Sit

Tonight I went to a meeting.

 

I had to go because last night I realized I had not had a meeting in a week and when I do not have a meeting in a week I start to forget what my primary purpose is. Then I start thinking I am a civilian and fancy myself doing civilian things, things best left to actual civilians.

 

Yeah.

 

Like last night I find myself thinking things like: I am prescribed one of these but three would really do the trick.

 

Uh, no.

 

Luckily, I have enough sobriety to know my mind is a dangerous neighborhood that I should not go into alone. So I make a call.

 

I get Program Friend 2. PF2 says, “Girl. You got to remember what comes first. You need a meeting.”

 

Sigh. It is too late tonight so I go to sleep.

 

Tomorrow comes and I work all day at the schoolhouse. I deliver 5 lessons to 5 different grades. By the time after school comes I am TOAST.

 

Still, I have to make that meeting. I go home and I have a quick visit with son. “I got to go now. Got to get a meeting.”

 

Son has been around this for a while now. Son does not question. In fact sometimes son says, “Mom. I think you need a meeting.”

 

So I walk down 5 blocks and up 2 avenues to the meeting place. It is a meeting I have gone to for almost 12 years now. I walk in and I see familiar faces and some new faces. The familiar faces know me. I mean KNOW me. In that peeled raw, all-your-stuff-out-on-the-floor-for-all-to-see kind of way that only program people know.

 

Because program is the where people get really, REALLY honest.

 

Program is the place where I have become really known.

 

I sit down. “B” is across from me. I smile a big recovery smile at her.

She smiles back.

 

It is a big book meeting and we are on INTO ACTION. I love this chapter! This is my favorite chapter. We pass the book and as we read I am reminded of all the tools I have been given sitting in this seat to maintain my equanimity and my serenity.

 

I sit in my chair. I think: This is my seat.

 

When we are done reading people share. I share about how traveling back and forth to Philadelphia is making me feel disconnected from my program. How I do not feel I am getting enough meetings. How I am scared of moving and wonder if I will find fellowship in my new city.

 

And mostly, how my primary purpose must remain my sobriety.

 

Afterwards people come up and talk to me. “E” is there. “E” says, “I have missed you! But I am so happy for you.”

 

She gives me a hug.

I know she really means it.

 

I pick up my chair and I put it against the wall with the others as we clean up.

 

I walk out into the crispy winter night and I think: I feel very grateful for that chair.

 

Yes I do.

Regenerate

Tonight I got purple contact lenses.

 

I know, right?

 

I am inspired to get a new eye color since I saw this cashier in Philadelphia will blue glowing eyes.

I do not think these are her real eyes.

I ask her, “Are those contact lenses?”

“Yes.” she says.

 

I think: It would be fun to change my eyes once and awhile. I like to regenerate.

 

When I was a young Violet I used to change things all the time. Every week a new hair color. Black. White. Red. Purple. Pink. Shaved. And frequently a new piercing.

 

Now that I am all grown up I do not have time for such folly with the hair dye bottle and the safety pins. Now I must find chameleon satisfaction in things like contact lenses.

 

I call up Brooklyn Eye Place. Brooklyn Eye Place is very Brooklyn. They will use your voucher for anything you need. They go by Brooklyn rules.

 

The kind you break.

 

Brooklyn Eye Place answers. I ask, “Do you have color contact lenses?”

“Yes.” they say.

 

“I want green, violet, gray and blue.” I say.

Because I like to have a lot of choices.

 

“Is this Ms. V?” they ask.

 

“Yes!” I say.

 

Then they say, “We have some samples. You can come and try them.”

 

!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

I love Brooklyn eye place. Free samples. Woo!

 

I remember when I moved to Florida and I tried to barter at a car dealership. It was not Brooklyn. There were actual rules people adhered to.

 

But this is not Florida. I walk in and Brooklyn Eye Person hands me FREE violet contact lens samples.

 

“Thank you!” I say.

I think: New eyes!

And I trot home to pop these babies onto my eyeballs.

 

When I get home son is cooking Chorizo. Daughter is chatting with him in the black and white kitchen.

 

“I have new violet eyes.” I say. “I am going to go put them in.”

 

They both look at me like I am crazy.

 

I go into the bathroom and I put the new eyes into my old eyes. I think they look purply, but I can’t really see that well since they are kind of floating around in my eyeballs.

 

I come out into the kitchen. “Well?” I say. And I look at the teenagers. “Can you see it?!”

 

“Oh, yeah.” Son says. “I can see it a little bit.”

Silence from the daughter.

 

I walk back into the bathroom and stare at my eyes.

 

“I can see them!” I say.

 

“Good.” son says.

 

New eyes.

 

Violet today.

Tomorrow, who knows?

Monday Night Special

 

Tonight we made hamburgers.

 

It has been a long day at the school house, complete with after school extra teaching, begun at 8am with a text from Wuzzy that he had turned daughter’s phone off.

 

He texts: She has gone into overage again and is disrespectful and the phone is off until March 10.

I text: How am I supposed to get in touch with her?

 

He eventually texts some mumbo jumbo that I eventually have to let go. I have to let it go because he is setting limits that he is not around to enforce on a device he got for her that I never wanted her to have in the first place.

 

I let that go.

 

The rest of the day happens. Some of it goes well. Some of it does not. All day my back and neck are killing me in that way only a scoliosis lock up can.

 

I tell Teaching Partner, “I have got to get to the Deep Tissue Massage Person and Chiropractor.”

 

She nods. “We have after school.” she says.

