On our way to the cottage, Mona took me by Kmart where I bought a set of pots and pans and looked for a cover for the couch. There wasn't much of a selection. I chose a country-looking one: it had large brown and beige flowers printed all over a slate-blue background. Brown lace and ruffles along the edges completed the country look. Upon leaving Kmart, we went to the grocery store so I could get a few groceries and a bus pass. When it was all said and done, I had twenty-five dollars to my name.

When we got to the apartment, I put my lil groceries away and put the cover on the couch. I had to admit that, with the cover, it actually looked kinda nice. The ruffles gave it a dainty ladylike appearance. Mona gave me a big hug, told me I was in for a "new adventure," and left. I didn't realize how silent silence was. I didn't have a television, record player, radio, anything. I looked around the shabby cottage.

What a dump!

I had nothing. And if that wasn't bad enough, I was stuck, all alone, in a tiny, shabby apartment with nothing but an old, ugly, USED couch. I began to feel sorry for myself and my pathetic predicament.

Why did I get stuck with such a sorry-ass place to live?

Just before a tear began to fall, my mind was suddenly (and surprisingly) hurled back to just a month or so before when I'd been crouched behind a Dumpster with nothing but a fifth of gin and a crack pipe. My mind flashed to the sickeningly thin woman with the dirty green dress and no shoes. And I remembered her prayer for help.

I'd gotten that help.

Then I remembered my prayers to stay clean. I'd been clean now for something like forty days.

I had prayed for an apartment-an affordable one-which is what I'd gotten. I glanced around the tiny apartment again. This time, it didn't look so shabby (at least it wasn't a Dumpster). And the couch didn't look so old and raggedy (at least with the soft, country-style cover, it was clean). The apartment may have been small, but it was mine and I was clean and sober. All of a sudden, I forgot that there was no noise or music. I was instantly filled with such gratitude that I didn't need any. I began dancing to my own music.

Imitating Jennifer Beals in Flash Dance, I danced in the lil living room, moving my legs and feet as fast as I could and with all my might. Then I did the running man into the kitchen. Once there, I threw up my right leg in a kick, imitating Michael Jackson.

This one's for you, Michael!

After a few moments, I cha-chaed into the bedroom. There was absolutely nothing in it, so I did a cartwheel. However, even empty the room was only large enough to do one complete cartwheel without smashing into the wall. So, I did one-over and over and over. Then, I did the bump with the walls as I made my way into the little bathroom.

I danced a joy dance in every room. As I danced, the tears fell because I remembered.

When I could dance no more, I plopped down on the couch with a new understanding of my situation: I was clean and sober, I had a little bit of money, I had my own place, and I had a couch. These few things were better than gold to me.

Seeing as how He'd come through on the apartment, that night, before plunging into sleep, I asked God if He could somehow get me some bedroom furniture and some dishes. I reminded Him that it had taken every dime I had to get the apartment, and what little money I had left over was spent on pots, the couch cover, a bus pass, and food. All I had till payday was twenty-five dollars. I ended my prayers by telling Him that if He couldn't do it, it was cool because I was grateful for what He had done. I again thanked Him for those things-especially recovery.

For the first time in fifteen years I slept in total peace and with absolute serenity, in that little shabby apartment, on that ol' beat-up couch, completely clean and sober.

- Several days later, Maria, the older white lady who'd trained me when I first began working at the firm, blessed me. I hadn't talked to her much since I initially started working at the firm-she was nice to me, but I thought she was nuts. Plus, she'd eventually learned to treat me the way a china serving platter treats a bull in the shop. I was sitting in the break room, worrying about how I was going to live on my limited funds in a completely empty apartment, when she walked in and sat down. I looked at her suspiciously, waiting for her to state what she wanted.

She said she'd heard that I'd recently gotten sober. I froze when she said that. I wasn't sure if she was coming to complain about my stealing from her (I'd stolen from so many people, I'd long since lost track), or to demand money that I'd borrowed from her but never repaid (I owed so many folks money, I'd also lost track). My mind raced frantically trying to decide what scam or rip-off I'd pulled on her. Interrupting my panic-stricken thoughts, she said that she had a set of dishes she had planned to give to the Goodwill, but that if I wanted them I could have them.

I sat staring at her disbelievingly.

I just prayed for some dishes! This is happening too soon! This has to be coincidence!

She continued, saying that the dishes were still in pretty good condition, and very pretty. She said what she had was a complete setting for four: plates, bowls, cups, saucers. She said there were even serving bowls and a gravy boat.

I don't need no damn boat. But I do need those dishes!

She said she wasn't trying to offend me, but figured I could use some housewares.

"Sure, I'll take them," I said without hesitation or pride as I reflected on what V was always telling me: there was nothing wrong with asking for, or accepting, help.

Maria left the room saying she'd bring the dishes to my house.

M-m-my house?

