Living A Dream, On A Cloud, An Unreal Life

I was born in a two bedroom rent house with seven brothers and sisters. My parents were immigrants, they owned a small restaurant. I got a present one Christmas that a customer left for me at the restaurant. That was the only wrapped g*ft I got growing up. In short we were poor, happy, close, but poor.

When I finished high school I got a job working as a front desk clerk at a huge hotel. I had what they wanted, young, pretty unblemished looks, language skills, and docile and polite. A service attitude.

I met a man there, a customer, very rich. He patted my hand, was nice to me. I was eye locked on him, and he returned the look. When he asked me out I had to say no, company rules. He said he would buy the hotel and change the rules. He asked me if I had ever thought about living on the west coast. I owned two pairs of shoes, wore the hotel uniform.

I woke up in a mansion, in an oversized king side bed, a diamond ring worth more than my parents' restaurant. He liked my father a lot, and they became friends. I keep my pre marriage shoes in my closet, to remind me I was not always this well off. I still don't know why he picked me, why he is such a good friend of my father, why he helps everyone who he feels deserve a hand. Just a little push, he says. Just a hand so they don't fall back.

Maybe one day I will get used to this, but as of now I'm not.