PART FOUR: Chapter Four
Faced with eviction, I had to quickly locate another place to live, however, I feared that the eviction would hurt my chances of finding someplace nice. Thankfully, I was able to get a place on the North Providence-Smithfield border. It was a lovely luxury apartment complete with a clubhouse that boasted an indoor and outdoor swimming pool, a sauna, an indoor racketball court and a gym. The rent was only about ten dollars more than I was paying in Cranston. My credit check went through and I was "in" although I am not sure how because of the pending eviction. The apartment, itself, had vaulted ceilings and a gorgeous deck overlooking beautiful trees. I thought it was perfect. I began to plan my move.
Unfortunately, while I was preoccupied preparing to move, Eric decided to return and bring with him a black cloud that smothered every bit of joy I had within me. Why couldn't he just go away for good and not return? Why did he have to keep popping in and out of my life? His face was dry and the kinky hair that had sat upon his head like a overused, dirty SOS pad was gone. He looked like an African Mr. Clean, only Mr. Clean was far more "clean-looking". I never knew why he looked so grimy and "ashy". His skin was so dry and, because of his very dark complexion, the dryness made his skin look grey.
After I was moved and settled in the new place, Eric somehow convinced me he'd get a job and "behave himself". He said he was attending anger management classes and I dropped him off to make sure he was. Deep within my soul, I knew he hadn't changed and that I was only playing with fire. Nevertheless, I concentrated my efforts on trying to separate myself from my past and the ignorance that bred me in order to be successful at my career, to be something, to see the world and to learn, learn , learn.
Shortly after my move, my thoughts returned to my mother. I so desperately wanted for her to love me and, most importantly, for her to be proud of me. I did, however, have questions that I wanted her to answer. Why did she abandon me after she was granted full custody of me? Why did she return for my little brother and not me? Why did she let my father take us when she knew about his unfavorable reputation? I was not going to judge her, that was not my purpose. My purpose was to get answers, to have a heart-to-heart with her, to forgive her and to begin a loving mother-daughter relationship with her. I so needed her in my life at this point and I wanted her to need me, too.
My attempt at getting answers from my mother went sour immediately. I decided I would call the number I had kept since I was a child when she used to visit us every Sunday. I could feel a lump in my throat as I dialed the number. When she answered, I was speechless and actually had to grab my throat in an effort to force myself to speak.
"Ma," I said. "It's me, Candace." I could hear nothing but silence. "I graduated from college and am now a full-time English teacher in the Providence Public School Department. I teach 7th grade at Perry." Still nothing but the rustling of the phone in her hands. I bet she was waiting like I was for some clue as to where the phone call was leading. Finally, she spoke.
"Yes, we read it in the paper. Your graduation." Not even a "congratulations". Suddenly emotions took ahold of me. Everything I wanted to say flew out of my mouth like floodwaters bursting from a dam. All I remember saying is, "Why? Why did you leave me? WHY?" She began sobbing. She knew this day was coming. How could someone do something to their own child and not think that they would have to face it one day? Her sobs did not move me. I feel silent as she handed the phone to her new husband.
"You have always been a problem. Difficult." he said. WHAT?How the hell was I ever a "problem"? And when was I ever "difficult" and how did HE know what I was? I could not believe what I was hearing. That was a copout. I didn't think my mother was sorry for one minute for what she had done and the nerve of her to concoct some story about me being the "bad child", the "bad seed"! I was so annoyed that I hung up and promised myself that I would try again sometime soon. I felt I could make her see the truth and she'd love me and take me back with open arms and treat me as a mother who loved her daughter would. It would be a long time before I realized that in terms of family, I only had myself and that my own mother would have rather seen me dead than walking around being a successful and productive human being.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Thursday, February 2, 2012
PART FOUR: Chapter Three
PART FOUR: Chapter Three
I couldn't wait to tell the news of my job to my college mates. I began phoning a few of my friends to tell them the news and wondered why it had been a few months since they last called me. One of my female friends tiredly told me on the phone, "I did call you but someone --some guy--who picked up said you didn't live there anymore." Instantly, I knew who it was. That bastard! How dare he? Was he trying to separate me from my friends? Who would do such an stupid thing? I was too embarrassed to even explain to my friends what had happened. I was ashamed, yet I did nothing about it. It was as if there were some subconscious level of comfort being with a man who reminded me so much of my father.
