CHAPTER EIGHTY
2004- Boca Bound
As soon as travel details were confirmed by my brother, I started packing up my life and saying good-bye to the few people who mattered.
Donya and Marisol, those gems, told me they understood and that they really loved having me live with them. No hard feelings. I was always welcomed to come back.
They asked me what I wanted them to do with my stuff and I told them it didn’t really matter. At this point I was so used to walking away from all of my self-imposed disasters empty-handed and broken. They wouldn’t hear of it though, so I gave them Simone’s contact info. “Don’t worry about anything,” Donya said. “We got you.”
And after I left for Boca, those two girls actually packed all of my stuff up and sent it all to Simone’s via a corporate courier service. I will forever love them.
It was important to me that I got a chance to speak to June before I headed out, but I had a hard time getting him on his cell. Finally, I left him a message and told him it was urgent. He called me back within a few hours.
“Hey,” June said by way of greeting. “I am so sorry it took me a minute to get back with you, but my uncle got me into that apprentice program I told you about and it’s been hectic.”
“Oh Juney, that’s amazing!” I exclaimed. “I’m SO happy for you!”
“Is everything okay?” June asked. “You said it was urgent.”
I told him I was going to rehab and that everything would be okay, but that I really didn’t want to disappear without saying good-bye. I told him I’d call or email once I was allowed to get in touch with people.
He told me he was proud of me and we said good-bye. It felt really good to do the adult thing for a change, and not just disappear. June deserved better than that.
The day before I was scheduled to leave, I asked Simone to meet me in Fort Tryon Park so I could say good-bye in person. I was hoping we could squeeze in one last “deep thoughts” session before I hit the road.
Simone and I took a leisurely stroll down the promenade overlooking the Hudson River as I took her through the whole damned Jake Shinman fiasco from beginning to tragic end- she could not stop laughing her ass off. By the time I got to the “BITE ME!!!! BITE ME!!!!” part she was literally howling.
“Jesus, Eula,” she cackled. “When you relapse, you really fuckin’ relapse.”
“But you gotta understand,” I told her. “This kid has been a thorn in my side since middle school. And then with all the shit I’ve done over the years, it’s this pasty-ass, suburban finance bro who takes me down and gets me shipped off to rehab.”
Simone shook her head in solidarity.
“And guess what?” I continued. “HIS WIFE FORGAVE HIM! And I’M the one going to rehab. That shit is crazy.”
“Sometimes it be your own people,” Simone remarked.
“Jake Fuckin’ Shinman is NOT my people!” I protested.
Simone giggled. It was kinda funny.
“You’re my people, Simone,” I said, switching to a serious tone. “I mean it.”
“I know,” she replied.
“And I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you, but I knew I was fucked up and I didn’t want to take anyone down with me,” I continued.
“I know,” she told me. “And it’s okay. I have my own shit that I’ve been trying to work through. And I’m gonna tell you something, but you have to promise not to hold it against me if it doesn’t work out. You know how you can be.”
“What is it?”
“I’m working on leaving the Scam King of Harlem,” she said in a whisper.
“WHAT???” I shouted. “You’re finally ready to be done with the Crown Prince of Ponzi?”
She laughed at that one. We had so many nicknames for her wack-ass man.
“Yeah, and this time I’m serious,” she told me. “I’ve been hardcore skimming from his bankroll and stashing the money for months, now. I’m gonna get my own place and when you get out of rehab, you’re gonna come live with me.”
That was the perfect thing to hear right before I left for Boca.
It felt good to have a positive goal to work towards.
Even if it was being unwittingly financed by Simone’s wack-ass man.
