The Housekeeper: Love, Death, and Prizefighting

by Josh Samman

  I was introduced to Narcotics Anonymous, and found utility in sharing my stories. I realized I had a problem. I admitted it. That was the first step, they said.

  Unlike WFWI, there were plenty kids there that I could relate with. Most grew up in Tallahassee. I identified with the ones that had been arrested. I felt sorry for the ones that had been caught only for weed and had over reactive parents. Like usual, I lost my patience with the whole thing.

  There had been escape attempts before. If the patient was court ordered, it was common for them to go to a higher security program after being caught. If they were voluntary, they’d get terminated, and forced back on their parents. While my situation was unique and my consequences uncertain, I was getting antsy and began plotting. My house was only 20 minutes away.

  Disc had lots of flaws to exploit. It wasn’t meant to hold people that were escape-threats. One of their sillier policies was to take us to a local barber shop for haircuts, as opposed to cutting hair on-site. The haircuts were weekly, and the employees that took us each chose different ones. I’d ask around, to see where all of them liked to go. I found the one that went nearest to my house and asked him to go just a bit further.

  Mile by mile, he drove closer. He didn’t know where I lived, of course. He was just going to the place I told him I liked to get my hair cut; the Hungry Howies shopping center. By the time we pulled up, I couldn’t believe that I’d just gotten him to drive all the way there.

  I sat in that barber’s chair, anxiety and anticipation coursing through my veins as I grappled with whether or not to execute it, and how so if I was going to. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. My mind raced as I tried to work out the kinks.

  Finally, the haircut was over, and I had to make a choice.

  “Can I go to the bathroom?” The restrooms were in the rear of the barber shop, which led to the back parking lot. It was the same one I’d been skateboarding in for years.

  “Sure.”

  Fuck it.

  I calmly walked to the back of the barber shop, opened the bathroom door, and locked it from the outside, trying to be tactful. As quietly as I could, I closed the door, went out the exit, and broke into a sprint. There was no turning back.

  41.

  Her skin had regained color. Isabel no longer smelled like cigarettes, and her hair was in curls, which she knew I liked. She looked good, but I always thought she looked good. More importantly, she had her old energy back, the glow and aura that only she could radiate.

  She was making progress, and in the short time I’d been gone, she’d been promoted at the restaurant. Her boss texted me, thanking me for the recommendation, and singing her praises. She wanted to regain the trust of the people around her, and she was succeeding wonderfully.

  We liked to pretend that sushi dates were something that were exclusive to us. They were a special nostalgia driven tradition, something we used to always do. She poured the sake into the small shot glasses, perfectly without spills.

  “Cheers,” she said, “to fresh starts. I want to know all about it. Are you happy?”

  “I should be happy, yeah. I can’t tell you much, but I think a lot of things are about to change for me.” If there was one person I wanted to spill my guts to, it was her. I didn’t have five million dollars to spare, should she let any details slip, and I promised I’d explain in due time.

  I was more interested in what was going on with her life. I was still dating Veronica, so I wanted to keep the date friendly and platonic, but I struggled.

  “Have you met anyone?” I asked, hoping she couldn’t see the question eating at me.

  “Of course I have. I meet people all the time,” she deflected.

  “Have you been with anyone?” The question wasn’t beyond our personal boundaries.

  “What do you think?” I didn’t know in which direction she was insinuating. She didn’t give me time to answer.

  "You still with that girl?" She wasted as little time as I did.

  "I am," I said with disdainful emphasis, defiantly, as if it wasn't Isabel that had been on my mind the last two months. “I was with her when I left. I’ve only been back two days.”

  She cocked her head to the side with a tight-lipped smile, hesitating before nodding, and letting out a single chuckle. Come on motherfucker, you know what we’re doing here. You know how this ends. Sometimes I think my whole relationship with Veronica was predicated on trying to rebel against Isabel.

  I was the first person to bring up relationship status. Maybe it was then that she knew she had me again. Little by little I could see that sneaky confidence coming back behind her eyes.

  “Congrats,” she said instead. “Good for you guys.”

  She brushed it off and kept the conversation moving, telling me more about work and what she’d been doing since getting back on her feet. Her dad had helped her get a car, and she was on the way to making her own payments, along with car insurance. She sounded so proud, and I was proud for her.

  She told me more about her new house, and how happy she was to finally have her own room again, with a big comfortable bed, not made of concrete. Her roommate Stephanie and I weren’t the best of friends, but I was grateful for her giving Isabel a chance when not many others would. Isabel was still cleaning houses, doing everything she could to support herself for the first time in her life. Validation was always at the forefront of her mind.

  “Which of your jobs do you like more?” I asked.

  “Keeping house, of course. I get my privacy. I’m not at the mercy of customers. I get to make my own schedule, and I’m good at it. It’s therapeutic for me.” I hated cleaning, and wasn’t sure how it could ever be considered therapy, but I was glad she had something like that in her life.

  “So, how long before we see it?” She asked, back to the TV show.

  “A few weeks. Not long.”

  “On what days?”

