Chapter Four

The Boot, Part 1

Tisa never told Larry about her afternoon encounter. They still played the lawyer game from time to time, and once in awhile Tisa would even stop and question a passer-by to test Larry’s observation skills, but she stopped short of actually flirting with anyone. It had been painful to see herself as others saw her, if only in that moment, and she had no wish to revisit those feelings. The past months she had opened up to Larry more, but there were some things she kept to herself.

Larry had gotten her to talk a little, and she might have called him a friend if she hadn’t been so accustomed to seeing the value in people based upon what tangibles they could provide her. She opened up to Larry in ways that she refused with the counselors. Mostly out of spite – because she knew it was their job to get her to talk – she said nothing to them. Had she known Larry had been put up to speaking with her, she might felt differently, but she saw him as harmless which meant she didn’t have to be on the defensive, protecting all her secrets. She talked a great deal about her family life, which, she was quick to point out, was not as it appeared.

And she liked learning about Larry and his past life of being a runner. It sounded glamorous and interesting to be a concierge (which she imagined would be her position – none of this runner bullshot). She hadn’t realized that people could actually make an upper class living doing nothing but sitting around making phone calls to get the same crap she was getting people in high school. Larry made it seem like it was more work than that, but Tisa surmised it was his own self-importance that made answering phones and getting dinner reservations difficult. Still, she could sit for hours while he talked about this or that particular day at the hotel: seeing Bill Cosby or Morris Day; running out to fill and order for Madonna; Getting some coke for Aerosmith.

In fact, though Tisa still complained that the Center was more like prison than a rehab facility, she had grown quite comfortable, even complacent, with her surroundings. She had lapsed into a routine that, while not particularly industrious or exciting, provided her with a place to eat and sleep, and asked very little of her. Her complacency did not stop her from believing the place was a hellhole and its inhabitants belly crawlers, but she was staying clean and getting into relatively few spats with the guests. She had managed to figure out how to keep from working, but she was on track. To the Loves, every day that someone stayed clean was a victory.

Guests were required to work 15 hours a week at the Center. Jobs varied, but tended to be fairly manual in nature. Dusting, sweeping, kitchen patrol, cleaning of the bathrooms, and so on, kept the guests busy and gave them some small amount of training for taking direction from others in their new lives. Many guests had never had regular jobs in their lives, and simply being somewhere on time was a task. Most guests were expected to contribute in some way, and did so without much fanfare. Theirs was a family, after all, and the Loves taught that each family member was responsible for sharing the burdens of the community.

Even before Domini was born, getting Tisa to do her chores was nothing short of miraculous. Now that Domini was around, it had been all but impossible to get her to lift a finger. Wiping down the walls was toxic to her baby. Washing dishes was dangerous, because Domini could get hurt with hot water. Sweeping created dust that might contribute to crib death. Mrs. Love put Tisa in Mr. Love’s office, where there was a playpen, to file paperwork and generally engage in clerical activities, but making the requests had become such an arduous task, that Mrs. Love had asked less and less regularly. It was understood – at least by Tisa – that the girl with the infant didn’t have to work.

The baby, however, wasn’t such an infant any longer. At 10 months, Domini had the run of the Center. She was crawling over everything and using the furniture to pull herself up on her wobbly legs. When she toppled over, she would laugh her infectious laugh and the room would laugh with her. Although most of the guests had turned over at the Center at least once, the crop of newcomers seemed to delight in her development. Dr. and Mrs. Love would be sad to see her go.

But go she must, and her mother along with her. When they agreed to let the Loves keep Tisa and the baby at the Center, the Board had made it clear that a recovery center was no place for a toddler. The place simply was not child-safe from a practical perspective. Moreover, there were those on the Board who worried about other liabilities. What if, God forbid, the child was somehow violated by a guest whose background had not been thoroughly checked. What would happen to the Center if something happened to that child? It was decided that Larry was the best person to remind Tisa that she needed to start making plans to leave.

Tisa’s recalcitrant attitude and her caustic manner, particularly toward the other guests at the Center, had kept people mostly at bay. Except for Larry, she had few friends. Tisa’s presence in a particular setting was tolerated either because of the baby, or because she was in a large group (usually of smokers) where those unlucky recipients of her acrimony found support in numbers; or sometimes simply because it was, after all, a recovery center and on most days folks tried hard to be charitable.

Even still, Tisa could feel their dislike despite efforts on their part to hide their sentiments. Frankly, she didn’t care; why should she? Losers, they were, with their missing teeth, and skin diseases, and needle scars, and bad hair. Most had never graduated from high school. Fewer still had seen a college campus. Their parents and parents’ parents were drug addicts or alcoholics who verbally or physically abused them, and they came from the streets or, if they were lucky, the projects. What on earth did Tisa have to say to these people.

