PLEASE, READ ONWARD. THIS IS A TRUE STORY, HERE I BARE
MY SOUL... OH, LAST THOUGHTS TO YOU ALL! PLEASE TRY TO
REMEMBER!
"WE ARE NOT HUMANS HAVING A SPIRITUAL EXPERIENCE HERE,
WE ARE SPIRITUAL BEINGS HAVING A HUMAN EXPERIENCE HERE!"
CHAPTER ONE
SUZY THE GOAT
It didn't take me long to evaluate the situation, even though we were
worlds apart. It could have been different planets altogether except for
one small thing, our common bond. Desolation, fear, loneliness and
desperation at one time or another had caused us to lose our hold on
what once had been an aching lust for living.
I came into this world protesting at the top of my lungs, and I imagine
that when I leave this world it will be in the same manner, exception
to this of course would be dependent on my willingness to die. I
started writing this book about the deepest feelings and experiences I
have ever known many years back. Then, as now I named it "One
More Time Around", now for the fifth time I endeavor to put into
print what I feel painfully at the core of my being. Make that
the 6th , today is 10/20/2001.
In my previous attempts however, I would try to catch you with a
fancy phrase or two, or maybe show how obviously insecure I turned
out to be; which all in all is pretty amazing, you'd never know by
looking at me, or by my few small accomplishments. After many
beginnings in 1985, 1987, 1989 and 1992, these pieces of my life lay
torn and mutilated, in numerous wads in my garbage can until this
resurrection.
It got to be habit so long ago when I was young to lie and embellish
stories about what I had done, where I had been, who I really was. It
took me a good long time to figure out that I am pretty impressive
without fancy fake frills to dress me up. I hadn't thought of it in that
particular way, it just took me forever to figure out this planet. I didn't
fit into it particularly well, always outside looking around the edges,
or
trapped inside praying to get out. Instincts for survival were sharpened
to a keen edge, yet were blunted with compassion, knowing first hand
that aching need. Dulled even more by the cruelties of people akin to
being pushed into the coldness of cement by hearts hard as stone,
mean people really do "suck". God, where do I start? This is where it
gets messy, for it started in another place where I ran hand in hand
with another.
The emotion was one of parting with ones heart and soul. We were
late, the portal we were to catch the "string" tag on was only open a
matter of what we gage here in time as minutes and seconds.
Somehow we were determined to spend our time together we knew
when we were running for the "string" that we stood the barest of
chance to even meet in this lifetime and we may die here still
searching for one another. Man and woman were not made to
function alone. One compliments the other and the burden of life
lightens considerably knowing that purity of love transcends the
physical and the superficial.
We had selfishly grabbed a last few minutes together desperately
holding onto the precious moments we knew existed there and then,
but it made us late. Most vividly I remember us running hand in hand
down an immensely wide hallway, circular in pattern, I remember the
flooring being lit, even though it was not illuminated. Loath to part
from each other, attaching to a "string" was so uncertain, only a
matter of seconds could mean the difference in how far apart we
would "grow" at our destination. A matter of mere seconds could
mean being born years apart and miles in geographical location.
That is what is so difficult, when you start with your soul mate and
have to rely on a "string tag". One could spend the greater part of
their life looking for Mr. or Miss Right, so many giving up short of
perfection for themselves settling for Mr. or Miss Maybe. Still, no
matter how true, faithful, and trusting they are in one another, they
will always be turning their heads eve so imperceptibly. Their eyes
staining to ever look over the menu although they have already
ordered the full meal deal. Then again there are those that were not
"the Mr. or Miss Right", but they were there to show physical
comfort with nary a commitment in their hearts and no seed of
thought to grow together in their minds. I've met a few of those, and
recognize them with a feeling of de-ja-vu from a promise to recognize
each other, extending this promise to giving comfort to each other,
knowing we would see each other again as we would come full circle.
Being ALONE is the most painful emotion, existing from "too much
nothing", at all.
We were late for our portal. We knew we both couldn't make it, so
He pushed me through, the "string" tearing our fingertips apart from
one another as I hurled away from White light and the Sea of Glass,
destined to be placed on Earth. A volunteer to join the fight against
those who waged war in heaven, against the Dragon. This war,
spoken of in the book of God, was a physical reality. It was an actual
war then, and it is a physical and spiritual war that still rages. It has
its
hooks in this planet. All the sightings of spaceships and aliens are
directly related to this war. It continues on to present day, even
though the instigator awaits Judgment on his actions after all the
evidence will be presented, on the fated coming Judgment Day. Those
who have not chosen sides by then, will not be hurled into a fiery
lake, they will simply be like the eye that offends, plucked out and put
out of existence. The mention of hell, was a place outside of
Jerusalem, it was the "city dump". It was a place where natural gas
escaped from the bowels of the earth, a place where the fire burned
continually, a place used as an illustration to the agony one will feel
when they find they chose unwisely.
We volunteered to come, we had to; everything about life, freedom,
and love was subject to annihilation. Everything about our future
waited us in the past, it will all come full circle.
As in any war, both sides suffer losses. We did not want to lose our
love for each other, we had to be wary of the demon of doubt. We
did not want to go through the fight here without each other. If I had
to give my life for this war, I would want to die in the arms of the one
I love with everything that I am. We volunteered together because we
believed in its cause, it was up to us to decide one way or the other
what it was that made the DRAGON reprehensible, what made it an
aberration and whether or not Earth is worth us spending our lives
for. Because we love each other, together we can survive, and
hopefully we can make it back to God.
......However, we did face some major problems right off the bat.
One huge problem was the fact that once the transport string breaks,
the memory is scrambled, once I landed, not only did I not know the
language, I was placed in a body with no coordination, and no
formatting. Unfamiliar abstract, irritating images, colors and noises
rose to a roar that engulfed my reality, THAT with the unfamiliar
excruciating pain that relates to the physical world of being struck
on newly formed skin, was my welcome. This was what greeted me,
what was around me, as I came out of the dark, warm, comforting
space that transported me from the break in the "string" into this loud,
dirty, painful whatever it is. I don't think I want to be here, and God,
I think I just changed my mind about volunteering. (Those of you
who do not step two steps backward are volunteering, two steps
forward you may be overzealous.)
~^.".^~
~*~
I look back at what I can first remember. I looked back ten years ago,
another 20 years before that, and yet another seven or eight before
that, and I remember a house that looked as though someone roofed
the entire thing, exception of maybe the trim around the windows. It
was a pale shade of green that was popular for houses covered in
aggregate. The reason I remember this house I suppose is because
that is where most of my beginning attempts at programming my brain
took place. Also maybe because I could see someone that not
everyone else could see. For a long time they were the source of the
bubble and the tickle, or at least a big part of it.
Even though I was the second child born to this family, from the time
I can remember anything at all it was of another child, who seemed to
resent me so much, that she would do anything to get rid of me. I
knew it wasn't her fault, the attention she had to herself was one to be
shared, and of course resentment does go both ways, even unto
adulthood. I was lucky in that aspect to finally learn a mutual respect.