 

“Yeah.” I say.

 

I decide to take it a moment at a time. Maybe I will get there. Maybe I will not.

Turns out, I get there.

 

I go and get my whole body rearranged by Massage Person. Right after the massage I go to Chiropractor so I can have a JUST MASSAGED adjustment.

 

Chiropractor likes these adjustments. They usually go well. “Like butter.” he says as my spine goes crack-crackity-crack. I walk out of there and I feel like I have no bones.

 

I text son on the walk home: I am starving. Put the fries in the oven. I will make the garlic burgers when I get home.

 

He texts: Ok.

 

I get home and son is there cranking up the Cheap Trick in the kitchen. Daughter is in the shower, taking her teenage extended nighttime shower.

 

“Hello son!” I say.

 

He smiles. He is busy studying for his Ecology test tomorrow. He has his highlighter out and all his teeny-tiny notes.

 

Together we cut the tomato, onion and pickles. Son takes out all the condiments and arranges them on the table.

When the burgers are done I yell to daughter, “DINNER!”

 

No answer from the bathroom.

 

Son says, “I bet she will be pissed if we start without her.”

 

I start anyway because I am starving. But son is son and so he gets up and walks to the bathroom door and calls daughter again.

 

Daughter says, “Don’t start without me!”

 

Crap.

 

I put my burger down and arrange it next to the other half of the burger so no one can tell I have taken bites.

 

Daughter comes out to join us. At first she makes this little persnickety face because she has to walk around the table to get to the food that has been prepared for her. And then just because I am starving I flip right into into yelling, “Do NOT make that face. DO NOT.” I yell.

 

But I would rather eat than yell though so I stop with the yelling. Anyway she has had enough of that with her father today.

 

When we are done I realize we forgot the lettuce, which is sitting all nicely washed in the colander.

 

“We forgot the lettuce.” I say.

 

“Damn!” son says.

 

“You have to eat it.” I say.

 

And I pick it up and stuff it all into his mouth.

 

Just like that.

 

“I am taking a picture.” I say.

 

He is laughing but since he has lettuce mouth you can really hear anything. Maybe just the rustle of a few leaves on the end.

 

I take the picture.

 

“Ok. Everyone has to clean up.” I say.

 

“I will do dishes. Son does pans and put away. Daughter dries.”

 

“Ok lettuce mouth?” I ask.

 

Son spits out the foliage.

 

“Yeah.” he says.

 

After I do my part I walk out and leave the rest to the teenagers.

I look back and I think: I like Monday Night Special.

 

Yes I do.

A thousand requests

Yesterday I taught Capeoria again.

 

For those of you who don’t know what Capeoria: Capeoria is a Brazilian type of martial arts art that combines elements of dance and music. It was developed in Brazil mainly by descendants of African slaves with native influences probably beginning in the 16th century. It is known by quick and complex moves, using mainly power, speed, and leverage for leg sweeps.

 

I am the assistant to the Capeoria Guy. I pick up half the kids and provide general assistance, including corralling, wiping tears, Portuguese accent translations, bathrooming, shoe-tying, more bathrooming and I-can’t-do-this comforting.

 

I finish teaching for the day and I walk to get the Capeoria kiddies. I stop by three Kindergarten classrooms and yell out: Capeoria come on down. And all the little Capeoria kids come trotting out, backpacks on, ready to go.

 

We walk to the stage where we teach this class, despite the treacherous edge the kids could fall off.

 

Yeah, I know.

 

Capeoria Guy is there already. “Hello my friend!” he says. And he gives me a Capeoria handshake.

 

“Hey! You cut off all your hair!” I say. Because he did have this crazy long black thick hair and now it’s almost a crew cut.

 

“Yes, my friend.” he says. “I do this. Sometimes I go shave head all the way.”

 

“Wow.” I say. Because in my mind I have done that thing we do to people where we box them into a style and keep them there.

 

Well, I do this thing anyway. You might be more evolved than I am.

 

We start the Capeoria. “G” does not want to play Capeoria today. “G” is sitting to the side, near the exit.

 

This is not good. Because “G” s a runner. And if you have ever taught special education, you know that you do not put a kid who tends to take off suddenly near an exit door.

 

I go over. “Listen.” I say. “We need to move over here if you don’t want to play today.”

 

“G” moves. She is not oppositional. But she IS fast.

 

“How about you do some drawing?” I say. And she takes out her little sketch book. “G” is very, VERY good at drawing all kinds of fantasy worlds. I think it is where she escapes to, like when she runs.

 

The other 14 kids continue playing.

With requests.

 

“Ms. V! I have to go to the bathroom!”

“Can I get a drink of water?”

“I’m tired.”

“Oh look, I scratched my foot.”

“I don’t want “D” to be my partner.”

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Can I get a drink of water?”

“I’m hungry.”

 

You get the idea.

 

You know the thing about working with kids as opposed to working with adults is, you cannot shun kids. When the adults you work with drive you nuts you can pretty much shut them out.

 

Not so much with kids.

 

I respond to the cacophony of questions as best I can considering it is Friday at 4pm.

 

Soon, class is over and it is dismissal time. I scoop up “G” and look at her work. ‘Beautiful!” I say. “You know I have to tell your mom you did not play today.”

 

“G” nods.

 

I go over and help put on a few pairs of sweaty little inside out socks and shoes. We get all packed up and line up on the blue line to walk down to dismissal where eager parents and babysitters await.

 

As I start walking them down I look back.

In their faces I see a thousand requests.

I do so hope they are heard.

 

Yes I do.