Had she not been a guest, she decided it was unlikely she would even have looked in their direction. Like those women in the fancy cars who parked in front of Ratto’s, it would not even occur to her to look at them, much less befriend them. She didn’t really belong in this place, and she wouldn’t be here, if it weren’t for her horrible, selfish, uncaring family, who had abandoned her in a time of great need, and who were willing to simply let her die. Note to self, she thought: my parents are assholes, too.

Given her choices – being friendly and charitable to societal throwaways or being alone – she chose the latter. If it had been permitted, she would likely have stayed in her room all day. So when she wasn’t outside on her trademark chair, she was in the day room, watching reruns of Barney Miller, Hollywood Squares and Star Trek and trying to look unapproachable so no one would change the channel (decided by majority vote) to some “old timey” show they wanted to watch, like Golden Girls, or Night Court.

Tisa had given up on the prospect of finding a job, determining that the system was stacked against her because of her baby. Even if she were able to get a job, she reasoned, she would have to relinquish most of it to the childcare provider, leaving her worse off financially and more physically exhausted than if she had done nothing. She often voiced this sentiment during ‘group,’ reminding her fellow drug addicts that at least they could try to get ahead, but she was tethered to a child and forced to work in a system that didn’t really respect the plight of single mothers or what they needed to do to survive. It might have been the first time in her life that she had actually gotten something right, though it didn’t explain the road she had taken to get here.

So, with little drive, no sense of or desire for responsibility, and few prospects in the knight/armor business, Tisa and Domini sat on Washington Street and kept to themselves. If she was in the mood to talk, Larry was there. And on occasion, when she was appearing to slide back toward the pills and powders that brought her here in the first place, Larry was there to keep her on track. If nothing else, she had been completely sober for over 12 months.

“You ready to get outta here?” he asked her one day as they sat on Washington Street, eyeing the action on the block.

“What do you mean?” she asked, somewhat coyly. She knew what he meant, but it was not a topic she cared to discuss.

“Well, it’s about that time, girl,” he said, chuckling. “I know my cookin’s good, but it’s bout time for you to graduate. Ain’t Ms. Love started your New Steps program yet?”

“No,” she lied. In fact, Mrs. Love had asked her on a couple of occasions to stop by the office to pick up some materials that would begin to orient her about her transition into regular society. She had been avoiding making the journey to the basement office.

“What if I’m not ready to go,” she said, bouncing a wiggling Domini on her lap. Surely they wouldn’t just throw her on the street. She was mindful that her year was coming to a close, but she had halfway hoped no one else had remembered; perhaps if she didn’t say anything, no one else would, either.

“Well, it don’t work that way. You gotta make room for folks who need these beds,” he said. Then he gestured to Domini, who was on the ground, using her mother’s legs to hoist herself up. “Besides, that child needs a real home, and you need to get your ass a job or get back in school. You done lounged around here long enough,” he said good-naturedly.

“I don’t have any place to go,” said Tisa, partly because it was true and partly to engender pity.

“Well, then I suggest you talk to Mrs. L about that. She’ll have some options for you and the little one,” he said, as he reached for Domini’s hand in an attempt to get her to walk. She grabbed but couldn’t hold on. Her body fell back onto the hard pavement, but she nonetheless let out a giggle.

“Would you help me, Larry? You understand me. Maybe I could stay with you, you know, just for awhile,” she offered, tucking in her chin in an attempt to look helpless. She had always been able to get men to take her in. The mere possibility of some action was usually enough to win them over. And while she may not have been a catch to a high-priced lawyer, she still looked good, at least to some old kitchen patroller like Larry.

“Shit no, you can’t move in with me!” said Larry, laughing. “What I’m gonna do with a girl half my age. Child, you could be my daughter or hell, even my granddaughter! Besides, I don’t think my girlfriend would be too keen on the idea.” Larry, leaned back and closed his eyes, “No, you got to do this on your own. I’m sure you can find some fella wanna take you in – that your business. But I’d keep to steppin’ if I were you and make your own wayt. This next move is yours.”

Tisa had not known Larry was involved with anyone, though if she had, she would not have changed her MO. He had never mentioned his girlfriend before, which surely meant he didn’t have much of a relationship with her. And while she was not attracted to Larry in the least, there were certain advantages not to be dismissed or overlooked about being with him, not the least of which was that he had a steady income. Not one to give up easily, she sweetened the pot.

“You’re not married, so I don’t see a problem with giving her the boot. I mean, maybe I could be your daughter, but I’m not.” She waved her hand over her body. “You gonna give up a taste of this?”

Larry shook his head and grabbed her hand. Then he smiled and shook his head again. She could tell by his reaction that he was not biting; that for his intents and purposes, she was his daughter. Surely she couldn’t be losing her looks. She was too young for that.

“Girl, you’re what, 29 now? You need to stop trying to pretty your way through life and start makin’ some choices about who you gonna be and what kinda example you gonna set for that little girl right there.

