Bio - 17 in My Bio

I took my second trip to Florida to stay with my parents in late 1989, having first visited them in early 1988. The visit was as I expected—full of my mother’s demands and bossiness. Their home was gorgeous, though. It burned me up to know that while my parents were living in such luxury, their daughter was barely getting by in the dumps. They were so blessed. They would never know the struggle of scraping pennies, wondering where the next meal would come from, or having to say no to non-necessities. They’d listen to the ocean gently lapping a few feet from their windows, while I’d listen to gunshots and sirens. They were generous enough to give me things and money on special occasions, or when they visited New England, but it wasn’t enough to change my circumstances. It’s not that I minded them living well. I was happy for them. But it was a grim reminder of how unfair life was, and it made me feel like they didn’t really care whether or not I was struggling.

In early 1990, a vicious cycle of asthma attacks began that would last about two and a half years. It was both terrifying and depressing to go to sleep knowing I might wake up with an attack so severe I’d have to go to the ER to survive. The attacks were random and spontaneous. The first one happened while Brenda was with me, and she drove me to the ER. The ten-minute drive felt like it took an hour. I was wheezing so badly that I could only breathe in short gasps. You’d think that would be enough to drive someone off cigarettes, but the addiction held me captive until I quit a few years later. Even after getting better following a breathing treatment, I’d be outside smoking as I waited for a cab or a friend to take me home. Usually, it was a cab because my “friends” often had more important things to do than deal with my problems. Part of me didn’t want to burden them anyway.

One day after an attack had settled, a nurse pulled back the curtain around my gurney and asked how I was doing. She was a 5‘3”, slightly plump girl with short, dark blonde hair and gray eyes. She introduced herself as Kim when she returned with a cup of coffee for me. I was surprised to learn she was only twenty-one; she had the looks and maturity of someone in their thirties but I really liked her.

When I was leaving the ER, I noticed a sign language book in her hand. When I mentioned that I signed, we agreed to get together so I could help her practice. In return, she took me out to eat and gave me some spending money from time to time.

I quickly learned two things about Kim. One, she wasn’t happy with her cop husband, Mark. And two, she was attracted to me, though she had never been with a woman before. As would be my typical luck at the time, I wasn’t attracted to her nearly as much as I liked her as a person.

Kim and Mark lived in an apartment on the third floor of a home lumber business in South Deerfield, about forty minutes from Springfield. Mark was a quiet guy, and his good looks were quite a contrast to Kim’s plainness.

One day, while waiting for a cab at the ER, I realized I didn’t have a lighter for my cigarette. I saw a policewoman sitting in her cruiser smoking, so I asked her for a light, which she gave me. She was brown-haired, brown-eyed, and somewhat attractive, even if she was a bit fierce-looking. I’ve always been drawn to women in uniform, though not just any woman. It would be a while before I learned more about her.

Meanwhile, Andy kept losing jobs. I don’t know if it was discrimination or something else, but by early 1991, he lost his apartment and moved in with me. It was a disaster. All we did was fight—about everything. The stress he put me through was unbearable. I can’t believe that all the fighting didn’t end our friendship, but it didn’t.

Eventually, Andy moved into a rooming house, though he hated it there. He said the landlady was a tyrant. In March, his parents gave him money to drive to Arizona. Despite all the fighting, his departure felt like losing a limb.

Andy knew some people in Phoenix who had lived near him in Springfield. A woman and her daughter Donna, who was a great singer, helped him get set up in an apartment after he found a job at Denny’s.

One month later, it was my turn to leave Springfield. I never saw Nervous, Fran, Jessie, or Paula again, though we talked on the phone occasionally. I missed Steve a lot. He visited once, but I eventually lost track of him.

I moved into a spacious 1,400-square-foot, third-floor apartment in South Deerfield, right next to Kim and Mark. It was a thirty-stair climb instead of sixty, and the place was gorgeous and modern. The bathroom was so large you could fit a couple of twin beds in it, and it had a washer, dryer, and even a Jacuzzi in the tub. The kitchen not only had a garbage disposal and a dishwasher but a trash compactor too. The layout was unique.

There were only two apartments in the small building. The first two floors were occupied by the business that built houses. Toward the back of the building was where they kept the lumber supplies.

Despite having fuel assistance, food stamps, and my checks, it wasn’t nearly enough to cover the $525 rent, plus all my other living expenses. My parents, grateful to Kim for helping me get out of Springfield, agreed to send the owner $150 a month toward my rent. I wasn’t kidding when I said my folks helped me out financially from time to time!

But despite my posh living quarters, I had no life to go with it and was completely miserable. The remainder of 1991 and the first half of 1992 turned out to be the worst part of my adult life in New England.

