Bio - 20 in My Bio

My nine-year-old niece, Lisa, took my departure from New England hard. We had grown so close.

I never saw Barbara again. She was never around the few times I went back to the apartment with Dad or Tammy to grab something. A part of me wanted to confront her now that I could breathe easier, but another part of me didn’t care. I was leaving. That was all that mattered.

By my last day in New England, I was completely exhausted. Excitement had kept me up the night before, so when we visited Cousins Boo and Max in Longmeadow, I crashed on their bed for a couple of hours before it was time to head to the airport.

I jolted awake the moment I heard my father calling me from the foot of the stairs. “Time to go.”

“Oh my God!” I thought. “This is it. I’m not dreaming—I really have a date with the friendly skies to sunny Phoenix, Arizona!”

And so did Shadow, who was flying with me in a pet travel carrier.

Boo and Max gave me $100, which was generous of them. They later sent a little more once I’d arrived. I hated asking for money, but I didn’t want to bother my parents. I asked Boo and Max not to mention it to them, but I’m sure they did. Either way, I was grateful for the help.

We drove back to Connecticut, to Bradley Airport in Windsor Locks. We arrived just before my 4:30 PM flight, which would land in Phoenix at 10:30 PM Eastern Time (7:30 PM in Phoenix), with a brief layover in Cincinnati.

As Dad and I walked through the terminal, I felt lighter with every step.

“I’m free now,” I told him.

“I know,” he replied.

I was overwhelmed with emotion, shock, and excitement, crying so much that Dad had to practically hold me up as we made our way to the plane.

“You can board with her,” the stewardess said to my dad, likely assuming I was afraid of flying.

He walked me to my seat, and we said our goodbyes. It would be the second to last time I ever saw him.

It felt like an eternity before the plane began taxiing down the runway. I took one last, long look at the world I was about to leave behind.

Suddenly, the plane lurched forward.

Life would never be the same.

It was 7:30 PM when the plane touched down in Phoenix on June 9, 1992. The flight had been long and exhausting, but exciting. I was amazed by the massive mountains and countless swimming pools dotting the landscape as we approached Sky Harbor Airport—there seemed to be more pools than in all of the Northeast combined.

I had no idea how different my life was about to become and I wholeheartedly agreed with those who said I deserved my newfound happiness. After years of misfortune, it was time for some compensation. Of course, I still faced my share of problems. For the first six months in Arizona, I was so broke I feared I’d starve. My parents sent non-edible items that couldn’t be bought with food stamps, but I couldn’t get food stamps in the first place for quite a while and there were only so many times I could go to the food bank. The food stamp and SSI offices really jerked me around. They take advantage of people who move, delaying things to save themselves money.

After Andy and I retrieved Shadow and my luggage from the baggage claim, we headed to his studio apartment at the Vista Ventana complex. The hot, dry air reminded me of Texas, where I’d visited my sister one summer when I was twelve. I marveled at the palms, cacti, and modern buildings. The massive mountains in the distance were breathtaking. I knew I wouldn’t miss the Northeast with its old, dreary buildings or the cold, rainy, and snowy climate.

“Quit smoking,” my dad had told me before I boarded the plane. “That can be your IOU.”

No, I thought. You owed me. After everything I endured because of you and your wife, you owed me this much. He would still get his request one day—just not as soon as he’d hoped.

Arizona had its pros and cons. My asthma improved slightly, but my allergies became a million times worse, causing me to sneeze nonstop for up to 24 hours at a time.

I missed having patches of woods to provide privacy and block sound. Arizona was so flat and open—you could see for miles, especially outside the city. The bugs were terrifying, with huge spiders, cockroaches, and biting ants. Bees were everywhere, year-round. And the drinking water was awful—like diluted bleach.

The dividing walls in the apartments were too thin. Though better than the NHA, I could still hear footsteps, doors slamming, and other noises that annoyed me as a light sleeper. I swear the NHA scarred me for life—every door slam made my whole body tense up. And as I would later learn, most buildings in Arizona were constructed the same way.

Despite the downsides, apartments, and houses were cheaper and more plentiful back then, and they were gorgeous and modern. Dishwashers and central heating/cooling were standard. The monsoon storms were intense but amazing, with vivid lightning and thunder that could rival gunshots. The rain was much heavier than anything I’d seen back east.

