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Part 5
Rebuilding
It doesn’t take much to please a man. To a woman a breast is something that has to be covered up with clothing that has to be sized just right. A man will pay large sums of money and risk losing a lifelong relationship just to see them. Often times all I need to do is shake my butt in his face and he empties the contents of his wallet.
This is how I made money to pay for books and classes on psychology. I didn’t mind taking my clothes off on stage. If they were willing to pay money, why not? At least I wasn't fucking them anymore.
I worked at Shanghai Bar dancing and flirting at night. Took classes during the morning. Caught a few hour’s rest in the early afternoon before Diego Jr. and Mario came home from school. Then took care of all the children before putting them to bed and going to work.
My mother helped me a lot in these days. She knew how important this was to me. And she had always hoped I would do something better with my life. She also knew how important it was for me to clear my name. That's why she took the children to Ensenada the day I went to face the people who had threatened to take them away from me. I walked into the offices of the DIF.
Claudia came with me. I was nervous the entire way. I didn’t say a word. I stiffened when the door was opened. I could barely breathe. Every muscle was tense as I walked through. And when it closed behind me I felt like the bars of a jail cell had just shut. And I would never see my children again.
I straightened up and approached the counter. “Can I help you?” the woman at the counter asked. I didn’t know how to respond.
Claudia spoke for me. “We’d like to speak with whoever’s in charge.”
The woman didn’t know how to respond to that. It was a strange way to approach them, I suppose. She picked up the phone and called someone quietly. Was she bringing the police? Would the Federales burst in with their machine guns and make me lie on the ground? I didn’t say a word.
A gentle looking man with a sincere face came out of one of the offices and looked at me. I was surprised to see he was a gringo. Probably an American. “My name's Gerard. Can I help you?”
Claudia looked at me. It was my turn to step up. I grasped the book in my pocket for strength. Then I said to him, “I want to become a socialist.”
His eyes squinted. I had clearly said something wrong. He approached me. I looked away. Had he recognized me? Was he going to hold me down until I told him where my children were so he could take them away?
Then he relaxed his gaze and chuckled. “The people who work here are called social workers.”
“Yes, that’s it,” I said. “How does one get a job here?”
“Well, most people volunteer. Why don’t you come into my office?” He opened the door for me. I looked inside hesitantly. The rooms were getting smaller and smaller. I wondered how many rooms it would be until I wound up in a tiny cell. Cut off from my children forever.
Claudia tapped me reassuringly on the shoulder and sat down in the waiting area. I walked into the room.
Gerard entered and sat down behind a desk. He told me a little about what a social worker does. I could barely hear him. I was still waiting to be confronted. He never did. In fact, his face spoke understanding.
I realized that I wasn’t going to hear him until I got this over with. So I leaned forward and I said, “Okay, let me tell you something. I was on the run from the law not long ago. And from you.” And I told him the whole story. He sat there. Never speaking. Watching me. He rarely blinked.
When I was done, he neither criticized, nor judged me. He just nodded and thought it through.
“I don’t want to lose my babies,” I said. “I will do anything to keep them... Anything.”
“Clearly,” he said, and he leaned back in his chair.
I waited for the verdict. I waited for him to unzip his pants and tell me to be his love slave. I would do it. Every night if I had to. Anything to keep from being separated from my children.
Then he asked simply, “When can you start?” My eyes grew twice their size. “We could use you as a volunteer. We always need more hands. Keep taking those classes, and I'll give you some more books to read, and if you can prove yourself, and if we get an opening, we can see about hiring you.”
“You... You're not concerned about my past?” I asked him.
“Well of course I am. Your boyfriend...”
“Ex-boyfriend...”
“He could have landed your family in a lot of trouble. But I'm a good judge of character, and I can see in your face that you're telling the truth. And besides, it sounds to me like you're really dedicated to your children. If you can show that kind of commitment to the kids we work with, then we could definitely use you.”