  “Wednesdays.”

  “I work Wednesdays.”

  “Well, you’ll have to take off for that one.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Non-committal was nothing new from her, but it was good enough for me. I had commitments of my own to think about, and I drove home from dinner that night, alone, with those decisions heavy on my mind.

  42.

  Fall, 2004

  After escaping from Disc, I headed not home, but to my school, Lincoln. It was almost lunch break, and all my friends who had cars would soon be leaving.

  Several trails led from the back of the shopping center into Tom Brown Park, then to our school. I didn’t take a single one of them. I ran in a straight line, faster than I ever had, through bushes, trees, and shrubs. By the time I stopped, my ankles and feet were covered in blood from all the cuts on my legs. It was one of the most intense moments of my life.

  I got near the school and heard the bell ring from the road. I tried to catch my breath, and worked myself into another sprint. My feet pounded the concrete as I picked up speed.

  I got on campus, and ran, literally, into the school Student Resource Officer. I couldn’t fucking believe it. I’d been gone for not even an hour before I’d delivered myself to the police.

  He took me into his office and asked me what I was doing there. He knew I wasn’t a student anymore, and being on campus was against the law. It was then that I realized...

  He doesn’t know what’s going on.

  I told him I was there to meet my girlfriend for lunch, and that it wouldn’t happen again. He wrote me a trespassing warrant and told me I’d be arrested next time, then sent me on my way. Much like the Disc employee who’d driven me to my house, I imagine it was not a good day for him when he realized what had happened.

  I posted up outside campus, halfway in a bush, wondering when he was going to come zooming back around the corner. I saw one of my friends first and waved him down. We went back to his house, smoked a blunt, then went to a mutual friend’s.

  Nero was older and had a house of his own. He sold we
ed, and hung out with questionable folks. I knew it would be a safe place to go for the moment. He had a family member in law enforcement, and he’d get a warning call before any police came kicking in doors.

  As fate had it, the cops didn’t kick in any doors before I ran into them again. I was in the back seat of a car, coming home from a party. Nero was driving, drunk, with the owner of the car in the passenger seat.

  I don’t remember how he lost control, or hitting the tree. I remember waking up and seeing both bodies slumped in the front seat. The airbags were deployed, and there was broken glass everywhere. We were a mile from the house. I used one of their cellphones to call the police, then tried to wake them both up.

  Nero woke. The passenger didn’t, not at first anyway. I was terrified. An ambulance came, then the police. He asked me for my information. I gave him Baxter’s information, the only other complete name and DOB I knew that was my age.

  Nero’s officer-family-member showed up on the scene and let us walk the rest of the way home. Nero left without a DUI, and for the second time in a month since escaping from rehab, I’d been face to face with the law.

  The accident was the talk of everyone, and word traveled fast. The next morning, there were eight or nine of us, sitting in the living room. All at once, everyone’s phones began to ring. The first person to answer looked startled.

  “Shit. Turn it to channel 13.” That was the local broadcast station. I did not have a good feeling.

  There I was, on TV for the first time in my life, under giant letters. “MISSING PERSON.” The picture they’d chosen was one from elementary school, for extra effect.

  Nero’s phone rang too, and I knew who it was that was calling. They had to have known where I was now. I didn’t mind. The whole situation had been sapping. I wanted it to be over.

  I went with the police when they came, and they took me back to Disc Village. They called my mom, who was on the other end of a phone when I woke the next morning.

  “Why didn’t you call!?” She was crying, hard. It’s the single thing I feel worst about doing to her. I had called, only once. It went to voicemail. I should’ve left one.

  There are many times in my life that I look back and wonder what I was thinking. While the escape itself was one of those things, I still understand the feelings that were behind it. In my final days at Disc, I had an overwhelming sense of I don’t need to be here anymore. While addiction is something that comes and goes for those who suffer from it, I’d learned all I was going to learn there. I knew that drugs had been the catalyst for most my behavior since I was 11, and I had no desire to be that person again. I told my mom that, and my drug test upon arriving back at the program reinforced what I’d said. I loved marijuana and was never going to stop, and while I’d drink socially, for several years I’d never take a drug again, including while I was an escapee.

  The incident, while alarming, made her want to bring me back home. The details of what had happened made her lose confidence in the program. She and the director butted heads. The director terminated me from the program and recommended to the judge that I be admitted to a higher level facility. Such recommendations were usually heeded, and the day after being taken home from Disc, a Sheriff was back at my house.

  I didn’t know where I was going, and neither did my mom. By dumb luck, the officer misread the court order and took me back to Disc Village. When the director got there the following day, she was furious. She called my mom to come pick me up for a final time, and officially gave up. I had won.

  43.

  “He tried not to look long at her, like staring at the sun. Yet, like the sun, he saw her even without looking.”

  -Leo Tolstoy

  It was the moment we’d all been waiting for, the season premiere of The Ultimate Fighter. We were at The Hobbit, a local restaurant sponsor, where we’d set up viewing parties for the whole season. Everyone was ready to see how the kid from Tallahassee did in his big broadcast debut. Besides FSU athletics, there wasn’t a lot for the town to rally behind nationally, and the city was beaming with support.