One of the first lessons I was to learn was those who care only on
themselves, denying any other are lost. The I, me, my, standard
can never wash. Each is an aloneness and full of nothing at all, for it
is not shared, only domination and dominated, it produces cowards,
tyrants and selfishly a false pride.
I had a toy; actually it was a white ball with a blue star and a red
circle painted around the star. The actual size was about the size of a
soft-ball. This particular toy played with me.
I lay on the floor, not happy, not sad, just bored. I grabbed my ball
and put it on my forehead. Let go and it would roll off. I tried to turn
my eyes without turning my head to see it. It pulled at my skin funny
across my cheek. Bored, bored, bored. Rolling over I reached for my
ball again. Nope, to bored to reach for it. Sigh...
It moved.
It only moved just a little ways. It moved just enough to let me know
that IT MOVED. That is what balls do, you know, they get things
rolling. I felt a funny sensation like a bubble in my voice, and a flutter
inside the center of my being. I started to sit up and was aware of a
familiar ease of being. Almost like being reunited with part of myself.
That was the first small tear in the "veil" I had been poisoned with by
the string transference.
By this stage in the game, you as a reader may speculate about the
credibility of the writer. Everything I am telling you did happen. I was
not able to recognize it for what I believe it to have been now, at the
age I am now, having many years and strange things happen since I
was three years old. Even though the world was garbled before I
learned the language and the ability to sort it into different parts of
my
brain was a long tedious and infuriating process; I still remember these
feelings, and I still remember the instances (in particular) I have of
these events, what any judge in the land would call an "independent
recollection".
I learned this lesson the day when someone else knew he was there,
my mother saw him, my sister Darlene saw him, and my father
thought my mother was losing it, I had become a human.
I did not exist as a one of a kind, I was part of a family that shared
certain things. I could not however understand why sharing those
things with my family scared my mother. However, when the day
came that we witnessed him walk out of one wall and across the
room, and through the other wall, they shared in my experience. I
remember a joy to see him, my joy was not necessarily shared. Some
things are special to people because they are there especially for
those people.
Some things are better off not being shared, people here are quick to
judge and rely a lot on superstition and old wives tales. This same day
when my ball played with me, by placing itself back on my forehead
only to roll off again, was the very same day I learned a new word.
With a funny tickle in my middle, and a bubble in my voice, it came
out like a giggle.
I put my finger out and pointed at my angel and said, "SEE?"
Darlene was a year and six months older than I, she was at an age
where she still knew my language and theirs. She didn't need to
though, she saw it too, and so did my mother. Darlene pulled away
from our mother's clutch as she asked, "Momma who's that man?"
This was in a house located on Market Street in San Diego, I still
have pictures of the house. After that other things seemed to happen
often and time seemed to blur one day into the next. My dad did think
my mom was losing it. She did act strange, bidding us to shush,
listening to strange noises in the house and shadows of things moving
out of the corner of her eyes. I saw the darkness of the "shadowland,"
but I knew that somehow another was here also, someone safe,
someone so familiar it was as though they were a part of myself.
Part of someone else that lingered, was here to help me too.
That someone appeared one night to my mother in my room at the
foot of our beds. My mother believed the house was haunted. She
could see him from around the knees up, she said that he looked like
he was trying to make up his mind about something.
Mother clasped the cross around her neck and asked, "what in Gods
Name do you want?"
Mom told me many years later that he looked to Darlene and I, back
and forth several times and pointed at me, then she said it was as
though he were trying to talk to her, but he disappeared. She also said
that she believed him to be my Great Uncle Andy Kanna watching
over me as my guardian angel. She believed him to be wearing a
green Army uniform.
The very next day, I went into the bathroom and the door would not
open. It had a hook and eye latch up around 5 feet up the door sill,
and rose way out of reach for a child of not even 3 yet. I thought
Darlene had locked me in, and started screaming and crying, seeing
the darkness creeping in under the door. I moved back and climbed
up on the edge of the tub so that it would not touch me. It crept in
across the green and white linoleum floor, splitting to the sides of the
baseboards trying to surround me. The darkness played on terror,
growing as if it fed on my fear. Mom finally broke the door down,
just as I began to fall. She was able to buffer my fall somewhat, even
though I still had a huge goose egg to show for the experience.
Night rolled around and the bubble and the tickle passed through and
touched me, holding me on the inside comforting me in my aloneness.
The next day, I fell through the huge plate glass window. I was told
that something held me suspended in mid-air, though I know this
defies the law of physics and gravity, I was told that a two foot shard
of glass had imbedded in the ground and the other had pierced the lid
of my eye. I do not remember this. I do remember seeing a reflection
of something in the glass and climbing up to get a better look. To
touch it, I don't remember falling through it, or how it broke, only that
the next thing I knew, I was waking up to find my eyelid had been
sewn shut. This happened near the beginning of the year.
We still had the Christmas tree up.
~^.' '.^~
~ * ~
Dad, was a musician, he played guitar and he went to Barber College.
His guitar, a Martin d-28 to this day still sports marks upon it where
I
literally broke my teeth in as a baby. I don't know how he did it, but
Dad built us a house on Ward Drive. I remember sitting with his
guitar across my lap picking one string at a time, with my ear against
the top feeling the vibration flow through me. That was a real close
sensation to the tickle and the bubble. We moved into the new house
while the Christmas tree was still up.
Mom was so fat, she waddled, she wouldn't pick me up, she said she
was already carrying two children. Grandma Opal came to take care
of us and my mother was checked into the hospital, for three weeks.
She delivered my baby sister Donna and a two and a half pound
tumor, her child bearing days were done.
It was during this time that I saw him, just me and him. Some other
relative was at our house also, and she was a very superficial cleaner.
I had taken to looking for rabbits. Grandma said dust bunnies lived
under the bed and I wanted one of my own! My little braided oval rug
was pushed under my small bed. I was going to pull it out when the
tickle came, but not the bubble. It was as if I felt Him "feel" me, no,
I
could feel something pressing down on my chest and I could barely
breathe. Saying that the carpet under my bed was dangerous was an
understatement. The feeling increased to a prickly uncomfortable
heat, causing me to withdraw. Grandma came in just as the tickle
disappeared. She pulled the rug out from under the bed with the
broom and little golden ants with long tails scattered every which way,
tails extending upward.
When one writes about their childhood, how is it they can relate the
feelings they had then, that is to say if they didn't bury those feelings
forever amongst a myriad of what is supposed to be a mature outlook
on life or not. At this writing I am 41 it is December 1998, fast
approaching Christmas in 15 days. I cannot think of myself as old for
I am basically the same as I ever was, my body changed, I have a
better understanding of the dangers of this world, not just the dangers
that face us on the surface, but a deeper more sinister danger. A
darkness that has been alive as long as this planet has existed and
beyond, an aberration full of wrong ideas.
I was once inclined to believe that all people are basically good, they
just had bad habits or influences. How can I start to write this book
with the innocence of a child, even though I've prayed and tried to
retain some of that innocence. It wasn't until I was around five or six
that I leaned how to lie. Not lies to deceive for the no reason for it,
or
whatever purpose lies are used for, not for seeking out attention to
myself, not to impress anyone, but for protection.