I was ready to explode with joy. He put up a hand as if to stop me from getting over-excited. “You still need to finish your classes, and I'm not making any promises about a job. But let's start out this way and see how it goes. Is it a deal?”
He stood up and reached out his hand.
I got into the habit of reading a chapter on the bus to work. Then I would sit on the top floor and look down on the men in the club studying the behaviors which had just been described in the chapter. I would then re-read the chapter on the way home to better understand it.
As I had drinks with the men I listened to them talk about their lives back home. I used the Freudian methods of psychoanalysis to ask them questions. To get to the heart of their feelings. I had known that most of them were there cheating on a girlfriend or spouse. But I came to understand why. The loneliness in redundancy. The dissatisfaction. The disillusionment. But most of all, the midlife crisis.
In my class I finished the lessons long before the session was over. I went on to studying what they had in the next chapter. And the chapter after that. I got so far ahead I completed the first year’s courses several months early, and was much of the way through the second year’s courses. By the end of the year I was almost completely through the two year course. It was as easy for me to pick up as English had been, and just as simple to practice.
I worked as a volunteer whenever I could. Filing paper work. Answering phones. Following Gerard around and learning from him. It was most of my life. My mother and sisters were very supportive and helped take care of the children on nights when I was at the club and days when I was in class or at the DIF. Claudia was especially helpful. She offered her help babysitting whenever she could. The kids wondered where I was all the time. But they didn't complain much because they got to know my youngest sister and their cousins better. Sometimes they didn't want me to pick them up because they were having so much fun.
And when I was finished with the classes Gerard hired me as a full time social worker. Just saying those words, “I am a social worker,” made me proud. I was no longer selling myself. And even though I still made money showing my body to men at Shanghai Bar at night, that wasn’t who I was. I was a social worker.
And soon I would make enough that I wouldn't have to work at night anymore. For the time being I stopped dancing and only had drinks with men. I made less money, but that was supplemented by my new day job. “I am a social worker,” I reminded myself every night with a smile on my face. “I'm making a difference in the world. I am a social worker.”
Then Diego showed up on my doorstep.
Rebuilding
It doesn’t take much to please a man. To a woman a breast is something that has to be covered up with clothing that has to be sized just right. A man will pay large sums of money and risk losing a lifelong relationship just to see them. Often times all I need to do is shake my butt in his face and he empties the contents of his wallet.
This is how I made money to pay for books and classes on psychology. I didn’t mind taking my clothes off on stage. If they were willing to pay money, why not? At least I wasn't fucking them anymore.
I worked at Shanghai Bar dancing and flirting at night. Took classes during the morning. Caught a few hour’s rest in the early afternoon before Diego Jr. and Mario came home from school. Then took care of all the children before putting them to bed and going to work.
My mother helped me a lot in these days. She knew how important this was to me. And she had always hoped I would do something better with my life. She also knew how important it was for me to clear my name. That's why she took the children to Ensenada the day I went to face the people who had threatened to take them away from me. I walked into the offices of the DIF.
Claudia came with me. I was nervous the entire way. I didn’t say a word. I stiffened when the door was opened. I could barely breathe. Every muscle was tense as I walked through. And when it closed behind me I felt like the bars of a jail cell had just shut. And I would never see my children again.
I straightened up and approached the counter. “Can I help you?” the woman at the counter asked. I didn’t know how to respond.
Claudia spoke for me. “We’d like to speak with whoever’s in charge.”
The woman didn’t know how to respond to that. It was a strange way to approach them, I suppose. She picked up the phone and called someone quietly. Was she bringing the police? Would the Federales burst in with their machine guns and make me lie on the ground? I didn’t say a word.
A gentle looking man with a sincere face came out of one of the offices and looked at me. I was surprised to see he was a gringo. Probably an American. “My name's Gerard. Can I help you?”
Claudia looked at me. It was my turn to step up. I grasped the book in my pocket for strength. Then I said to him, “I want to become a socialist.”
His eyes squinted. I had clearly said something wrong. He approached me. I looked away. Had he recognized me? Was he going to hold me down until I told him where my children were so he could take them away?