I had a very beautiful female friend who had attended college with me. I remember many of the guys on campus were drawn to her and some even asked me to "hook them up" with her. I was always slightly annoyed because her beauty was something I so much wish I had. She was everything I wasn't. She was tall, slender, model-gorgeous, half-white and had big-doe eyes with the most flirtatious long eyelashes. She had long, soft brown hair, a beautiful smile and the sexiest voice, the kind men would love listening to over the phone. She knew she was gorgeous, too, and did not ignore the attention she received. She was well-known by the Warwick, Rhode Island police officers since one of their fellow officers fell for her hard and she continued to lead him on, toying with his heart. Her flirtatious manner sickened me but I enjoyed being in her company because it made me feel less significant. One evening, she had come to visit me, complaining of car problems and inquired about Eric trying to fix her problem. Like a fool, I sent Eric outside to assist her. I don't know what transpired between the two but, when Eric returned indoors about forty-five minutes later, he was grinning from ear to ear and asked me if "she had a man". I angrily asked him why he cared and he replied that he had a friend whom he like her to meet. He then accused me of being jealous of my own friend. I could feel the anger boiling within the pit of my stomach but I said nothing. I had work to do. I had a career, something those two didn't have.
Weeks into my teaching career, I received another call from my very attractive female friend. I had stopped calling her because I did began to despise her beauty. When I asked her why she had called, she said that she just wanted to see how "my job was going". I told her that it was great despite the fact that the students tested me every single day, that I taught at the worst school in the district and that there had been many days I left work holding back tears because the kids were such rude punks. Our conversation ended quickly and I returned to my work of correcting and grading papers. The work had become so much, that I was unable to enjoy my time alone when Eric was in the street with his friends. I decided that I would begin to go into work early, something which infuriated Eric. When I first told him this, his eyes swelled with tears and he said, "Why the fuck do you need to go into work early for? All you teachers do is sit at the desk and correct fucking papers!" Ignoring his vulgar outburst, I held firm to my decision. Home was not a good place for me to concentrate. Eric began to cause arguments nightly which often ended with the police visiting us because a neighbor overheard us. Eric also became more violent and destructive. When he'd come home way after dark, he'd have a wild look in his eyes and would accuse me of "fucking around" and would then begin to smash and throw things. He'd break anything that was in his path. I stopped buying nice things because it, eventually, it would only end up being destroyed. These times were just like those times when my father would come home and start an argument with my mother. Something was always broken, some gun or knife always came out and he had a stereotypical truck driver's filthy mouth. Eric was no different and I tolerated it. I hid it from people at work. Eric had conned his way into my work like so that he could just freely roam the building and put flowers outside my classroom door as a pathetic apology for an all-night fight. I usually threw them in the garbage at the end of the day so no one would ask me questions. I had dark circles beneath my eyes and bruises on my arms that I hid with the long sleeves of my dress jackets. I was afraid to tell my colleagues because I didn't want to lose my job or cause people to look at me unprofessionally. It didn't help that the married math teacher on my team made repeated suggestive remarks to me, sometimes asking me if I'd go out with him if he were not married. Was that all was, some toy to be played with? Darkness engulfed my soul once again and I often wondered how I could disappear without anyone knowing. I hated Eric. I hated my life. I hated being afraid. I wanted Eric to leave but he always told me he wasn't going anywhere.
Crying to myself one night after enduring more abuse from Eric who, as he would often do after an argument, took off in my car, I phoned my very attractive girlfriend. I didn't care that she couldn't be trusted. I didn't care that I hadn't spoken to her in months. I just needed an ear, any ear, even if that ear belonged to someone who could care less about me. I had no one. Eric had managed to separate me from everyone I knew. I had no more friends. My two older half-brothers who had managed to find me before I met Eric and who established a relationship with me were gone, too. I was alone, so alone and my heart felt as though it were going to explode from so much sorrow.
When my friend picked up the phone, she was not eager to listen to me. She sounded irritated and sighed, cutting me off. "Your boyfriend has been calling me." she said. I suspected it but was not prepared for the sudden revelation. She continued, "He asked if I had a man and I asked him if Candace knew he was calling me. He hung up and called me again the next day." I cried into the phone. She asked me if I wanted her to come over and I informed her that I had moved. She didn't know my address, or so I thought. "I know where you live." she snapped and hung up. In about a half hour, I heard the buzzer and it was my friend who had brought along one of her girlfriends. By this time, Eric had called the house numerous times and I cussed him out each time asking him why he called my friend and how he had gotten her number. I asked him where he was and he said he had just ordered Chinese food for us at the Chinese restaurant down the street.
