WESTSIDE is where it's at

Now that I don’t put my life in danger everyday, like I used to, I have a few confessions to make.

My last job was scary. I was never scared of my clients or of their past behaviors, they saw me as rooting for them; I was on their team. They called me Miss Kimberly and walked me to the door. They were, for the most part, nice. So what did I fear, you wonder? I feared their enemies, the gangsters driving by to intimidate my client and his neighborhood. Whether or not they intimidated my client, anxiety overwhelmed me. In addition to the enemies, I feared retaliation. I am not a gangster (hard to believe, I know) and I am incapable of understanding how a family can live in that kind of fear daily; I only lasted 7 months.

One of my clients, I call him my all-star client, is in jail for murder. Apparently he murdered someone while I was working with him. One day he was asking his mother to make him stay home even when he says he doesn’t want to, the next going to a party, participating in a drive by shooting and not more than two weeks later he was locked up, probably for life. He wasn’t scary. If you ask me, I would tell you I didn’t think he was capable of such a thing and maybe he is indeed innocent, I hope so. Now finding out that all-star was a murder suspect didn’t worry me as much as going to his apartment following the arrest, visiting his mother, and all the while, knowing that anonymous threats were pouring into this already heartbroken home. I wondered how my client’s mother was going to cope, how she was going to protect herself and her other children from the enemies her son just made for them and I couldn’t help but, selfishly, wonder if I was safe sitting by the window in her kitchen. It was painful, frightening and unforgettable. Following all-star’s incident, I realized that another one of my client’s was an eye witness to the murder. Apparently I get around.

I had my fair share of gang neighborhoods, guns (you would think they’d put it away when a social worker was coming over, but they don’t), drug dealers and users, bad and sad parents, bordering on contact highs, bugs, nasty pets, friendly families, scary neighbors, funny moments, loads of learning and a desire to leave.

Now that my silence is broken, I feel like you can truly understand just how happy and relieved I am to have made a job switcharoo. I’m glad that the daily fear for my safety is no longer an issue for me or my family and I’m glad that I get to experience a more desirable side of desert living. WESTSIDE.