I was deeply depressed. Kim was hardly ever home, and I didn’t know anyone else in town. The town itself was tiny—no buses, no entertainment. There was a pizza place, a bank, a small convenience store, and nothing else but houses and farms. I felt trapped, isolated, and overwhelmed by despair. It felt like my dreams would never come true, that I would always be unhappy and alone. I began to question what my purpose in life could possibly be.

The phone became my lifeline, the only thing I had to look forward to. I’d gotten it in a fake name. Andy and I would often call each other, billing the calls to Estefan Enterprises—until Gloria smartened up and blocked third-party calls. I thank her to this day for covering so many of our conversations!

Kim eventually found out that the cop I had a crush on was named Laurie. One night, I got Laurie’s number from information and called her, not identifying myself. I told her that I’d seen her and found her attractive. To my surprise, she erupted in anger! I thought she’d be curious, or at least indifferent if she wasn’t interested, but she wasn’t flattered at all. In fact, it seemed like she would’ve killed me over the phone if she could. You’d think I threatened her life and her family rather than tell her I was attracted to her.

She demanded to know who I was, but of course, I didn’t tell her because her intense anger scared me. Instead, I crossed calls via three-way with her brother, who lived in nearby Greenfield. Kim had learned he was there, and when I called him, he found the whole thing amusing, asking who would be the dominant one in a relationship. Laurie, on the other hand, was furious.

After a few more calls, I realized it was time to back off before I got into serious trouble. This was a cop, after all. But it was too late. I received a call from Sergeant D, demanding to see me at the Springfield police station immediately.

Kim drove me to the station the next evening. I wore a snug black tank dress with black pumps, and I could tell that Sergeant D liked what he saw right away. That was the goal.

Sergeant D, Kim, and I went into a small office and talked for about ten minutes. I suspected that pictures were being taken so Laurie could see who I was, or maybe she was watching us through a camera somewhere. Although cops are known to be notorious liars, Sergeant D kept his word and let me go, saying it was over as far as he was concerned. He even broke the law in my favor. I had a warrant out for not showing up in court for Jenny, and he should’ve held me until Monday (it was Saturday) and brought me to court straight from jail. Instead, I promised him I’d go to court, and I did. As I said earlier, though, nothing happened.

One day, Kim took me to the home of a couple in their fifties who lived in Greenfield. Their names were Bob and Sandra. Kim explained that she had been Bob’s nurse at one point, just like she had been mine, and that his wife was dying of cancer.

Though Bob stood by his wife, he was infatuated with Kim, even a little obsessed. He was always calling her, buying her gifts, and pushing for visits. I didn’t know it at the time, but Kim once gave him a little more than just nursing services.

Bob was desperate for attention. With his wife dying, he felt like he was already alone. We’d spend numerous nights chatting on the phone.

I knew the feeling. I started crying to my sister more and more about how isolated and trapped I felt. She and I had grown closer and I felt like I could really open up to her. I wished so badly that I could join Andy in Arizona. I’d always wanted to live out west anyway. I begged my parents to send me there, but they wouldn’t.

Though Kim and I went to a few gay bars in Northampton, I had no better luck there than in Springfield. If anything, my luck got worse when I met Maliheh. Despite her petite size, I was immediately attracted to her. I was surprised to learn she was thirty-four; she looked ten years younger. She seemed nice at first and even kissed me after a dance, leading me to believe she was attracted to me too. Wouldn’t most people think that if they were kissed just an hour after meeting someone?

At this point, I was ready to settle for just some fun intimacy. After going through so much drama with Ron, Al, Kacey, and Brenda, the idea of a relationship was becoming less appealing. It seemed like relationships were out, and casual encounters were in anyway. I figured it was best to go with the flow if I wanted to get anywhere.

The next night, I called Maliheh and left a message, making it clear that I didn’t want any strings attached. I just didn’t want there to be any guessing games.

An hour later, the phone rang, and I was about to face another furious and senseless response. It was as if I’d told her I planned to kill her!

“Jodi?”

“Yes?”

“It’s Maliheh.”

“Oh, hello. How are you?”

“Not so good. First, you’re all persistent at the bar, assaulting me with twenty questions, and now you tell me you don’t want to get serious? But I never intended to get serious with you in the first place! Did I do anything to give you that impression?”

“Actually, you did,” I said, wondering if she was too drunk to remember our dance and kiss, though she hadn’t seemed to be at the time.

“You’re alone because of you!” she screamed, and before I could ask why she was alone, she hung up.

I put the phone down, stunned, outraged, and hurt. Had I really been that persistent? I didn’t think so. And what was this about twenty questions? I’d only asked normal, ordinary things anyone would ask when meeting someone.

“Don’t fret, little one,” Bob had said. “Those unfortunate in romance are often greatly compensated later in life.”

But how much later? I wondered. When I was fifty? Better later than never, I figured, but I wasn’t as hopeful as Bob.

Naturally, Maliheh ended up on my calling list. I got a bit carried away, too. I couldn’t help it. Right or wrong, I was just so angry and tired of being jerked around.