Moving to that house on Ward Street changed many things. Darlene
and I had finally made a bond. Not because she was my big sister and
was granted privilege and status because she was the oldest, but now
because another addition stole even more moments of attention from
her. Darlene had become the representative of the family, Donna the
baby the mascot and I? I had become the scapegoat.
The Ward Street house was situated on the side of a very steep hill, at
the bottom was a ravine, always filled with rattlesnakes, between the
ravine and Ward Street lay Radio Drive. A small foot bridge spanned
the distance across the ravine, and on the other side a trail that snaked
up the side of a mountain, long and steep it wound to the top and to
the back property of the school. Our house stood next door to
another, an older house with people equally as old. They had shade
trees they had planted when they had built the place, as newlyweds.
They had the only shade trees on the side of that mountain. Like
hungry predators they spread their branches, as a coolness swept over
the hot ground, eating up the stinging sand and bare ground. Ample
shade that always seemed to sway from wind existing only in that
spot, granting any one at all a reprieve from the arid landscaping. Still,
sand in the hot wind stung like hot razors piercing the tender skin of
the youth.
Mother did not believe in sparing the rod, however Dad refused to
spank any of us then and still hasn't to this day. Dad could make you
feel worse by thinking about it. (I do have to admit, I really respect
my Dad for that!) But Mom, really laid it on, and I think that since
she had to be the bad guy, it made it worse. Taking "that
responsibility your father refuses to take", added to the cause that
would already put her in a mood. The punishment centered on her
anger at dad for not physically beating us, this, forced her to be mean.
I know this because she would cuss him as she was laying it on.
Afterward I would escape to the bathtub, soaking away the welts left
as the aftermath. I would shut the door completely so I could see
myself reflected in the full length mirror. Who was this stranger
staring back at me? The complete difference of the way I looked
compared to my dark haired and almost naturally tanned sisters, it
occurred to me maybe it was because I didn't look like anyone in my
family. Mom was of a dark complexion and had dark hair, so was
Darlene and Donna, I was fair, burned in the sun, had blond hair and
blue eyes, and Dads musical talent. Now, I cant say how much of
what happened was actually because I looked more like my Dad had
anything to do with it then, for my Dad had dark hair, prematurely
turning gray, but the lack of resemblance to my Mother certainly did
when I became a teenager.
Darlene showed me that if she knew trouble was churning, how to put
the blame somewhere else, and usually it landed somewhere else all
right, right on top of me. It didn't matter what I said, once the blame
was set, little could be done to alleviate the punishment. Punishment,
which was usually consisted of a hairbrush or yardstick getting broken
over my derriere, not to mention the bar of soap with black pepper
on it in my mouth for a good long while, yep, punishment was hell.
The spankings, the lye soap and black pepper was bad enough,
however, that that was not the worst part. Having to set in the dark,
to be absolutely alone in the dark, in my room was the worst.
Huddling across the room from "it", I could see the eyes of the
monster that lived at the foot of my bed. I remember screaming
about the monster in my room. I remember being punished when my
screams would continue into the night. I remember being tied to my
bed to keep me from waking the entire house while the monster
watched me and laughed silently.
Many dark forces lay in that monster; the monster of deception,
demon of deceit, demon of doubt, demon of injustice, demon of
mistrust. I only knew that it terrified me, and I would fight against
that demon all my life. My relief would come in the morning when
the lights would come on, that is it did until the dreams started.
I was in kindergarten, I had this dream many times of a delicate string
type flowing alive thing, beautiful and flowing, and of this big blobby
dark thing that disrupted the string thing, consuming and breaking it,
blocking its movement while it spread the darkness.
I would awake terrified. Not knowing exactly why, but terrified none
the less, filling me with a feeling of desolation and despair, that would
leave me trembling for hours.
I remembered the day when my dad brought home a pet for us, he
laughed and said its name was din-nah-tyme. We called it Susie, fed
it taffy and even rode on its back. Susie was a goat and she just loved
taffy, and she liked the sticky stuff on can labels an awful lot too. I
remembered the virtual reality of the era was called cartoons. I
had seen a cartoon showing me how to get milk from an animal. I
decided after Susie had been with us for a while, that Susie needed to
be milked!
I went in and got a big plastic cup, and went to drain some of that
milk stuff out of Susie. My mother seemed a bit apprehensive
watching out the window, my dad just said that he had to see this.
Susie was tied to the post out front. I remembered the cartoon, the
animal had to have water and some kind of food they liked, so I put
three pieces of taffy in a big bowl of water to keep her happy. They
don't give good milk if they aren't happy. Now, how was that done?
Oh yeah, place the cup under where the milk comes out and crank the
handle!
I sat the cup down so careful, thinking that maybe Susie would help by
maybe aiming a little bit too.
Grabbed that handle and
the next thing I knew,
I was about six feet away
................on my butt.....
.....in the sand.
My head was spinning and I saw purple, red and blue colors for a
few minutes. Dad shouted out the window at me, not a mean shout,
I
could hear him just a laughing, "Get back in there and get that
milk Shell!"
I looked up and saw him through the window, that was MY DAD,
and if he wanted me to milk Susie, then I was gonna milk Susie! I
got up, noticing that my leg hurt a little, trying not to show it cause
I
was daddy's girl, and I was gonna get him some goat milk!
Susie had spilled the water with the taffy in it, and had eaten the taffy.
I only had just three pieces left, and I kinda really wanted one or two
for myself, so I put one piece in the bowl and a little more water.
Dad asked if I needed any help getting that milk, watching as I limped
back with a glass of water to add to the taffy and the bowl. This time
I set the bowl almost out of reach of Susie, as I set the cup under her
and pushed sand around the bottom of it to keep it from falling over.
I put my hand on Susie's backside and was talking gentle to her,
asking her stand still for me while I cranked her handle. Susie kept
going to one side then to the other, I thought I tied the wrong end to
the post. Finally she got a hold of the taffy and started chewing, it
was my opportunity to crank that handle and get that milk!
I don't know how it happened, but all of a sudden I was in
the cactus. My mother was howling with laughter, my
father tried at least not to laugh as he picked me up and started pulling
the needles out of my back, butt and legs. I started crying, not
so
much that it REALLY hurt pulling out those cactus needles, but that
I just knew I was disappointing my dad.
I decided that Susie was going to give milk, and it didn't matter if I
had to give her ALL of my taffy to do it either. After an hour of
laying on my stomach and dad pulling cactus out of me, I got up and
went outside to finish what I was doing. I knew I was doing
something wrong, maybe Susie just needed some vitamins instead of
Taffy. Mom was down in the basement doing laundry, and Dad had
gone outside to do his wrenching, I was pushing a kitchen chair up to
the sink and reaching for the bottle of Vitamin C up in the window.
Taking a goodly amount of them I stuffed them into my pocket. And
tried to put the bottle back on the window sill. Well, that didn't work,
the bottle fell down into the dishwater and I didn't have that cap on
right, I was gonna get it for sure!