My body trembled as I asked my friend's friend to drive me to the restaurant. Was I crazy going after this fool like some ghetto chic in the hood? I tried so hard to move beyond the ghetto stereotypical angry Black woman and here I was affirming it. I sobbed in the car uncontrollably. I couldn't believe he'd mess with my own friend. I didn't even realize that my friend had been sleeping with him all along and, because of something gone wrong, had decided to reveal it to me. When I spotted Eric walking into the restaurant, I screamed , "There he is!" and the car screeched up to the curb retching me onto the sidewalk. Stumbling, I angrily asked Eric, "Why did you call my friend?" Eric looked stunned. I remember asking myself why I, a professional, dealt with such low-lives. My friend, was suddenly beside me, her face a granite slate. "We were just fucking with her!" Eric protested. I lost every bit of common sense that I had. I didn't care how late it was or who could hear me. I let out a pistol-hot stream of cuss words , unaware that my friend and her friend who drove the car were gone. The rest of the night was a blur. Somehow, I ended back in our apartment, Eric trying to convince me that he was just trying to get his friend hooked up with her, claiming he got her number when it fell out of my address book. For some reason, I believed him, just shook it off like a bad dream. Maybe it was too much for my mind to handle, so I forced myself to believe his stories. Deep in my heart, I knew he was a snake in the grass and that he would lie even if his own life depended upon him telling the truth. I just didn't want to deal with it, didn't want to be seen as a failure, didn't want to prove to the world that no one could really love me for me.
Despite Eric's constant disappointments, I stayed in the relationship. When he'd pack up some of his belongings and say he was leaving, I no longer pleaded. He'd always return within a few days anyway. Where he went, I never knew. I stopped caring. I immersed myself in trying to be the best and most professional teacher I could be. I was gaining respect at my school. School was a place where I was important. I was a somebody I was smart. No one called me "Stupid American". I was "Ms. Cunningham" and students began to respect me as well. I had developed a survival tactic. I no longer had feelings for the students to hurt. I could make the "wanna-be" bad-ass students cry and, at times, it felt good. I felt in control. I was the drill sergeant in my classroom. My classroom was my world. In there, I inspired, taught, held court and disciplined. Some students said that I never smiled and, for the most part, I didn't. I even kicked in the second floor girls' bathroom door to collect eight of my best students who had decided to skip my class to stand on toilet seats and whisper over the stalls. What a sight they were when I called them out by name in front of the vice-principal! I surprised many of my colleagues who were waiting for me to walk away from the position just like eighteen others had done the year before I was hired. I needed the money. I wasn't going anywhere.
Home was what it was. Eric began to invite his relatives into our apartment without telling me they were coming. They made themselves at home, helping themselves to anything and everything that even resembled food in our refrigerator and cabinets. They would even eat the supper I had prepared for myself the night before! Eric would do nothing. When I approached the issue with him, he said, "That's how we are in my country. We treat everyone like family." What? Eating up all of the food and not leaving anything for me is not a family attitude! It's ignorant! I did all the grocery shopping only to see it gone within a day or so. Many times, I went to bed hungry because I was too tired from work to go back out shopping. While I was working, he had his family and who-knows-who-else over to eat up all of the food I had just purchased. I paid all the bills, did all the shopping and cooking and was the one who had any visible means of income yet I was the one treated like dirt! One evening, one of Eric's sisters opened the freezer and decided to open my new pint-size carton of vanilla ice cream, my favorite treat on the weekends. I'd only eat a few spoonfuls causing the ice cream to last for months. When I asker her to put it back, she rolled her eyes. Angrily, I snapped, "You don't just go into someone's refrigerator and start eating their food. I like MY ice cream and I bought it for ME!" Rolling her eyes yet another time, she mumbled something about how she couldn't even eat anything because I had to have it and I resisted the urge to slap her. She was already obese and had the nerve to try to squeeze her fat thighs into pants four sizes too small for her. They had no respect for me. While I tried to sleep after a long week of work, Eric and his gang would be in the living room alternately playing video games and watching loud, vulgar movies, the entire time loudly laughing and talking. No one cared about the "stupid American" who worked a difficult job all week and just wanted a little bit of sleep.
