls by bringing me to creative writing classes twice a week for 6 months. I often sat quaking in the optimistically hired 16 seater mini bus, the only girl in the hostel, not too whacked out to get up and venture out.

I checked my bag for the tenth time, clattered down the drive, got in the cab and was whisked away to the east end; a place I had grown up in as a teenager from Ireland, and escaped as soon as I realised it was Glasgow's equivalent of the Bronx. I arrived breathless, and met up with my fellow performers: my friends Paula and Anne both of whom had come through the homeless system, same as me. The three of us were performing our individual pieces which had been selected specially from a published collection of Glasgow women's writing. We were giddy with excitement, laughing, as Paula revealed her secret stash of bottled lagers in her giant handbag. 'Dutch courage girls', she hiccupped.

We met with our writing tutors the inspirational Julie and Catherine who showed us into the theatre. I was stunned at how beautiful and spacious it was. Jet black walls and fuschia pink cinema style seats cascading down to a spotlit stage, giving off an air of a trendy Soho haunt. The venue was cavernous and had a Warhol vibe which totally took my breath away.

The College next door offered to pamper us with free facials, manicures, and hairstyling. We went up to the beauty dept and were given the works. I laughed at Paula in the seat next to mine getting green streaks put in her hair. I had my hair styled, my subtle aquamarine make up applied, to match your eyes the make up girl Tracey said. I changed then into my black dress and my Indian beaded shoes. I came back into the room and everybody gasped. 'You look amazing' they all said and they did too.

Performance time was approaching so after a quick lunch we went backstage and took photos against the mirrors with lightbulbs all around. I had always wanted one of those, like the kind the old movie stars have. Elaine C Smith was the MC for the day and she showed up full of smiles saying 'are you sh****** yourselves ladies?' Her warmth and humour was a great support.

Three minutes left and I had a full on panic attack and almost fled the theatre. But Tracey the make up girl took hold of me and said: 'Listen you wrote that piece and I don't think you realise how powerful your words are. Think about all the people you wrote that for, go out there and blow them away.' Suddenly it became clear to me, she was right.

I took my place in the wings next to the others as Elaine gave her funny intro. Elaine announced us and we all trooped onstage to our various 'sets'.

Paula's set was a small living room with coffee table and chairs. She brilliantly played a dual role of herself and her abusive husband, who she has since left. Next was Anne with a very personal poem she performed. I sat throughout all of it my palms sweating unable to look out at the audience. My 'set' was a graffiti riddled brick wall, symbolising urban squalor. I was last as the producers felt my piece was the strongest to close the show.

Before I knew it, I was up. My stomach was cramping with nerves and I was shaking from head to toe but I walked forward to the front of the huge stage. There was complete silence as I launched into my rap style poem. I thought about the words and what they meant to me at the time I wrote them. I looked out at the audience but couldn't make anyone out as there was a spotlight shining in my eyes. You could have heard a pin drop throughout and even after I said the last line there was a moment suspended in time of complete silence. I stood there thinking 'oh no they hated it' and suddenly the whole place burst like firecrackers into rapturous applause. The other girls came forward as the audience went wild. I couldn't believe it. I was rooted to the spot unable to move.

Elaine came on and handed each of us a beautiful bouquet of flowers, congratulating us again. We took a bow and teetered offstage to hugs and drinks from our friends and family. I felt elated, and proud of us all.

Homelessness makes you feel as low as it's possible to feel. You are treated like nothing by so many people, that you start to believe that's all you are. On that day, for the first time in ages, I felt I wasn't worthless. More importantly, I knew I was something: a writer.

I am now completing a Postgraduate course in Literature at University, have had some other poetry published, and am working on my first novel. Anytime, I feel I can't go on I look at the photos from that day and I keep on keeping on.