Out I went to vitamin up that goat. I fed her two by hand and she
liked them a lot! I figured her crank had to be broken since every time
I tried to crank her up somehow it would unwind and knock me
across the yard. I guess I would have to try it another way. This time
I held the cup with one hand and just tried to grab where the milk
came out with the other. I knew Susie had to know that all I wanted
was a little milk for my dad. I reached under her and got a hold of
her milk spout and pulled on it, and got nothing, about the fourth time
I tried this, I got something all right, but it didn't look right.
It didn't feel right and it was all over my hand. I didn't even get it
in
the cup. Just looked down at my hand at the gooiest mess I had ever
seen, knowing that Susie had cheated me out of my taffy, and caused
me a lot of pain just for a bunch of slimy stuff that looked like hand
lotion. It wasn't until three years ago now, that my dad informed me
that Susie was never a girl, I figured out on my own that no animal
likes having their handle cranked.
~^." .^~
> - <
I loved art time at school, but I didn't like the tap dancing lessons my
mother pushed me into. "Heel toe, heel toe, heel toe, step, step,
step?" The words echo in my mind even now, still hearing the teacher
smack each syllable out with a ruler against her hand. I hated it. It
made my back and hips hurt, and since it was after school, it made it
even worse, especially since I would still have to walk down that
mountain and back up the sand mountain, ours on the desert side of
the hill.
Funny how everything on this side of the hill was just a little bit
greener, a little nicer, while ours not even mile away, was desert with
cactus, big, fuzzy, black spiders and rattlesnakes. You know I'm
sure I really never thought about it back then, but that sounds
like it sucks today! Course now I do have a basis for comparison,
which is probably why I didn't mind it then. It's not true that the
grass is always greener on the other side of the hill. But life
certainly isn't the same! And life certainly missed that golden
aura on this side.
Again we moved, a whole block away from the other house on Ward
Street. After the move, we were closer to the ravine on Radio Drive.
It was right across the street practically. I remember playing jump
rope with the neighborhood kids and remember thinking about how
nice their bathroom was.
We had a bathroom, but it wasn't one you would want to do your
business in at all. Bees were everywhere. The bee situation was so
bad, we were all afraid to go in there, finally it got taken care of.
It was one fine day after the umpteenth case of respiratory arrest with
us kids, (actually I think it had something to do with someone else
getting stung while they were taking care of the infamous horse they
watered from time to time,) dad decided to tear out the wall. I
couldn't understand why he set the house on fire, but he did, he had a
regular old barbecue cooking up a storm in the bathtub and shower.
The smoke stung my eyes, and the way it moved, I could almost see
the shadow thing within it.
I remember this well, for mother had taken netting material from our
tutu's and an old floppy hat to make dad look like one of those B
grade movie aliens from T.V. He wore the biggest gloves I had ever
seen, and then we all had to dress in similar garb. Mom took the
washtub out and set it in the kitchen, as dad pulled pile after pile of
honeycomb out of the bathroom walls. I remember mom yelling at us
kids to go to the neighbors and get any milk jars they might have, and
to hurry. By the time we got back, the honeycomb hung from the
rafters in a netted bag, a whole lot like the deer dad had hung out in
the garage. The liquid flowed out of the honeycomb like blood. The
bees were angry. I tried to stay out of the way as I went out back to
pick some kumquats and get away from the swarming area of angry
protesters.
Leaving the immediate area did little good, almost as if they smelled
the sweetness of the soul, they clambered after me, landing over and
over. Grandpa had always told me that they were more afraid of me,
than me of them, and if I stayed very still the bees wouldn't bother
me.
Its hard to stand still after you are stung once and even harder after
three or four times, they attacked. It seemed to be very deliberate,
very well planed and thought out. Within a matter of minutes my
face, neck, and arms were covered with bee stings. I could not even
open my eyes for days, much less smile, cry or show facial expression
of any type. Mom said that maybe now I would leave those kumquats
alone. She was always telling me I ate way to many of kumquats and
if I wasn't careful I would turn into one of them. I never understood
why she didn't know they could keep you from getting sick. And
something else I found out was if you mushed them up and didn't eat
the peelings they would make sore spots feel better. One day out in
the backyard, I was able to sneak up to that little tree and grab some
on the sly. I had a handful and a pocket full, and I was a gobbling
those kumquats down one right after the other. Mom came out and I
had to get rid of what I had in my hands or Id be in big trouble. Now
my dad made beer, and vodka, and it just so happened that day that
the lid was off while it was fermenting, of course I had no idea what it
was or that I would hurt it, by hiding a kumquat or two in with it, I
forgot about putting them in there for a few days, well maybe a little
longer, but I did go back and get them back out. However several
months later, after dad pouring it into bottles and sealing them, he
cracked open a bottle of his "special stuff".
One drink and he spew special stuff all over everything, talking about
how it tasted worse now that it wasn't so green anymore, then he
looked kind of green. I had really forgotten all about putting the
kumquats in I had been hiding from Mom that day, and I had
removed them too, only a week after putting them in, so I knew that
it couldn't be that. Soon I was to learn, some special stuff never does
ripen, it just got greener and greener.
CHAPTER TWO
FLAVOR
OF
THE
MONTH
IS
KUMQUAT!
The summer of my sixth birthday was unforgettable. They tried
to disassemble my music box. Well, that was what Dad called it
anyway, it was that part of my neck that would vibrate to let me sing.
Donna had been real sick, then Darlene, then me, I got better
and so did Darlene, Donna stayed sick and she wasn't getting any better.
I remember taking the tiny orange fruit mom called kumquats,
and hitting them between rocks, mushing them up and putting
them inna cup. Then I would have to hide them in the icebox,
mom didn't want my messes in the icebox. I was extra careful
hiding my fruit I had mulched, it had to be really cold. Donna cried
whenever she tried to swallow. I remember putting my cold mushy
kumquats in a kitchen towel and sneaking it in the bedroom with my
toys. Donna didn't look well, she was very hot and her face and
throat was hot and red. I took the mushed kumquats and told her she
would have to shhh, I squeezed the fruit so hard in my little fist that
my knuckles turned w white. Like a baby bird, she would open her
mouth and I would squeeze a few more drops of liquid into her.
Darlene caught me, automatically she looked at the door she had left
open, I was caught. I don't know just exactly what it was, but her
eyes met mine and I was squeezing so hard my fingernails were
making my hand bleed. Darlene grabbed a pair of socks and put
them on my hands, at the same time she started making noise
like she was telling me that we had to clean up the bedroom, and
I could dust the dresser. Yet there on Donna's bed lay the
evidence that would get my back-side tore up. Mom, looked in
and didn't even see it, telling us not to disturb Donna, and that
when we got done we were to take a nap. Darlene started to
protest at the nap, mom said she didn't want to hear it and shut
the door.
Darlene took over for me then, her hands a little bigger than
mine, she squeezed the kumquats for Donna. We had a mess left
over, and no place to put the trashed kumquats. We knew no
food was allowed in the bedroom, and now we were in for it. So
then came the deception.
The socks came off of my hands and Darlene and I stuffed the
gooey mess left from the kumquats into the socks. Then it was all
about, well, I was the one that brought them in, I had to take
them back out. The socks went down the back of my pants into
my underwear, oh they were cold, and after I sat down on them,
they looked like, well I'm sure you know what they looked like.