  The season would be a success, I was sure. I knew I’d done well, and although it would be a long time before I’d shake off from the loss to Kelvin, I realized that no one would know I’d been defeated until the last episode.

  I waited anxiously as the show introduced us, one by one. Finally my face popped on the screen, and the restaurant burst into applause. It felt amazing, to be the thing that everyone was so excited about. I was on cloud nine, and hoped for more moments like it.

  My phone was going nuts, ringing non-stop, hundreds of texts from people I hadn’t seen or talked to in years. I was fine with that. I was never bitter at those I’d lost touch with that decided to drop a line only when things were going great. That’s how things work. That’s how people work. Most had still been part of the journey and contributed somehow along the way.

  My mom was to my left, and she was to my right. It was not the right she. Veronica exuded a sense of entitlement, in a room full of people that had been with me much longer. I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was out of place, and I knew I wasn’t the only one to feel it. I should have ended it sooner, but I’d procrastinated. It would be addressed soon, I had a feeling.

  After the brief scene of Veronica and me in the hotel room, it cut to my fight. Short and sweet, and broadcasted to millions of viewers at home. It ended just how I’d remembered, with the referee pulling me off. The restaurant graduated from applause to a certified uproar. People were standing on chairs, high-fiving each other, taking pictures and videos, capturing the moment.

  I looked next to me at Veronica. She was face deep in her phone, sending her friends a shot of the few brief seconds that she was on TV. She hammered the nail in her own coffin, and triggered a chain reaction that would go hand in hand with the catapult my career had just been launched from.

  Everyone wanted to party. There was no way I wasn’t going to join them. Veronica had to work in the morning and said she wanted to celebrate on a different night.

  “Can we just go home? I have to be up early.” I couldn’t believe she was even asking.

  “I’m not going home right now, I’ll meet you at your place later if you want.”

  “Are you serious?” She seemed shocked that I wanted to enjoy my moment.

  “Are you?” I was angry by this point, and trying not to make a scene.

  “Fine. See you later then.” She walked out without saying bye to anyone.

  Matt excitedly rounded up the crowd for the next destination.

  “Where we goin’ dude?”

  “Tell everyone to meet us at The Strip. I gotta go do something first.”

  “Do what? Where?”

  “A quick stop. I’ll be there soon.” He grinned and said okay.

  I walked into Isabel’s restaurant and found my friend, the owner. He congratulated me, and I thanked him. I asked him for one more favor.

  “Can we get her off work?”

  “Sure, tell a manager.”

  She had on her work uniform, the one I teased her about that she hated, short shorts and high socks. She looked stunned when she saw me.

  “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be out celebrating, Mr. TV star!”

  “I came to see you. You’re off work now, you have to come with us.”

  “What do you mean I’m off work?”

  “I mean I just got you off work. Clock out and come on.”

  “Your phone hasn’t stopped ringing since you’ve gotten here, you’ve got all those people waiting on you, and you came here for me?” She smiled.

  I never went to Veronica’s that night, or any other night ever again. I was ready for the next stage of my life, and it was full steam ahead.

  44.

  Winter, 2004

  I calmed down after rehab. I’d tried what I needed to try. I wanted to return to regular life, whatever that meant. Because of the run-in with the officer at Lincoln,
the administration would not allow me to go back to school there. My mom asked me which of the others I wanted to attend, confident in my ability to convince them I wanted to be there.

  I did want to be there. Despite all that happened over the years, it was a huge goal of mine to defy the odds and complete high school the same year as my class. My friends were all over the county now. I chose the school with the most of them, Leon High, where my boat rowing friends had gone.

  I adapted much better this time around. It was easier when I didn’t go looking for trouble right away. I found a girlfriend instead. It sounds silly, talking about girlfriends while so young, but anyone who remembers teenage years knows that dating was serious business.

  Beth was her name, and she was a large part of helping me transition back into a semblance of regular life. She wore a bright smile and was always so well put together; the student body vice president, and homecoming queen. I’d always found a way to date outside my league.

  While the school admin did not like me with her, her parents were always supportive. That made me feel good. They let me stay at her house on weekends, and trusted us together. It was one thing I was adamant about not ruining.

  My relationship with my mom improved, although she kept getting angry with me for smoking weed at the house. She’d caught me several times since being home, and would take it and give it to her friends who smoked.

  One time she came home and found it, and told me to get out. It was the last straw. I didn’t blame her. She’d had enough, done all she could do to raise me, and I agreed. I was ready to leave too. When I moved out, it was on good terms. She had an enormous sense of relief it seemed, to be in the next stage of her parenting relationship, one in which she would watch and love from a bit more distance, with faith that I’d make it work.

  I stayed at Beth’s for a few days, then to another friend’s, named Jacob. He had a similar childhood to mine, with a single mother, named Theresa. She was a young mom, flirtatious and permissive. She was the first person my mom openly disliked. I loved her. She cooked Italian food every night, and cleaned up after us.