The complex grounds were beautiful, unlike anything I’d seen before. The complex stretched an entire city block, with clusters of buildings surrounding two pools, soda machines, pay phones, and laundry rooms.

After four days in Andy’s second-floor studio, I moved two buildings away to a ground-floor studio of my own. It was small—just 400 square feet, like my Norwich apartment—but functional, even if I had to use upside-down boxes for furniture. On the day I moved in, about 30 boxes of my personal belongings, shipped by my dad, arrived.

I met a dozen or so neighbors, but most weren’t very friendly. Robert, who lived above me, stomped around like an elephant. Mark, who lived next door, was a typical pig, constantly making inappropriate comments until I scared him half to death with a threatening note. He even talked about getting a gun the next day—probably not the first time he’d made enemies.

Donna and Rosemarie were attractive but turned out to be major backstabbers. Prejudiced against gays, they made me wonder if there were any good-looking people who weren’t so hateful. Rosemarie, who I found particularly attractive, freaked out when she learned I liked her.

“I’m religious, so I think it’s best if we don’t associate,” she said.

“Oh, I thought religion taught people to accept others as they are,” I replied.

Andy and I were open about who we were. If someone asked if I had a boyfriend, I’d say I preferred women, and if they didn’t like it—tough! However, I was shocked at how prejudiced people in Arizona could be. They were quick to target gays, yet anyone speaking against the city’s “ethnic freeloaders” was labeled a racist.

Andy and I met several people at this apartment complex, and I wrote weekly letters to my family. Sometimes they surprised me with letters of their own.

Angel and Dennis were among the few kind neighbors. Dennis helped me move, and Angel was a frequent chat partner at the pool.

Then there was Tara, who was into drawing, and Tonya, an exotic dancer, both just 18. Tara helped me improve my drawing skills, and Tonya made me consider dancing myself. I loved to dance and was tired of being broke, so I pondered the idea for a while.

Though Arizona had its challenges, it was the beginning of an entirely new chapter—one filled with unexpected twists, adventures, and opportunities.

Fay, a heavyset woman who lived across from me, started off as friendly enough. But over time, I realized she had a big mouth, so I gradually began to ignore her. She was just too phony and two-faced for my liking.

Randy, on the other hand, was one of the nicest people I met. If I’d been attracted to him, I could have easily seen myself wanting a relationship. He was easygoing and made for pleasant company.

Kara was also one of the better ones. She was a twenty-two-year-old with a year-old daughter. They lived with Kara’s mom and eventually moved to a nearby complex not long after I arrived.

Then there was Eluisa—now, that one was a bit strange. Ellie introduced herself to me at the pool one day. She seemed perfectly sane and friendly at first. But when she started talking about little FBI agents hiding out in her heating vents, I quickly realized what I was dealing with—a few cards short of a full deck. She could be in a fine mood one minute and then fly off the handle over the smallest things.

Andy and I continued our little pranks, calling random people around the city. With Caller ID about to hit the scene, we were careful not to keep dialing the same number—it was getting too risky.

As the weather cooled, Andy and I would laugh at friends and family back east, still stuck dealing with the cold and snow, though Arizona could get pretty chilly at night during the winter too. Arizona only seemed to have two seasons: either it was hot enough to roast you, or it was borderline cold.

Back in the projects, Debbie actually did me a favor—though I didn’t realize it at the time. Andy and I had sent her a weird, wacky letter. Nothing threatening, just bizarre stuff. Well, she panicked and ran to the cops, who ended up contacting the probation officer (PO) I was supposed to report to in Phoenix.

The PO had left his calling card on my door one day while I was out, but I ignored it, determined to take charge of my own life. I wasn’t going to let the past hold me back, especially over some petty phone calls. Since I didn’t have a phone during my first four months in Arizona, he went through Stacey, the apartment manager, to reach me.

I called him from Andy’s place and gave him a piece of my mind for dragging the management company into my personal business. I felt like he had no right to involve others.

But it turned out we were done with each other before we ever even met. Because of that letter to Debbie, he informed me that he was dropping my case and that I didn’t have the “blessing” to live in Arizona.

“Well, obviously I do or I wouldn’t be here,” I told him before hanging up.

Six months passed, and then I received a large envelope from Sheila, my original PO in Massachusetts. All she wanted was for me to fill out a brief questionnaire every month for about six months, and that was it.