Worse yet, they felt like....they felt like a really bad idea.
REALLY BAD IDEA!!!
I had just gotten over being sick, with diarrhea, just able to go
back outside just that day. Darlene was laughing so hard she was
coughing, her voice was getting like Donnas, Mom was in the
bedroom so fast, grabbed Darlene and took her to the window,
opening the curtains, "Say AHH!"
"Uhhhh, cough cough", Darlene laid it on.
While mom was looking in her mouth Darlene was motioning
with her hands, and I didn't have the foggiest idea what she was
trying to tell me. Just them Donna started coughing again and
crying, she was so thirsty for something cold, I forgot about
everything else as I started to run to the bathroom to get the
little water glass. Mom took this completely wrong, she spun
around on me and said, "just one minute young lady!!!"
Darlene's hand flew to her mouth and she started coughing again
as I tried to hide my mushy backside from my mother until I
could flush it all down the toilet. My stomach hurt, I had a taste
kinda like baking soda hit the back of my throat, and I knew I
was going to barf. I felt it rushing up my throat and grabbed my
mouth with both my hands, Darlene's eyes were as big as saucers,
just when it couldn't get any worse, I passed gas. Tears instantly
flew to my eyes, and what was worse, the socks were leaking. I
barfed like never before all over my mothers new shoes, lost my
balance and landed on my rear with the socks filled with
kumquat debris, landing with a very unladylike sound, and a
definite smulsch sound. I knew I was dead, mom looked at me so
surprised, she grabbed at her own mouth with both hands, and
looking somewhat like a startled deer, she bolted towards the
door.
She must have heaved for a good ten minutes, then I heard,
"Michelle get in here!"
Oh god, how was I ever going to tell my mom how this
happened, lie my way out of this one? Darlene put her finger to
her lips telling me to shush, and she shouted to mom that she
would help me get cleaned up.
Now we did face a problem. Mom thought the mess in my pants
was mess, we knew it was socks and kumquats, now we had to
put mess in my pants so we wouldn't be in trouble. At the very
mature age of six, it was unheard of to mess oneself. I couldn't
bear the thought of putting my hands in the toilet much less
making my pants look bad and there was still the problem of the
kumquat filled socks.
We were trying to get the kumquats out of the socks and off of
me, where they had spilled over into my pants when I fell on my
butt. We heard the familiar rumble of my dad coming home.
Mom was cleaning puke off of the bedroom floor, we were in the
bathroom trying to figure out how to make my pants look like
they had mess in them, and dad came in telling us to get out of
the bathroom he had to go!
Horrors of horrors, Darlene told me to stuff my pants under the
clean towels, BAD IDEA, I was trying to hide them and she was
trying to get the rest of the kumquats out of the socks, when I
found the answer.
An answer that would work if we could only get the can of shoe
polish open. In the nick of time we pried that can open. I had my
hand full of dark brown shoe polish, and Darlene had kumquats
all over the place. Together we grabbed it all up and reading each
others mind, slapped our hands together, and I was just able to
smear some on my legs and butt when mom came through the
bathroom door.
Darlene grabbed my pants and stuffed her hand inside them
trying to wipe off the shoe polish and kumquats from her hands,
holding them out at arms length when mom came in. My little
derrière had found the way to the toilet seat, smearing the polish
and the kumquats all over the toilet, and falling on the floor.
Darlene not thinking at all, raised her hand to push her hair out
of her face, ~~~SSMMEEAARRRR~~~.
Mom ran for the front door, Dad poked his head in and ran for
the back door and Darlene and I, laughed so hard that we started
choking, she farted and crapped her pants.
~^.' '.^~
*
It wasn't a week later that we were all in the hospital, all three of
us girls, they promised us if we just stayed here a couple of days,
that we could have all the ice cream and Jell-O we could eat.
After the first night, Darlene and I were ready to go, they
wouldn't even let us have so much as a drink of water, and they
had OUR Donna in a cage! She was so scared and she wanted
out, then this pink bunny came in with a white sock stuck to its
butt, Darlene and I looked at each other, wondering if there were
kumquats in it. The bunny had this pointy thing in its hand, it
opened the cage that had Donna in it and picked her up, just
about the time Donna's cries were starting to get quiet, that
bunny holding her to his shoulder, STUCK her with the longest
needle I had ever seen. Donna's mouth flew open, gasping in air,
for the longest time she drew in air, I didn't think she was ever
going to breathe again, but like listening to a dragon just before
he cooks you, the last thing you hear is the intake of his breath. I
have learned over the years, the way to gage the intensity of a
childs pain, was the length of time it takes them to inhale before
they loose their soul in a scream.
That was it. That rabbit hurt OUR Donna! Darlene was out of
her bed and on that rabbit like a cheap suit, kicking and hitting,
he fell over the rail on my bed, still holding OUR Donna. She
grabbed for me and I put my arms around her and curled over
her to protect her, he was yelling stat this and stat that, and
people appeared out of nowhere. Two of them took Darlene and
one tried to take Donna from me but she had a hold of my neck
and I had a hold of her, she was coughing so hard she was
choking. A big man wearing green said something to the rabbit
and he left. Then he sat and talked to me about some stupid
clown and I don't remember what else, only that he gave us
something to drink and I was feeling like I had rabbit hair
growing all over me. Donna had gone to sleep, and Darlene was
asleep, it was up to me to save us. I closed my eyes. The big man
in green picked up Donna, and put her back in that cage, but he
pulled it right next to my bed, I opened my eyes and saw her
there, so ti red, I was so tired, just close my eyes one time?..
It was dark, they had lights on in the hall, and a little light on in
that room, I tried to get up and my hands were tied to the bed.
No monsters, except the people, they could look just like people
you know.
My thumbs are double jointed, I could tuck my thumbs back
and slip right out of those restraints. Someone walked past the
door and I snuck out of my bed an instant later, I had a hard
time untying Darlene, she wasn't easy to wake up either. Finally
we both were up though, we had to get out of there, and we had
to get Donna out of that cage. Darlene pushed her cage over to
my bed even closer, I still couldn't reach the hook that held the
top on the cage, so I pushed against it and Darlene got it open
somehow, the top side fell downward after the top was off of it,
and we got Donna up, she was really sleepy. We headed out in
out little bare butt gowns down the hall, Donna between us
holding on to each of us, while our extra hand held the back of
our gowns shut. We made it past the nurses station and to the
elevator. A janitor helped us in the elevator, we thought we were
going to make it, through the main lobby, as we headed out
toward the door. Three women, and a great, big, policeman,
scooped us up, we were trapped. The last thing I remembered
was being tied to my bed by a flower, it didn't look anything like
a posy to me.
*
I woke up and knew I had been violated, what really made me
mad was the fact that they not only violated me, but Darlene and
Donna too. None of us could talk, only look at each other in
agony, tears in our eyes. I knew I would never sing or talk again,
they cut my music box up. I was so angry, it wasn't as though I
was such a master at the language here to begin with, my speech
impediment made me difficult to understand. I wished for the
bubble and the tickle to come, to pass through me. All that came
was a scared looking gorilla, carrying little sealed bowls of ice
cream. Never has ice cream tasted the way it did on that day. The
magic of the way it would melt as I stirred it to make it soft was
lost on a throat that found no solace. Something else was lost on
that date too. I found I couldn't trust anyone over the age of
eight, and that was really stretching it. I began to wonder what in
the world God was thinking.
