I had not been in a classroom in years. It was the fall of 1996, and there I was, bright and early for some free short term course that was supposed to lead to a job.
The crowd was exactly what I’d expected: older, unemployed Latina women. One requirement for admission was fluency in Spanish. I sat in the front beside an older woman named Miledys.
We exchanged the usual pleasantries: had either of us worked as aides before, where were we from, that sort of thing.
Then came the standard speeches about caring for people with disabilities and all the rest.
A couple of weeks later, I overheard one of the women say:
“She’s gotta speak Spanish. It’s required to get into the course.”
Miledys and I mostly kept to ourselves, swapping stories in Spanglish. Then one day at lunch, a woman called out:
“You do speak Spanish, right?”
She was talking to me.
She was heavyset, with a forceful way about her. I was drawn in by her obvious interest, her kind hazel eyes and yes, by her nice ass too. What can I tell you?
“We were just talkin’ about you in the back,” she said. “I was tellin’ them you gotta speak Spanish to be here, right?” Then she added, by way of introduction, “Regina.”
Not long after that, I got thrown out.
In a drunken stupor, I made some dramatic confession when my live-in girlfriend asked about Regina. From there, my life tipped fully into chaos.
Regina told her father about me, and he graciously agreed to let me stay with them for a while. That didn’t last.
By then I had started seeing my ex-girlfriend again, if only to spend hours snorting cocaine together. Regina saw things differently. Still angry, still hurt, she nevertheless found us a room and even bought decorations for it.
I can still see her pretty face, beaming as she said,
“It’s a start. Our first little place together.”
I am ashamed to admit I lied to her too.
A few months later, she dumped me.
One of the best things that happened to me.
After that came a couple of rooms, a couple of evictions, and then the truth stood there plain: it was down to a park bench or rehab.
I’ll never know exactly where the idea of rehab came from.
But I chose recovery.
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