At the thought of someone seeing my house, I felt the panic and shame return. I didn't want Maria at my house. I didn't want anyone at my house. There was nothing in my house except that ol' raggedy couch. I was too embarrassed for anyone to see the squalor I was living in. (Ain't it funny how quickly pride erased gratitude?) As I jumped up to catch Maria to tell her she couldn't come to my house, Sylvia, another secretary walked up and suddenly grabbed my arm. I knew her, but, as with everyone else at the firm, I'd never talked to her unless I had something smart or nasty to say. I looked down at her hand firmly grasping my arm and started to say something smart like, Bitch, git yo' hands off me! But before I could speak, she did.

"I've got a nineteen-inch color TV. There's nothing wrong with it. It's just that I've bought another one and I have no place to put this one. I'm thinking about selling it. Do you want it?"

"Wh-whaaat?" I stuttered. She'd caught me completely off guard.

"The TV," she repeated. "Do you want to buy the TV?"

I thought about it for a moment. It was a dilemma.

If I say yes, but she wanted too much money, I'd be embarrassed and angry thinking she fronted me off on purpose. On the other hand, if I said no, I might be letting my pride make me miss out on a great deal.

What should I do?

She stood looking at me, unsure of why I was so confused about such a simple question.

"How much do you want for it?" I asked with a puzzled look, expecting to hear some astronomical amount.

"Oh, I don't know. It's only five years old, and it still plays really good and clear."

Here we go. She's pumping up all the reasons why it's worth a couple hundred dollars.

"We bought it brand-new. It's a Sony, you know. Top of the line."

"How much?" She was starting to get on my nerves.

"Oh, I don't know. How about . . . let's say . . . ummmm . . . fifty dollars?"

Fifty bucks? Was she joking?

"All I have is twenty-five dollars. I can give you twenty-five now and the rest on payday."

"That's okay," she said.

I turned to walk away, angry at myself for falling for her ploy.

"Just give me the twenty-five dollars."

I stopped dead in my tracks-left foot still in midair.

"What did you say?" I asked softly as I lowered my foot and slowly turned around to face her.

"It's cool. Just give me the twenty-five now and we'll call it even."

I didn't know what to say, so I just stood there staring at her.

"No, really. I just want to get rid of it because I have no place to put it. So just give me the twenty-five dollars, and you can have it today, if you want."

I felt like crying. I didn't know whether to hug her, kiss her, or shake her hand. So I handed her the money and just stood there. I explained to her that I didn't have a car and so I wouldn't be able to pick it up. She walked away saying something about getting together with me later to figure out how to get it to me. I really wasn't paying her any attention at that point. I just stood there with my mouth open.

Later that afternoon I was still in shock from the TV incident when Maria came to my desk and asked for my address so she could deliver the dishes. I refused to give it to her, insisting that she bring them to work instead. Confused at my sudden change in behavior, she walked away mumbling something about trying again the next day.

That night during my usual conversation with V, I told her all that had happened that day.

"I don't want her to see where I live!" I cried as I tried to explain why I wasn't letting Maria, or anyone else, come to my apartment.

"Cup, if someone is your friend because of where you live or what you have, they're not your friend. Those are the kind of people we dealt with in the streets-people who only hung with us because of what we had or what we could do for them. But remember, in recovery, we're changing our friends, our surroundings, our lives. She wants to help you, Cup. And you need help! It's okay to need help. Besides, I truly believe she doesn't care where you live or what your apartment looks like. Give her a chance. What's the worst that could happen?"

She had a point. Still, I was afraid of being judged and rejected. I didn't want anyone at my house till I had it "pimped out." However, with my current finances, that would take awhile and I couldn't wait. I needed something to eat off now. So after giving it some serious thought, I had to admit that, as usual, V made sense.

I gave Maria my address and told her that she could bring the dishes to my house that weekend. As I was doing so, Sylvia just happened to approach my desk and ask me what I wanted to do as far as making arrangements to get the TV. Before I could respond, Maria said that, since she was already coming to my house to bring the dishes, she would be willing to also bring the TV. We were all in agreement that that was a good idea.

That Saturday, I tried to clean my apartment and get it as ready for company as best I could. There wasn't much in it, so there wasn't much to do to get it ready. I swept the carpeted floors (I didn't have a vacuum cleaner), and straightened the cover on the couch. Then I sat down and waited, all the while trying to determine how Maria would react once she saw my menial living quarters.

She'll probably start shunning you at work, I convinced myself. Or maybe she'll go tell all the other secretaries what a deplorable, pathetic life you live. Or maybe she'll tell them that God is punishing you for all the shitty things you've done, for all the stuff you've stolen, all the gang fights and shootings, the "business arrangements" . . .

By the time Maria and her husband were making their way to my door, I was sitting on the couch rocking my body back and forth. They knocked at the door, startling me. I sat perfectly still, hoping they'd figure I wasn't home and go away.

They didn't.

Again they knocked, this time much louder.

"I know she's in there!" I heard Maria say. She was holding the TV while standing on her tiptoes trying to peek into the window. Realizing they weren't leaving, I reluctantly opened the door; my head lowered in embarrassment.