The whole world was dangerous, couldn't trust the Easter Bunny
at all, everyone in the place where they hurt our music boxes and
stuck our Donna inna cage, were in allegiance with my own
parents. The trip home was a miserable one. The back seat of the
Packard was covered in an itchy scratchy material my Dad called
horsehair. I had only seen horses one time before in real life, and
that was when I was lost at Disneyland when I was 3. I couldn't
understand how those people could stand to sit on those horses,
that material was miserable!
We finally made it home and it was, "into bed," when we got
there. I remember having diarrhea from all the ice-cream and
running to the toilet. Finally making it with a sense of "whew no
mess!" I pulled up my pajama bottoms and flushed.
That toilet was mad at me as it let out a BLURP sound and
wouldn't swallow. Oh my God, I made it sick and now it was
throwing up!!! My first thought was to put the lid down to stop
it, but it started drooling, just a little bit. I still couldn't talk well,
my throat was still hurting, and I sure didn't want to try to
explain that the toilet was sick and it did cross my mind that I
was the one that may have made it a little sick. It did smell bad! I
took a dirty towel and wrapped up its drool. I was afraid to open
its mouth. I didn't want to look inside at all. I put the towel in
the bathtub and pulled the curtain shut, washed my hands and
scooted back to bed.
That day tormented me, it didn't seem like it was even five
minutes later that I was running for the toilet again. My stomach
turned and I felt like my brain was turning red. The pain in my
tummy wouldn't wait. I opened the toilets mouth expecting the
worst, but it wasn't really too bad, just looked like it needed to
be flushed again. I did my business and got down, somehow
forgetting how it had drooled when I fed it earlier, I reach up
and started to flush it again. Then I heard the screen door slam,
Daddy! I ran and jumped in bed and I forgot all about flushing
that toilet.
I had barely jumped in bed and pulled up the covers and rumble,
I had to go again, I needed to cough but I was afraid to. Darlene
had beat me into the bathroom. She wouldn't let me on the toilet
and she didn't look as she raised the toilets mouth watching me
instead. She hopped up on the drooly seat, her eyes were open
real wide as she looked surprised as she said, "this seat is wet",
in a hoarse frog voice.
I heard Daddy say something and I just reached over and pulled
the handle to flush that toilet with Darlene still sitting on it's mouth.
BLURP, I heard it grumble and Darlene felt it drool on her. I
realized it was gonna barf all over her and I was back-peddling
out that door. It must've hit her butt, cause she was off that
toilets mouth and shrieking in a most horrible voice. Here come
dad and mom was right behind him. My tummy hurt so bad it
was making me bend over, and the toilet was barfing all over the
place. Dad grabbed the thing he called the plunger and now he
was choking that poor sick toilet to death! It finally stopped
puking, but there was already barf all over the floor, and me? I
was trying very hard to tell someone I had to poop real bad.
Daddy said, "no one is to use the toilet until I use the snake on
it."
SNAKE??? I knew about snakes, they were deadly! Mom killed
one with a rattle on it in the ravine with a shovel, and now Dad
was gonna use one on the toilet! Just for barfing on the floor?? I
ran for the backyard in my pajamas, and made it out back next
to the woodpile. My pajama bottoms were around my ankles and
I was in a squat. My mom came around the corner.
"MICHELLE ANDEE!!!" She said loudly, in that "Just what do
you think you're doing" voice.
Squatting is a precarious position to begin with, and Mom
startled me just enough for me to lose my balance. Horrors of
horrors I was gonna land in it! Tears instantly filled my eyes as I
tried to get up and couldn't, Mom lifted me by my pajama top
and ordered me not to move. How could I, my pajama bottoms
were around my ankles, I had mess and twigs and leaves stuck to
my butt and my legs, I started crying harder and that made my
throat hurt worse. Mom turned on the hose, and sprayed me off
with the coldest water I had ever felt, and the spray felt like
sharp stones as it hit my butt and legs. The worst part was yet to
come, she forced me to walk back around the house NAKED,
and the neighbor kids were outside.
Dad was still in the bathroom as mom put me in clean underwear
and back to bed. Darlene just glared at me, I knew she'd get even
with me for that one.
"Daddy has the snake in the toilet!" She said in that horrible
"you are in for it now" voice.
It was my fault, that toilet was gonna die! That toilet hadn't been
there very long, Daddy had rebuilt the bathroom after setting the
fire in the tub and the bee removal. That toilet saved me from
the kumquat mess, before my music box got hurt. I ran to the
bathroom to stop Daddy. I got to the door just in time to see
Daddy pulling a big long wire out of the toilets mouth. He pulled
and was winding on a handle pushing it down in there again.
"Damned snake!" he said under his breath.
Mom tapped me on the top of my head, "get in bed!"
My shoulders scrunched up around my ears as I backed up
a little and let Mom in the bathroom with Daddy. Daddy said he
couldn't get the damned snake all the way in there. Only thing I
could figure was that Daddy must have had that snake on the
end of that wire. I patted Mom on the butt, "Mommy,
Mommy.." She turned around to look at me and Daddy was
pulling that long wire with the snake on the other end of it out of
the toilets mouth.
I heard a long sucking sound and Daddy was on his knees in
front of the toilet, starting to get up when we all heard a growl
come from that toilets mouth and a rumble kinda like my
stomach came from under the house. As he pulled and pushed
and pulled again, and finally the toilet let loose of his wire, all at
once. That toilet must have eaten that snake, cause the only
thing on the end of that wire looked like a big brown sausage
with corn and kumquats was stuck to it, and some kind of white
waxy looking blobs. This was followed immediately by a gushing
noise as the toilet belched with an odor that could have peeled
paint. It made my eyes water. Daddy looked a funny gray color,
and Mom looked kinda green as she threw open the curtain
around the bathtub, found the drooly towel and immediately
made it look worse.
I would be lucky to see my seventh birthday. I did learn two
things that day. One was that everything that had a mouth
deserved respect and careful consideration, the other was that
too many kumquats in the mouth can mean a snake in the belly.
*
Our voices finally healed, things were getting back to "normal"
what ever that was, at least according to what I knew as a point
of reference. One day my Daddy came home and Mom took him
in their room for a long time. When he came out he had tears in
his eyes. I had never seen my Daddy cry before. I ran to him and
patted him on the hip. Daddy picked me up and just held me, I
hugged his neck for a long, long time. Him and mom talked for a
long time, I held my head to daddy's shoulder and listened to his
voice vibrate. Not really hearing what he was saying, just wanting
him to feel better.
A couple of days later Mommy was getting us ready to
go someplace. She said it was a fambly union. I don't think
I had ever been to one of those. Mom said I had that I was
going to see all of my Daddy's brothers and sisters, and say
good-bye to Grandma. Grandma was going on a long trip.