To make my living arrangements worse, we received an eviction notice. I came home and there it was on the door. I was furious. Surely, it had to have been a mistake as I gave Eric the checks before the first of every month to take across the street to the management office. The checks were being cashed and I did receive receipts. I could never go speak to them because, when I got home from work, they were closed and they did not open on weekends. I left numerous messages on their machines and my calls were never returned. When I prepared myself to ask Eric about it, he was gone. He didn't call, didn't take all of his things but was gone nonetheless. That night, three police officers knocked on my door. They had somehow gotten in without being buzzed in. I wondered if they were going to arrest me for the rental issue. Frightened about going to jail, I pulled my robe about myself and politely asked them how I could help them. One officer held up a paper saying they had a warrant for Eric's arrest. They asked if they could search the premises. I welcomed them in and watched them as they searched the entire apartment, including beneath the bed, beneath the sofa, in the shower, in the closets and even in the kitchen cabinets. They asked me if I knew where he was and I said that I hadn't seen him in a few days which was true. He had a habit of disappearing and returning when he felt like doing so. This was my chance to get Eric out of my life but I feared losing my job more than anything and, thus remained tight-lipped.
After the police officers left, I could not sleep and decided to organize my work wardrobe. Shocked, I realized that my brand-new suits I had recently purchase were gone. What was I going to wear to work? I had purchased them at Cherry and Webb with my new store card which made me feel like a sophisticated professional. I had never had nice clothes like those before and, finally, I could afford them. I stormed around the apartment, angrily cussing to myself. I called Eric everything but a child of God even though he was not there to hear it. I was getting evicted. Police came to my apartment. My suits were gone. And Eric was no where--NO WHERE--to be found!
I couldn't wait to tell the news of my job to my college mates. I began phoning a few of my friends to tell them the news and wondered why it had been a few months since they last called me. One of my female friends tiredly told me on the phone, "I did call you but someone --some guy--who picked up said you didn't live there anymore." Instantly, I knew who it was. That bastard! How dare he? Was he trying to separate me from my friends? Who would do such an stupid thing? I was too embarrassed to even explain to my friends what had happened. I was ashamed, yet I did nothing about it. It was as if there were some subconscious level of comfort being with a man who reminded me so much of my father.
I had a very beautiful female friend who had attended college with me. I remember many of the guys on campus were drawn to her and some even asked me to "hook them up" with her. I was always slightly annoyed because her beauty was something I so much wish I had. She was everything I wasn't. She was tall, slender, model-gorgeous, half-white and had big-doe eyes with the most flirtatious long eyelashes. She had long, soft brown hair, a beautiful smile and the sexiest voice, the kind men would love listening to over the phone. She knew she was gorgeous, too, and did not ignore the attention she received. She was well-known by the Warwick, Rhode Island police officers since one of their fellow officers fell for her hard and she continued to lead him on, toying with his heart. Her flirtatious manner sickened me but I enjoyed being in her company because it made me feel less significant. One evening, she had come to visit me, complaining of car problems and inquired about Eric trying to fix her problem. Like a fool, I sent Eric outside to assist her. I don't know what transpired between the two but, when Eric returned indoors about forty-five minutes later, he was grinning from ear to ear and asked me if "she had a man". I angrily asked him why he cared and he replied that he had a friend whom he like her to meet. He then accused me of being jealous of my own friend. I could feel the anger boiling within the pit of my stomach but I said nothing. I had work to do. I had a career, something those two didn't have.
