Anniversary

 Yesterday, September 17, marks three years since I moved into this park, in 2022.

 On a Saturday in the almost fall I loaded my Hyundai Accent with all my things and drove 13 miles from Selden Ave in Ormond Beach to Riverside Mobile Home and RV park in Port Orange, Florida. My dad followed me with my mattress in his hatchback. I had been down here once to meet with my new roommate Tommy. It seemed like a nice place, a trailer park on the water. But in reality, it was one of my only options, as my dad had given me three months to move out, and this guy was charging $500 to rent a room without a door in the back of his trailer. I would have to drive far for work in Ormond Beach, but I didn’t care. I was scared of being homeless.

Tommy left the back door unlocked and I carried in my various belongings, like my milk crate full of books, my binder from rehab, and my hospital folders. All my clothes fit in a round, green plastic laundry basket. I was wearing my black tred-safe work shoes, as I had just gotten off my shift at the Winn Dixie bakery. Tommy had lit a little vanilla candle in the bedroom. It smelled homey and comforting. I had grown up in a trailer, so I had no problem living in one again. Although being evicted from my dads gave me a bad vibe, like i was being thrown into the big scary world, and I didn’t know if it would take care of me. And I wasn’t very good at taking care of myself. My self care routine was buying myself a soda and two packs of cigarettes at Dollar General, getting drunk at the bar, getting high, binge eating my dad’s leftovers, and showering when I felt like it. It was only a year since my breakup and nervous breakdown and I was still somewhat coping with loneliness and regret. This little room in this little trailer was a sense of security. I believed I would make it.

The night I moved in I took a hot shower and put on a big T-shirt and joined Tommy in the living room on the loveseat. He sat in his recliner watching tv. I can’t remember what was on. We would end up watching a lot of movies together, and eating dinner together every night. He got me my own tv tray. That first night being there and not being high was kind of weird. It felt like rehab. I made myself some beef stew in a pouch I brought with me. It was good. It felt nice to feel clean and warm and fed, and a bed waiting for me in a cozy carpeted room lit with a candle.

For the first month we lived together he was totally sober and diligently going to AA. As for myself, I had stopped smoking weed, as I figured I couldn’t afford the sixty dollar a week expense. But i would keep smoking cigarettes, as long as it was outside, and Tommy found me a big seashell ashtray. “When are you gonna give up the grits?” he would say. After work he’d give me big bear hugs, and gave me big flannel shirts to wear, and tell me “you know Tommy loves you.” It wasn’t weird, that’s just who he was. He was an alcoholic with a big heart, and more than that a California boy through and through. He really was a good roommate.

About a year later I ended up leaving Tommy’s on bad terms, as my alcohol problem had gotten out of control, and he couldn’t take any more of my “drama.” Oddly, I understood. I wasn’t even staying at the place I paid rent on, and actually my mom had paid one or two months rent for me. I moved in with John down the street, who took care of me through my alcoholism. 

I got sober in late March 2024. And now I have a year and a half of sobriety (!). Like Boston says, Don’t Look Back. But A.A. says we will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it. It led us to where we are today. I remember people like Tommy, gracious and giving in his own way, and I’m thankful for John, tough and resilient. And actually those qualities can be reversed for both of them. And doubled. And I’ve thought it was a mistake for me to move into this park, but sometimes I think it was meant to be…