I loved my Gramma, she and Grandpa made quilts, and they
always had time for me. I couldn't wait to see the whole fambly.
We got dressed up too, no jeans, we all were in our Sunday
dresses, finally after a short trip in the car we were there. This
was a strange place.
All 19 of Daddy's brothers and sisters were there, and they all
had kids around our age. I looked and looked for Grandma and
couldn't find her. Finally Mom took us up to the front of the
room and there was Grandma, but she was sleeping in a wooden
box. She slept all the time we were there. I wanted to tell her
good-bye and Mom held me up and told me to kiss her on the
cheek, she had already left. She wasn't there no more. I don't
know what I kissed, but it wasn't Grandma. It was cold, it looked
like her on the outside, but it wasn't her in the inside. I felt
scared, and for the first time in a long time, I saw the
shadowthing lurking, waiting, hiding in around all the people.
I wanted out of there and now! It was dark outside already. I ran
out the door and across the lawn with all the signs sticking out of
it, I saw a statue of an angel, only it didn't really look like a real
angel, and I could still feel the shadowthing. I ran across the
street to an old pickup truck. I felt so tired. An old man asked
me what I was doing. He was so bright, he had light all around
him, I told him I needed to lay down, I was tired and I was afraid
of the shadowthing. He opened the door to the pickup and
helped me in. I lay down on seat and he covered me up with
something and touched my forehead, I was asleep before he shut
the door.
CHAPTER THREE
TEACH YOUR PARENTS WELL...
I was in a warm safe place, I felt like someone was holding me in
the biggest cradle, like they had a really big hand and it held me
while I slept. When I woke up it was really dark, and I could hear
someone calling my name over and over. I opened my eyes and I
didn't know where I was. Then it came back to me, Grandma was
in a box, only it wasn't Grandma.
The fambly union was going on. I lay on the seat of that truck
with my eyes open and saw lights flash back and forth. I heard a
lot of people calling my name. I sat up and looked out the
window, all the signs in the ground looked strange with the lights
flashing back and forth over them. The shadowthing was gone. I
saw my Mom looking for me, and she was crying. Momma don't
cry! I pulled the handle on the door and it wouldn't open for me.
Inside that truck where I had felt so safe, now didn't feel so safe
anymore. I was scared. I banged on the windows hoping
someone would see me or hear me, but there was so much noise.
Finally I stopped, and was turning to try the other door when
serendipity stepped in as I accidentally found the horn. All at
once it seemed my Mom and Dad were there, opening the truck
and grabbing for me.
Mom sat me out on the ground and started berating me right
there, what had I been thinking? Why would I do this to her? I
didn't know that I had done anything, just that once again I was
in trouble. She wanted to know who had put me in the truck, and
when I told her I was threatened with soap and black pepper in
my mouth for lying. Finally my Uncle Smokey just picked me up
and held me. I loved Uncle Smokey, I loved him so much, I just
knew I would marry him when I grew up.
I was in First grade class except for part of the day when I had to
go to another building, for speech therapy class. No matter how
hard I tried; I could not get this mouth used to these big front
teeth that grew in. I was classified as having a "pronounced
lisp". My teacher was Miss Stevens, with blond hair like mine.
She was the only teacher I remember that I liked until the fourth
grade. She listened carefully with a funny look on her face taking
in every word that I said, I felt it was safe to tell her about the
bubble and the tickle. When I had finished, she talked to me in a
very low voice and told me that I should be very careful whom I
told this to. I told her about Grandma being in a box, and about
the shadowthing. She said that I was unique, different from any
other child she had ever known, and that I had to be very
careful. I told her about the delicate string thing and the
destructive thing that kept trying to destroy it. I felt as though I
could trust her that much. It mad e me so angry when I couldn't
talk to her anymore, and then later it made me angry that she
knew I would be leaving and never told me. She did take me
aside one day and told me that she thought I was special, she
said I had been chosen. I, for the life of me couldn't figure out
what it was she said I had been chosen for. On the last day I went
to her class, she had a special guest for us to meet. She said she
wanted me to meet him specially. He wore black, but he had this
kind of glow around him. He said I needed a protector. Before
he left, he put some kind of water on my forehead and said some
funny words.
No one explained that when Dad said we were moving that this
time it wasn't going to be across town. No one explained I would
never to this day see any of my friends again. No one told me I
wouldn't see Miss Stevens again. We moved halfway through the
year to the new school in Weed, California. I didn't even get to
say good-bye to Michael or Miss Stevens. We were kept in the
dark about what those words moving away really meant, and to
this day I am still in the dark about what the glowing man had
said.
Dad moved us into a trailer in a place called Karrick Addition. It
wasn't bad, but now we took the bus to school. I got picked on a
lot. New kid and all, and I was the town Barber's daughter.
Guess no one liked getting their hair cut much.
"My" piano we had in the house at Radio Drive was no longer at
home for me to play, I ached to play music. I no longer got to
play Dads guitar, the closest feeling I could get to the "bubble
and the tickle" was out of that guitar, cutoff from the only thing
on this Earth that felt right, increased my desolation. I felt such a
loneliness here, the tickle hadn't come my way since the scorpion
nest was found living with the dust bunnies, and my guardian
angel had fallen off of my shoulder. I could no longer see it in
the reflective properties of the windows, nor in the full length
mirror behind the door. Now there was no full length mirror.
Darlene was In some kind of girls club, where she would get to
go after school. I remember one day the teacher kept us after
school, which even now I think really sucked, not giving a
thought to our parents or how we would get home. I hope she
reads this book.
My sister Darlene saw me out trying to find the right bus to get
on after she got out of school which was later than when I got
out. She knew I would be in trouble cause I was late getting
home, so she took me to her girl club with her, and we went
home together from there. I made a sewing kit, that day, and
cause there wasn't enough to go around, Darlene gave me the
stuff from what would have been hers. We kinda formed a pact
that day, one that would last forever.
The worst day I can remember in school back then was one in
second grade. The bus driver instigated a fight between a
neighbor boy and I, I never did figure that one out. I do
remember him pushing me off the bus and me landing on my
face. I do remember picking up a tree branch bigger than I was
and bopping him with it and sitting on his chest and beating him
back after he got in a few licks. I do remember having a black
eye that took forever to heal and the spanking I got at home for
acting like a tom-boy. I was an unruly, troublesome child, I
didn't know what unruly meant, but the troublesome part, that
might have been true. I did have lots of trouble trying to learn
how to ride a bicycle.
Mom and Dad found me a bicycle somewhere, the handlebars
were loose and it had a flat tire, but Dad said he could fix it up
just like new. I was going to learn how to ride a bike. Only
problem was, I couldn't balance on it, and my feet didn't even
reach the pedals. Mom said something about a two by four, and
I was way older than that! Dad, just went around back of the
house and grabbed a piece of wood, sawed it into two pieces and
wired it to the pedals with another wire over the top to hold my
feet in place. To top it off, he took a clothespin and fastened a
playing card that had a clown on it to the back spokes. Now it
even sounded BAD!
