Chahna. She was probably in her sunny backyard or in her bedroom playing. I wished I could be with her instead of being in this hub of blessings, but I knew I couldn't tell that to anyone, even her. She had been so excited for me when I had bragged to her about tending Guru's animals. Chahna, who had never been invited to visit the animals, made me promise I'd describe all I saw and did with exact details. Knowing how happy Chahna was for me made me feel terrible. Why couldn't I be happy? I looked around and tried to fake a smile, but it felt impossible. Instead, I scrunched my knees into my chest, forming a tight cocoon, while cockroaches scuttled past. I decided then, for the first of many times, that being the luckiest person was for the birds.
4
The Supreme Is Your Boyfriend
M OST PEOPLE SETTLE IN GREENWICH, CONNECTICUT, an oasis of French boutiques, polo clubs, and waterfront rambling estates, as the culmination of a lifelong dream to enter the gated community of New England's elite. Not us. For my family, Greenwich was a disappointing substitute for Jamaica, Queens. As most disciples moved to Queens, and others just faded away, the once illustrious Connecticut Center no longer served as a holy temple and returned to being a leaky basement. My parents pleaded with Guru to allow them to flee Connecticut altogether, but Guru refused, explaining that he wanted to maintain a presence in the state. My father decided that the way to obey Guru by still living in Connecticut was to move to Greenwich, located only steps away from the New York border.
In a tiny corner of Greenwich that brushed against Port Chester, New York, the depressed town housing the many illegal Hispanics who served as maids, chauffeurs, masons, and landscapers to the mansions of Greenwich, we bought an old pea-green, three-story house. With two floors to rent to tenants to aid with the mortgage, we occupied half of the firstfloor and made the other half my father's office in an effort to save money. Shortly after establishing his practice, my father had aligned himself with a clan of real estate developers and gradually became involved in their schemes, spending the majority of his business hours flipping properties rather than defending cases in court. Everything about my father's dealings and finances was a mystery to us. Even though he worked as a Greenwich lawyer, my father proudly professed that he never had money. He didn't feel comfortable billing his few clients, and instead of regular payments, he'd work out deals that gave him a cut of the property, which did little to assist with the immediate basic needs to cover our household expenses. The money that my mother did unearth from my father's coffers all went to Guru. As a result, I was the poorest kid I knew who lived in Greenwich with an attorney for a father.
The opportunity to slip out of Norwalk and shed my reputation as a kooky and possibly dangerous outcast was a welcome relief to me. I was in junior high school, and I was quietly eager to gain a fresh start. My game plan was not to cause any waves with Guru or at school, although I felt moody and anxious about both. Guru's lack of awareness over my concerns regarding my future and my rapidly waning interest in God-Realization reinforced my doubts that his inner powers were working as well as they used to, at least on me. Guru seemed somehow oblivious to the fact that I was attempting to conceal my involvement with him from the outside world. He also didn't seem to notice that I felt increasingly irritated with his strict limitations on all aspects of my daily life—from telling me what sport to play to how to wear my hair. Rather than burst into my new juniorhigh as one of Guru's public ambassadors, I planned to conceal all traceable evidence of my discipleship, making myself as anonymous as possible, until I was finished with school altogether.
“What are you doing?” I asked my mom one morning, as she sat at the kitchen table with
4
The Supreme Is Your Boyfriend
M OST PEOPLE SETTLE IN GREENWICH, CONNECTICUT, an oasis of French boutiques, polo clubs, and waterfront rambling estates, as the culmination of a lifelong dream to enter the gated community of New England's elite. Not us. For my family, Greenwich was a disappointing substitute for Jamaica, Queens. As most disciples moved to Queens, and others just faded away, the once illustrious Connecticut Center no longer served as a holy temple and returned to being a leaky basement. My parents pleaded with Guru to allow them to flee Connecticut altogether, but Guru refused, explaining that he wanted to maintain a presence in the state. My father decided that the way to obey Guru by still living in Connecticut was to move to Greenwich, located only steps away from the New York border.
In a tiny corner of Greenwich that brushed against Port Chester, New York, the depressed town housing the many illegal Hispanics who served as maids, chauffeurs, masons, and landscapers to the mansions of Greenwich, we bought an old pea-green, three-story house. With two floors to rent to tenants to aid with the mortgage, we occupied half of the firstfloor and made the other half my father's office in an effort to save money. Shortly after establishing his practice, my father had aligned himself with a clan of real estate developers and gradually became involved in their schemes, spending the majority of his business hours flipping properties rather than defending cases in court. Everything about my father's dealings and finances was a mystery to us. Even though he worked as a Greenwich lawyer, my father proudly professed that he never had money. He didn't feel comfortable billing his few clients, and instead of regular payments, he'd work out deals that gave him a cut of the property, which did little to assist with the immediate basic needs to cover our household expenses. The money that my mother did unearth from my father's coffers all went to Guru. As a result, I was the poorest kid I knew who lived in Greenwich with an attorney for a father.
The opportunity to slip out of Norwalk and shed my reputation as a kooky and possibly dangerous outcast was a welcome relief to me. I was in junior high school, and I was quietly eager to gain a fresh start. My game plan was not to cause any waves with Guru or at school, although I felt moody and anxious about both. Guru's lack of awareness over my concerns regarding my future and my rapidly waning interest in God-Realization reinforced my doubts that his inner powers were working as well as they used to, at least on me. Guru seemed somehow oblivious to the fact that I was attempting to conceal my involvement with him from the outside world. He also didn't seem to notice that I felt increasingly irritated with his strict limitations on all aspects of my daily life—from telling me what sport to play to how to wear my hair. Rather than burst into my new juniorhigh as one of Guru's public ambassadors, I planned to conceal all traceable evidence of my discipleship, making myself as anonymous as possible, until I was finished with school altogether.
“What are you doing?” I asked my mom one morning, as she sat at the kitchen table with
Similar Books
![Cook, Kris - Primal Desire [Texas Wolf Pack 2] (Siren Publishing Classic)](https://fs.ageofbook.com/601063/thumbs/152x264/cook-kris-primal-desire-texas-wolf-pack-2-siren-publishing-classic.jpg)