“Don’t get me wrong, Tisa. You are one fine lookin’ lady, but that and 50 cents gon’ get you a cup of coffee in this life. If you want you can walk out this door tomorrow and step right into a man’s life before the sun hit high noon, but any man who’d take you in that quickly ain’t gonna be good for you, your daughter, or your sobriety. You got to make some hard choices, Tisa. You’re still young. Get back in school. Get a job. Keep working the program, even on the outside there. You’ll be fine if you want to be, but there ain’t no shortcuts.”

“Oh, shut up, Larry.”

“Alright, alright, I’m leavin,” he said, getting up from his chair. “I got to go fix tonight’s dinner, anyway. You be good. Oh, and talk to Mrs. L about the New Steps stuff. If you don’t, she’ll come to you anyway.”

Tisa was beginning to wonder whether she was losing her touch. She’d had no trouble attracting John, who was by far the best looking brother in this place, but that hadn’t exactly brought her fortune. Her recent advances had twice been rebuked. In both cases, however, she had the baby and reasoned that it was probably the burden of a child that was pushing the men away. Though she loved Domini, for both their sakes she would remember not to have her around the next time she made a move. For the time being, however, she was going to have to figure out a plan. She was fairly certain that Larry was not bullshitting about them kicking her out. If he knew it, they must have been talking about it around the Center. Fuck. It was time to get serious.

It didn’t take long for Mrs. Love to force the issues of Tisa’s departure, nor did it take Tisa long to figure out that she was not going to fenagle, cajole, or otherwise persuade the Loves into letting her stay. Even a strategic hug from Domini was unable to change the tide from pushing her out. These people were assholes, thought Tisa.


Once it was clear that she would be turned out – hell or high water – at the end of next month, whatever attitudinal progress she had made over the course of her stay and her talks with Larry, disappeared. She was back to pointing the finger at anyone who might be blamed for her predicament. And now, with a baby, it seemed to Tisa that people were even more distant and sabotaging than ever.

“Here is a packet I want you to read,” said Mrs. Love, at their second one-on-one meeting about the New Steps program. She handed the packet to Tisa, whose pursed lips made it clear that she found the task unpleasant. “Over the course of today and tomorrow, you will want to remove each sheet that requires some information, and fill it out. Now, we’ll type these forms, so you if you make a mistake, just erase or cross it out. We’ll make sure that they look nice and pretty for you.” Mrs. Love smacked her two hands on her knees with a smile. “This is exciting, Tisa.”

“Exciting for you maybe,” said Tisa. “Now, you can have my room. Why should you care if I end up in some women’s shelter?”

“Oh, Tisa,” said Mrs. Love, who was visibly hurt by the comments. “I know you don’t mean that. The goal of the Center is not to leave people in the lurch; it’s the graduate them to a better life.”

The packet contained a checklist, various applications, a blue composition book on top of which had been written The New Steps program had been created by the Center to help make the final transition from the Center to an independent life. 60 days prior to a guest’s departure, he – and now she – would meet with a staff member every other day and they would work with the guest on various skills required to get a good start.

With guests willing to take Domini for an hour here and there, a firm hand and a serious push from Mrs. Love, and encouragement of good things to come from Larry, Tisa managed to get the various applications completed. From Section 8 housing applications to additional public assistance programs, to entry level job applications, Tisa was, at least on paper, ready to go.

They had collectively decided that June 30, 1989 would be Tisa’s departure date; the date having been chosen primarily because that’s when Tisa would begin receiving public assistance in addition to her WIC subsidies. There was some concern, at 3 weeks to go, that Tisa had still not yet found housing. The usual places the Center could count on didn’t have space, and Section 8 housing approval had not come through yet, meaning Tisa would have to pay full price for a place to stay.

It was one thing for the Center to be in a questionable neighborhood; there was strength in numbers, the cops patrolled regularly, and the Center was known as a safe haven. The likelihood of someone getting attacked at the Center was low. But a woman with a soon-to-be toddler needed security, and the places she could afford on public assistance, absent Section 8 approval, were not the sort of places a single female recovering addict or a child should be. Tisa relented to having the Center contact her parents; perhaps she could live in the guest house; at least until she got on her feet. Phone calls were made and arrangements were put in place. Tisa would go home where she could live for a year so long as she met the same two criteria Mr. Cormier had specified in his first conversations with the center: sobriety, and a job (or school).

Through the good graces of Mrs. Love, who explained to Mr. Cormier that a recovering addict trying to get a job could face serious obstacles made all the more challenging by the presence of a child, could take awhile, Mr. Cormier agreed to a six-month period of time to transition, and he promised Mrs. Love that if Tisa could demonstrate that she was working toward a job, he would let her stay.

A week before Tisa’s departure, the guests and staff threw a birthday party for Domini. It would be the only farewell Tisa would have. She had not found her way into the hearts of the Center’s inhabitants as her daughter had. At 8am, Tisa brought down a suitcase and 3 boxes filled with toys, clothes, and diapers, loaded them in the trunk of Mrs. Love’s car, and left with only a hug from Larry.