Weeks into my teaching career, I received another call from my very attractive female friend. I had stopped calling her because I did began to despise her beauty. When I asked her why she had called, she said that she just wanted to see how "my job was going". I told her that it was great despite the fact that the students tested me every single day, that I taught at the worst school in the district and that there had been many days I left work holding back tears because the kids were such rude punks. Our conversation ended quickly and I returned to my work of correcting and grading papers. The work had become so much, that I was unable to enjoy my time alone when Eric was in the street with his friends. I decided that I would begin to go into work early, something which infuriated Eric. When I first told him this, his eyes swelled with tears and he said, "Why the fuck do you need to go into work early for? All you teachers do is sit at the desk and correct fucking papers!" Ignoring his vulgar outburst, I held firm to my decision. Home was not a good place for me to concentrate. Eric began to cause arguments nightly which often ended with the police visiting us because a neighbor overheard us. Eric also became more violent and destructive. When he'd come home way after dark, he'd have a wild look in his eyes and would accuse me of "fucking around" and would then begin to smash and throw things. He'd break anything that was in his path. I stopped buying nice things because it, eventually, it would only end up being destroyed. These times were just like those times when my father would come home and start an argument with my mother. Something was always broken, some gun or knife always came out and he had a stereotypical truck driver's filthy mouth. Eric was no different and I tolerated it. I hid it from people at work. Eric had conned his way into my work like so that he could just freely roam the building and put flowers outside my classroom door as a pathetic apology for an all-night fight. I usually threw them in the garbage at the end of the day so no one would ask me questions. I had dark circles beneath my eyes and bruises on my arms that I hid with the long sleeves of my dress jackets. I was afraid to tell my colleagues because I didn't want to lose my job or cause people to look at me unprofessionally. It didn't help that the married math teacher on my team made repeated suggestive remarks to me, sometimes asking me if I'd go out with him if he were not married. Was that all was, some toy to be played with? Darkness engulfed my soul once again and I often wondered how I could disappear without anyone knowing. I hated Eric. I hated my life. I hated being afraid. I wanted Eric to leave but he always told me he wasn't going anywhere.
Crying to myself one night after enduring more abuse from Eric who, as he would often do after an argument, took off in my car, I phoned my very attractive girlfriend. I didn't care that she couldn't be trusted. I didn't care that I hadn't spoken to her in months. I just needed an ear, any ear, even if that ear belonged to someone who could care less about me. I had no one. Eric had managed to separate me from everyone I knew. I had no more friends. My two older half-brothers who had managed to find me before I met Eric and who established a relationship with me were gone, too. I was alone, so alone and my heart felt as though it were going to explode from so much sorrow.
When my friend picked up the phone, she was not eager to listen to me. She sounded irritated and sighed, cutting me off. "Your boyfriend has been calling me." she said. I suspected it but was not prepared for the sudden revelation. She continued, "He asked if I had a man and I asked him if Candace knew he was calling me. He hung up and called me again the next day." I cried into the phone. She asked me if I wanted her to come over and I informed her that I had moved. She didn't know my address, or so I thought. "I know where you live." she snapped and hung up. In about a half hour, I heard the buzzer and it was my friend who had brought along one of her girlfriends. By this time, Eric had called the house numerous times and I cussed him out each time asking him why he called my friend and how he had gotten her number. I asked him where he was and he said he had just ordered Chinese food for us at the Chinese restaurant down the street.
My body trembled as I asked my friend's friend to drive me to the restaurant. Was I crazy going after this fool like some ghetto chic in the hood? I tried so hard to move beyond the ghetto stereotypical angry Black woman and here I was affirming it. I sobbed in the car uncontrollably. I couldn't believe he'd mess with my own friend. I didn't even realize that my friend had been sleeping with him all along and, because of something gone wrong, had decided to reveal it to me. When I spotted Eric walking into the restaurant, I screamed , "There he is!" and the car screeched up to the curb retching me onto the sidewalk. Stumbling, I angrily asked Eric, "Why did you call my friend?" Eric looked stunned. I remember asking myself why I, a professional, dealt with such low-lives. My friend, was suddenly beside me, her face a granite slate. "We were just fucking with her!" Eric protested. I lost every bit of common sense that I had. I didn't care how late it was or who could hear me. I let out a pistol-hot stream of cuss words , unaware that my friend and her friend who drove the car were gone. The rest of the night was a blur. Somehow, I ended back in our apartment, Eric trying to convince me that he was just trying to get his friend hooked up with her, claiming he got her number when it fell out of my address book. For some reason, I believed him, just shook it off like a bad dream. Maybe it was too much for my mind to handle, so I forced myself to believe his stories. Deep in my heart, I knew he was a snake in the grass and that he would lie even if his own life depended upon him telling the truth. I just didn't want to deal with it, didn't want to be seen as a failure, didn't want to prove to the world that no one could really love me for me.