Then he relaxed his gaze and chuckled. “The people who work here are called social workers.”
“Yes, that’s it,” I said. “How does one get a job here?”
“Well, most people volunteer. Why don’t you come into my office?” He opened the door for me. I looked inside hesitantly. The rooms were getting smaller and smaller. I wondered how many rooms it would be until I wound up in a tiny cell. Cut off from my children forever.
Claudia tapped me reassuringly on the shoulder and sat down in the waiting area. I walked into the room.
Gerard entered and sat down behind a desk. He told me a little about what a social worker does. I could barely hear him. I was still waiting to be confronted. He never did. In fact, his face spoke understanding.
I realized that I wasn’t going to hear him until I got this over with. So I leaned forward and I said, “Okay, let me tell you something. I was on the run from the law not long ago. And from you.” And I told him the whole story. He sat there. Never speaking. Watching me. He rarely blinked.
When I was done, he neither criticized, nor judged me. He just nodded and thought it through.
“I don’t want to lose my babies,” I said. “I will do anything to keep them... Anything.”
“Clearly,” he said, and he leaned back in his chair.
I waited for the verdict. I waited for him to unzip his pants and tell me to be his love slave. I would do it. Every night if I had to. Anything to keep from being separated from my children.
Then he asked simply, “When can you start?” My eyes grew twice their size. “We could use you as a volunteer. We always need more hands. Keep taking those classes, and I'll give you some more books to read, and if you can prove yourself, and if we get an opening, we can see about hiring you.”
“You... You're not concerned about my past?” I asked him.
“Well of course I am. Your boyfriend...”
“Ex-boyfriend...”
“He could have landed your family in a lot of trouble. But I'm a good judge of character, and I can see in your face that you're telling the truth. And besides, it sounds to me like you're really dedicated to your children. If you can show that kind of commitment to the kids we work with, then we could definitely use you.”
I was ready to explode with joy. He put up a hand as if to stop me from getting over-excited. “You still need to finish your classes, and I'm not making any promises about a job. But let's start out this way and see how it goes. Is it a deal?”
He stood up and reached out his hand.
I got into the habit of reading a chapter on the bus to work. Then I would sit on the top floor and look down on the men in the club studying the behaviors which had just been described in the chapter. I would then re-read the chapter on the way home to better understand it.
As I had drinks with the men I listened to them talk about their lives back home. I used the Freudian methods of psychoanalysis to ask them questions. To get to the heart of their feelings. I had known that most of them were there cheating on a girlfriend or spouse. But I came to understand why. The loneliness in redundancy. The dissatisfaction. The disillusionment. But most of all, the midlife crisis.
In my class I finished the lessons long before the session was over. I went on to studying what they had in the next chapter. And the chapter after that. I got so far ahead I completed the first year’s courses several months early, and was much of the way through the second year’s courses. By the end of the year I was almost completely through the two year course. It was as easy for me to pick up as English had been, and just as simple to practice.
I worked as a volunteer whenever I could. Filing paper work. Answering phones. Following Gerard around and learning from him. It was most of my life. My mother and sisters were very supportive and helped take care of the children on nights when I was at the club and days when I was in class or at the DIF. Claudia was especially helpful. She offered her help babysitting whenever she could. The kids wondered where I was all the time. But they didn't complain much because they got to know my youngest sister and their cousins better. Sometimes they didn't want me to pick them up because they were having so much fun.
And when I was finished with the classes Gerard hired me as a full time social worker. Just saying those words, “I am a social worker,” made me proud. I was no longer selling myself. And even though I still made money showing my body to men at Shanghai Bar at night, that wasn’t who I was. I was a social worker.
And soon I would make enough that I wouldn't have to work at night anymore. For the time being I stopped dancing and only had drinks with men. I made less money, but that was supplemented by my new day job. “I am a social worker,” I reminded myself every night with a smile on my face. “I'm making a difference in the world. I am a social worker.”
Then Diego showed up on my doorstep.
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