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Story: Lookin’ for Love
eighty-three f
Goodbye . . . Hello
T he first thing I did when I returned to New Jersey was to transfer my professional license from New Jersey to Arizona. Next, I arranged for a mover and a company to ship my 1986 Pontiac Sunbird. I then stopped at Blissful to give my notice. Two weeks later, Suzi, Katie, and I said our private goodbyes, then joined the entire salon for my going-away party.
I was leaving behind my AA sponsor and those I had sponsored. I thought back on the woman I’d been when I attended my first meeting. That woman would never have had the courage to move across the country alone, confident her sobriety would travel with her.
I was proud of who I’d become, but that didn’t mean I was leaving without remorse. The distance between my boys and me would be there no matter where I lived. I prayed that over time, we could heal our broken lives.
Saying goodbye to Warren was bittersweet. He’d been my lifesaver, my friend, the father I never had. He’d remarried and had his sister and family, so I knew he’d be taken care of.
“I wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for you, Warren,” I confided at our last meeting.
“Sure ya would’ve. Ya didn’t need me. All I did was be yer friend.”
“I’ll treasure your friendship forever,” I said.
w
For five days I lived out of a suitcase and slept on an air mattress until my things arrived. I danced around the empty apartment singing, “It’s all mine!” The dream belonged to me and no one else. I’d begun a new chapter with a clear and sober mind. Nobody could take that from me.
At Harmony Spa, Rebecca introduced me to the other employees and some regular clients. I agreed to do a few manis and pedis gratis. Soon, women were asking for me, tipping generously, and making regular appointments. Before long, I was earning enough to cover my living expenses and more.
Three days after my arrival, I plugged myself into local AA meetings, which was where I met Shelley, my Scottsdale sponsor. Back in New Jersey, I’d had a positive relationship with my sponsor, but it never grew beyond the parameters of addiction. Shelley was different. We clicked and became best friends.
By October, the one-hundred-degree days slid into the eighties, and the snowbirds arrived. My chair was booked every day, and I began paying off my debts. Business boomed through early spring, when our weather warmed, and the northerners returned home.
I began sponsoring other alcoholics, mostly younger women. I’d let them know I was a no-nonsense sponsor.
“If you’re not serious about getting sober, don’t even ask me to sponsor you,” I’d say and wait for their response. Some brushed me off; others agreed and soon gave up. I saw myself in them and hoped eventually they’d find the serenity I’d known for many years.
After two years in Scottsdale, I began sponsoring a thirty-something woman who’d recently gotten her real estate license.
“You should really buy a place, Ava,” she said.
“I lost so much on my Jersey condo. I don’t think I could do it again.”
She knew some of my story, including my disastrous third marriage. “Just ’cause you got burned once doesn’t mean it’ll happen again.”
I still hesitated.
“Every month you pay rent is like throwing your money down the drain.”
She had a point. “Okay, why not?”
Like most Scottsdale communities, Desert View featured adobe buildings landscaped with cactus and palms.
“They cater to seniors and snowbirds,” my realtor said. “I know you’re neither, but it’ll be quiet, and you won’t have to worry about a bunch of twenty-somethings moving in.”
The second-floor condo was about the size of my apartment, which suited me perfectly. A small gym, pool, and clubhouse were included with my monthly fee.
“The original owner upgraded everything.” She showed me an up-to-date kitchen and bath, hardwood floors, and gorgeous lighting.
“It’s perfect,” I said. “I’d like to bring a friend to see the place before I commit.”
At age fifty-four, I’d finally learned to think before acting.
I brought Shelley to see the place.
“Ava, it’s you,” Shelley said.
“And it won’t cost much more than my apartment.”
“What about a down payment?” she asked.
“It’s only $92,000. They’re asking 10 percent down. I think I can swing it.”
Shelley looked at me with concern. “You’ll be back where you started when you moved here.”
“Financially, yes, but look what I’m gaining.”
“What about your debts?”
I still had credit card debt from my move and first few months in Scottsdale. “You’re good at math, Shelley. Let’s do the numbers.”
We sat on a bench outside the condo. Shelley played with her calculator, then turned to me.
“If you don’t mind carrying your current debt for a while longer, you can swing it.”
The next day, I put in my offer. Three months later, I moved into my new home.
Before I unpacked a single box, I poured a glass of sparkling cider, stood on my balcony, and toasted. “To me!”
I thought back to the day nearly thirty-six years before when my mother threw me out of the house. I reflected on the loss of family, home, and security. I’d never been shown unconditional love, never had peace of mind, yet I’d survived.
Three failed marriages, a child whom I hadn’t seen in thirteen years, another child who barely acknowledged me. Prison, addiction, and sorrow, yet I’d survived.
There must be a higher purpose. I promised myself I’d find that purpose.
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