Countdown To Eviction

10 days.

In 10 days I will find out if my son and I will be homeless. I thought I lived in a country where I was innocent until proven guilty. Apparently, when you live in low income housing that is run by a management company who decides your fate based on false allegations, lies and hearsay, that is not the case. The management company which runs the low income apartment complex at which I reside became judge, jury and executioner on July 2, 2010 when my son and I were served with a Notice of Termination of Tenancy.

For seven and a half years, I have resided in a place that is the size of a cereal box. I have paid my rent on time every month for seven years. I have abided by the rules and regulations. I live in a town where the school system is one of the best in the state and for seven years, I have attempted to carve out a niche for myself - and most importantly - for my son because I know he will get the kind of education that will be the  foundation upon which he can build his future.

That future was put into jeopardy July 2, 2010.

Here in Massachusetts, there are two kinds of eviction: Non payment of rent which is self explanatory and "fault" which apparently the innocent until proven guilty application of law doesn't apply to this complex.

I am not a drug trafficker. I am not a a bank robber or a murderer or a terrorist. I do not have a criminal record. I am and have been a single working mother who has simply tried to keep a roof over my son's head, teach him right from wrong, and instill the importance of character, integrity and honesty in him so he may grow up to be a good, decent person.

I am a good mother. I would die for my son if I knew it meant keeping him safe. But when I was served with this eviction notice, I felt like I had failed to protect my son.

This eviction stems from another tenant who, when I met her this past February, raised all my red flags as a 23 year journalist - and as a mother. This is about someone whom I felt was a threat to my son.

This is about my gut instinct which proved me right.

And for that, I am being evicted.

I know my rights as a tenant. Just because I live in low income housing does not mean I should be stereotyped because of my address. I did not choose to live here - I had no choice. But I have a right to quiet enjoyment and more so, I have a right to protect my son.

And when I attempted to exercise those two rights, I was retaliated against not only by this other tenant, but worse by the management company.

The truth of what really happened has taken on a life of its own. It's become a living, breathing entity that I covet carefully as each day draws nearer to Nov. 18th.

The basis for my entire career was the truth. And in one moment, one person was able to convince management that I was this horrible person who did all these horrible things to her.

And not once did they question what they heard, what she said or bothered to come to me to find out the truth.

On November 18, 2010, I must put all emotion aside and tell the truth. I have evidence. I have photographs. I have witnesses.

I have the truth all neatly organized into manilla files.

But those files do not contain what has happened to my son and I inside ourselves. They do not contain the tears I have shed, the horrendous emotional stress my body has withstood since July. I carry around three blood clots in my leg that were discovered amid this nightmare. I lost 40 pounds without blinking. I stopped sleeping, I stopped eating. I was spiraling down and my son was watching me come completely unglued because I am terrified we will be homeless.

Those files do not contain the hopelessness I felt and still feel because I failed to protect my son.

I may never heal. All I know is that I hate to come home. I still do not sleep peacefully. I lose track of time. I am forgetful. I wonder each day if I am simply not going to wake up one morning because the stress of this situation killed me and my son will find me dead in my bed. And management will simply close its file on me forever. Wouldn't they just love that.
My son locked himself in a school bathroom one day because he did not want to come back here to our apartment. He turns inward and becomes sullen and despondent when he walks into our building.

I am not the vibrant person I used to be. I am desperate to get out of here but I do not have the financial means to do so. I have no family within 100 miles of me. My friends are not able to take us in and I would not impose on anyone. But more important to me  - I refuse to uproot my son and cause him more trauma than he has already experienced in his 10 years, perhaps more so in the past six months.

I refuse to run. If I am going down, I am going down fighting.

And I am going to tell the truth on November 18th.

And when this is over, I am going to tell my story in hopes that no one will ever have to go through what my son and I are going through. I will tell my story so that every tenant understands that she or he have rights and that no management company has the right to destroy a life with one sweep of a pen.

I live in America. I am innocent until proven guilty. I have the right to face my accuser.

I will tell the truth.

And I would do it all over again just to protect my son.