Despite Eric's constant disappointments, I stayed in the relationship. When he'd pack up some of his belongings and say he was leaving, I no longer pleaded. He'd always return within a few days anyway. Where he went, I never knew. I stopped caring. I immersed myself in trying to be the best and most professional teacher I could be. I was gaining respect at my school. School was a place where I was important. I was a somebody I was smart. No one called me "Stupid American". I was "Ms. Cunningham" and students began to respect me as well. I had developed a survival tactic. I no longer had feelings for the students to hurt. I could make the "wanna-be" bad-ass students cry and, at times, it felt good. I felt in control. I was the drill sergeant in my classroom. My classroom was my world. In there, I inspired, taught, held court and disciplined. Some students said that I never smiled and, for the most part, I didn't. I even kicked in the second floor girls' bathroom door to collect eight of my best students who had decided to skip my class to stand on toilet seats and whisper over the stalls. What a sight they were when I called them out by name in front of the vice-principal! I surprised many of my colleagues who were waiting for me to walk away from the position just like eighteen others had done the year before I was hired. I needed the money. I wasn't going anywhere.
Home was what it was. Eric began to invite his relatives into our apartment without telling me they were coming. They made themselves at home, helping themselves to anything and everything that even resembled food in our refrigerator and cabinets. They would even eat the supper I had prepared for myself the night before! Eric would do nothing. When I approached the issue with him, he said, "That's how we are in my country. We treat everyone like family." What? Eating up all of the food and not leaving anything for me is not a family attitude! It's ignorant! I did all the grocery shopping only to see it gone within a day or so. Many times, I went to bed hungry because I was too tired from work to go back out shopping. While I was working, he had his family and who-knows-who-else over to eat up all of the food I had just purchased. I paid all the bills, did all the shopping and cooking and was the one who had any visible means of income yet I was the one treated like dirt! One evening, one of Eric's sisters opened the freezer and decided to open my new pint-size carton of vanilla ice cream, my favorite treat on the weekends. I'd only eat a few spoonfuls causing the ice cream to last for months. When I asker her to put it back, she rolled her eyes. Angrily, I snapped, "You don't just go into someone's refrigerator and start eating their food. I like MY ice cream and I bought it for ME!" Rolling her eyes yet another time, she mumbled something about how she couldn't even eat anything because I had to have it and I resisted the urge to slap her. She was already obese and had the nerve to try to squeeze her fat thighs into pants four sizes too small for her. They had no respect for me. While I tried to sleep after a long week of work, Eric and his gang would be in the living room alternately playing video games and watching loud, vulgar movies, the entire time loudly laughing and talking. No one cared about the "stupid American" who worked a difficult job all week and just wanted a little bit of sleep.
To make my living arrangements worse, we received an eviction notice. I came home and there it was on the door. I was furious. Surely, it had to have been a mistake as I gave Eric the checks before the first of every month to take across the street to the management office. The checks were being cashed and I did receive receipts. I could never go speak to them because, when I got home from work, they were closed and they did not open on weekends. I left numerous messages on their machines and my calls were never returned. When I prepared myself to ask Eric about it, he was gone. He didn't call, didn't take all of his things but was gone nonetheless. That night, three police officers knocked on my door. They had somehow gotten in without being buzzed in. I wondered if they were going to arrest me for the rental issue. Frightened about going to jail, I pulled my robe about myself and politely asked them how I could help them. One officer held up a paper saying they had a warrant for Eric's arrest. They asked if they could search the premises. I welcomed them in and watched them as they searched the entire apartment, including beneath the bed, beneath the sofa, in the shower, in the closets and even in the kitchen cabinets. They asked me if I knew where he was and I said that I hadn't seen him in a few days which was true. He had a habit of disappearing and returning when he felt like doing so. This was my chance to get Eric out of my life but I feared losing my job more than anything and, thus remained tight-lipped.
After the police officers left, I could not sleep and decided to organize my work wardrobe. Shocked, I realized that my brand-new suits I had recently purchase were gone. What was I going to wear to work? I had purchased them at Cherry and Webb with my new store card which made me feel like a sophisticated professional. I had never had nice clothes like those before and, finally, I could afford them. I stormed around the apartment, angrily cussing to myself. I called Eric everything but a child of God even though he was not there to hear it. I was getting evicted. Police came to my apartment. My suits were gone. And Eric was no where--NO WHERE--to be found!
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