The Big Fix by Tracey Helton Mitchell

Author:Tracey Helton Mitchell
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781580056045
Publisher: Seal Press

Chapter 7

FROM MR. RIGHT NOW TO MR. RIGHT

I would never describe myself as a woman who dreams of great romance. I never fantasized about a white knight sweeping me off my feet. Growing up in suburban Ohio, I assumed I could instead ensnare him with my smarts instead of the looks I didn’t think I had. Fortunately for him, I never got the opportunity. My lifetime of insecurities and lack of boundaries would have made for an ugly coupling. He may have started out valiant, but no doubt he would have run away as angry and confused as I was for many years.

Nevertheless, after I became sober a white knight did briefly come into my life. And like the legend, he swept me off my feet.

I was living in my little room when I met him. I had received my six-month key tag to mark my clean time a few months earlier. I wore it clipped to my belt as if to ward off evil spirits. I was still in my gender-neutral fashion phase, still was not settled into the fact that I was free to be a woman again, not a sexless creature who hid her true self to avoid violence. I would wear baggy jeans, a loose man’s shirt, colorful shoes, and rings on every finger. Jewelry is currency because you can always take it off and trade it for a hit. Although I was 100 percent dedicated to my recovery, old habits were tough to break. I still slept with a sweatshirt over my eyes as when I was homeless; I still pressed my clothes by putting them under my mattress to get sharp creases, as I had in jail; and I still wondered about the value of various items in the street economy. When the dentist asked me what kind of crown I wanted for my tooth, I requested gold. I joked with the dentist, “If I ever relapse, I can get a set of pliers and pull it out.” I’m not sure he appreciated the humor. I was well on the road to social acceptability, but I still enjoyed a bit of self-deprecating humor. To add to my improving dental situation, I had finally gotten some contacts, fancy hair products, and a little bit of makeup.

I was feeling unusually self-confident that Thursday night when I walked into the basement of the homeless shelter. I was really trying: branching out, doing different meetings, getting phone numbers from people. The meeting was mostly made up of residents who lived upstairs. The exposed bricks and glass blocks that led directly to the sidewalk up above made the room an icebox. I curled my hands around my coffee for dear life. My sponsor was the secretary every other week. I missed her that night. I was waiting for the meeting to start when the door opened and this glowing creature backlit in a halo of afternoon light walked in. He was wearing white from head to toe, his alabaster tracksuit, leather sneakers, and translucent skin lighting up the dim room.

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