"What a cute little place!" Maria exclaimed as she entered. She set the TV down in the middle of the floor and looked around the tiny apartment.

"It's got such character! There's so much you could do with it!" she said with apparent genuineness. She didn't seem to be making an effort to fight back a laugh. She wasn't making any snide comments about the size or emptiness. I was speechless.

She cheerfully introduced her husband, Brian. He was a large, heavily built man with a deep, husky voice and a large warm smile. He apologized for not being able to shake my hand and nodded toward the large, and apparently heavy, box he was holding.

"Oh, honey!" Maria exclaimed as she realized her husband was having difficulty keeping the box balanced. "Let me help you with that."

He huffed in appreciation. I don't know what she meant by "help" because she never reached for the box. Instead, she simply led him to the tiny kitchen, which was visible from the small living room. As I followed, I started to ask if they wanted a tour, but realized it wasn't necessary: one could stand in the middle of the living room, make a 360-degree turn, and see the entire place and all of its contents.

Brian set the box on the counter and began rubbing his arms, as if to soothe them. Ignoring his apparent pain, Maria began removing its contents.

"Here are the plates," she announced happily as she handed one to me. I reached for it and studied it inquisitively. It was white with yellow daisies all around the rim. I turned it over and a stamp informed me it was "fine china."

"This is china?" I asked as I continued to look the plate over. I'd seen, and cleaned, china before-both Diane and Mrs. Bassinet had the best money could buy-but I'd never owned any myself.

"Yeah. It's a really nice set, huh?"

Why would someone want to give me something so nice-and for FREE?

"What's wrong with them?" I asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

"Nothing, honey!" she chimed. "I just bought myself a brand-new set. I don't need TWO! So I figured I'd give them to someone who could use them. You can use them, can't ya?" Now she was looking at me suspiciously.

"Hell, yeah!" I shrieked. I didn't mean to cuss, but I was excited and didn't want her to change her mind. I was beginning to recognize blessings when I saw them.

She didn't seem to mind the cussword.

I didn't cook and so had no intention of using the serving platters, boat, or any of that other stuff. All I really needed were the dinner plates and salad bowls-but for cereal, not salads. Still, I'd never had china before. So I graciously took it and kept my mouth shut.

"We gotta go!" Maria almost sang to her husband as she turned and began walking toward the front door.

I sort of wanted them to stay. Now that I realized that they weren't judging me, I could have used the company. But fear of rejection wouldn't allow me to say anything.

Besides, just because she likes the place doesn't mean she wants to stay in it.

Damn, I wished my mind would shut up sometimes!

"Bye," Brian said brusquely as he stepped onto the porch and out into the California sun. He was a giant of a man, but not intimidating or threatening in the least. He was more like a gentle giant. He stood for a moment with his massive face to the sky as if soaking up its warmth. Suddenly, he gave me a wink and a smile and walked (or more like stomped) to their car. Just before stepping out onto the porch to follow him, Maria turned to me.

"I always knew there was something special about you."

I kept quiet, but gave her a slight smile.

"I'm so glad you're getting better. I bet you've been through things that others can only imagine. You have been places others never return from. That is why you are going to touch so many people."

Before I could sarcastically respond that people rarely wanted to "touch" me, she turned and skipped to the car. I'd never seen a fifty-plus woman skipping before. It was a surprisingly pleasant sight. I couldn't remember the last time I'd skipped. Maybe I'd try it one day.

In a flash, they were gone. She never asked for money for the dishes and she never made me feel ashamed about needing them. I was flabbergasted at the ease of it all.

What did she mean by that "touch people" stuff? I didn't want to touch nobody and I really didn't want nobody touching me. Remembering that she was nuts, my mind changed thoughts. I had a TV and some dishes!

Could it really be that, just like that, my prayer had been answered? Well, wait a minute. I didn't ask for a TV!

It all just seemed too easy.

Quit trippin' girl! I scolded myself. Now you've got something to eat on and something to watch while you eat!

I didn't have a stand to put the TV on. I didn't care. It was just as beautiful sitting on the floor.

I returned to the kitchen and begin putting my new china away. As I did so, I felt as though I'd won the lottery-again.

Moments after I had all of the china put in the cabinet, Jr. called and said he'd been going through his garage and found an old mattress and box spring that belonged to my mother. He asked if I could use it.

"I just prayed for a mattress!" I shrieked into his ear. I couldn't believe it. "Yeah, I can use it! I need it!"

He said he'd use his van to bring it over.

A little while later, Jr. came over with the furniture. To my surprise, not only did he bring the mattress and box spring, but he also brought a dresser and a small stand. He said he didn't know if I could use the stand, but he saw it and thought he'd bring it anyway. Lo and behold, the television fit the stand perfectly-almost as if the stand was made to hold it!

I was in heaven. In one day, both my prayers had been answered. And, I'd gotten a TV-something I didn't even ask for.

That night, I made up my mind about the whole situation. This was no coincidence.