Dad worked with me and so did mom for days, running along
side of me holding onto my coat to keep me from falling over,
until one day Dad got tired of running and let go. I was halfway
down the block before I realized I was riding on my own. At that
very moment, I faltered, and down I went. I swear I didn't have
even one pair of pants without the knees ripped out. My knees
were so scarred up by the time I was 7 that I still have scars on
them. Across the street I had cousins, and one that was named
after my dad, was around 3 when he fell into a swimming pool
and drown. One of the adults there was able to get him out, and
they resuscitated him. Little Carl David had the brightest red
hair. He came over to our house, his mom and dad were going to
hear my daddy play music somewhere, and my mom was
watching him. I remember him sitting on her knee telling her
about God. Telling her that there was a heaven and that God had
let him come back to tell her that He loved all of us. He told us
that God had let him come back so he could say good-bye. One
week later to the day, his family went to Shasta Lake near
Redding, California, and the brakes failed on their station
wagon. They were able to get everyone out in time, everyone
except little Carl David, even though they got him out of the seat
belt, his T-shirt got caught on the window handle. He drowned
for the second and final time when he was 3 years, 3 months and
3 days old. I remember thinking that he was going home. Mom
and I talked about that many, many years later, her telling me
that his parents had never even taken him to Church. Mom
didn't have much nice to say about them.
Mom wasn't real happy up here, she didn't know a whole lot of
people and Dad didn't take her out as much, like he did when we
lived in San Diego. Dad was gone an awful lot, that Mom started
talking that she might as well be divorced. I had no idea what
that meant, but since she cried every time she said it, I knew it
couldn't be a good thing. One night my Dad was getting ready to
leave, and I wanted to tell him, about the divorce thing, I wanted
to spend time with him and I never got to see him anymore. I
had been riding my bike and saw the car pull up and just
dropped my bike behind the car in the driveway, not thinking he
would be leaving again right away. Daddy was coming out the
door, and I ran to him and threw my arms around his neck. He
gave me a quick hug and set me down, saying he had to go. I
remember hanging onto his car door tears streaming down my
face as I begged him to stay home, he kept backing out and
crunch, there went my bicycle.
Boy was he mad, and what was worse, he was screaming at me,
and his car wasn't hurt, but my bike sure was. It took my mind
off the divorce word I couldn't understand. Daddy threw my bike
to the side and got in his car and left fast.
I was crying, Mom came out and gathered me up taking me
inside the house. The next day my mom gave me a little doll she
had made out of a sock. With some real hair on it, she said she
got from Daddy's barbershop floor. I thought it was real neat,
and was horrified when she stuck it with a big long nasty looking
pin to give it eyes she said. Finally she decided just to draw them
on for me instead.
One day in second grade, I had just come home from school and
there were boxes all over the house. Mom told us to get in the
Packard we were going to the store. It was on the way home that
we were told the news. Darlene and Donna were in the front seat
with Mom, and I was in the back with the boxes when she said it.
"Girls, were moving, and your daddy isn't moving with us."
Darlene asked the million dollar question, "Are you and daddy
getting a divorce?"
Finally I thought I knew what a divorce meant, it meant that we
would never have our dad again, it meant that my whole life was
going to change and I would NEVER get to see my Dad again. I
felt a hand squeeze around my heart, and felt like I couldn't
breathe. I started bawling my eyes out, and I was the only one
that cried. What could my life be without my father? Who would
protect me? Who would I tell my secrets to?
When we got back to the house, Mom went back to packing the
boxes, my bed was blocked in with just a little bit of room to
squeeze through to get in. I told my mom that I didn't want to
go with her, I wanted to stay with my dad. Just then it was like
something pushed one of those boxes over, and I could hear
breaking noises. Mom grabbed for me and she had a belt in her
hand. I crawled inside the space into where my bed was. I was
crying, I was the most scared I had ever been.
"Michelle Andee Tidmore! You get your butt out here right
now!"
I crawled further into my hole, knowing that she would beat me
within an inch of my life if I came out. I heard my mother cut
loose with a scream that seemed to come from the bottom of her
soul as it let loose in great heaving sobs, and I felt as though the
whole world was erupting. My mother was crying like a small
child. I did the only thing I could, I told her I loved her, over
and over again.
I started to crawl out of my hole, and could see my mother on
her knees crying like her soul was on fire. I couldn't imagine
what it was that could hurt her to this point, and I came to the
realization that no matter how calmly she tried to approach the
subject of this divorce thing, that it was a most painful process.
It was tearing my mother apart, she cried so hard she couldn't
catch her breath.
I crawled out and held my mother, stroking her hair over and
over again, knowing that the tears I cry right now while writing
this share in the hurt, the aloneness and the desolation that she
faced. Life would not ever be the same. This was the first step
into Hell.
CHAPTER FOUR
LOOK BEFORE YOU
LEAP!!!
I can not tell you how miserable the last half of my second year
of school was, as it were I had been placed into a room with 3rd
graders because of the level of my education. But, that summer,
ah, that summer led to adventure as we traveled with my
Grandma and Grandpa to Arkansas to see my Grandpas
brother, and one of my Great Uncles, of whom I was named
after.
My Uncle Mitchell owned a ranch in Arkansas, it was a GREAT
place. However, there wasn't any television, but there was a lot of
neat stuff to do.
Uncle Mitchell and mom had gone out for a walk, grandma and
grandpa and Donna, were laying down taking a nap, and Darlene
and I? Well Darlene and I had found a box.
I can't help myself, the sense of the curious finding satisfaction is
akin to a bargain hunter in the worlds largest thrift store.
Uncle Mitchell had a kitchen table that was complete with a lazy
susan. That is to say a smaller round, situated on ball bearings in
the center of the table which allowed one to spin it, making the
reach to whatever food stuffs easily accessible to those seated at
the table.
The box, oh yes, the box? was full of tiny little squares of ivory
snow soap, you know, like the size used in motels and hotels.
Everyone was gone, we were bored, so Darlene and I built houses
out of the soap up on top of the table. She got the idea first when
she decided to tear the house down, she grabbed the edge of the
lazy susan, and gave it a whirl, ththththththpppppppp!!! The
small bars of soap hit the wall with the sound of a machine gun.
THAT WAS COOL!
We looked at each other, she had that smug satisfied look about
her cause you know she thought of it first, and I have no idea
how I looked, but I know my eyes were very bright and wide, and
I had to pick my jaw up off the floor. We both simultaneously
scrambled for the soap bars, stacking them back up on the lazy
susan,and
phthththththththththththtpppppppppppppppppppppppp!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
This was WAY TOO COOL!!! We were laughing so hard, then it
was a matter of, "let me do it!" Each time we picked up the soap
bars, we would stack them higher and higher, trying to out do
the last stack. I wound way back and threw my hip into it.
PHPHPHPHPHTTHTHTHTHTPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!
They sprayed across the room beautifully and whap, whap,
whap, whap, whap, whap, whap, whap,!! We had sprayed mom
and Uncle Mitchell coming in the door. My hand flew to my
mouth, and Darlene was back pedaling out the other door.
"Michelle Andee!" My mother screamed at me!
My hands immediately flew behind my back, I was in for it.
Mom looked pissed! Uncle Mitchell looked around his kitchen,
with one great bushy eyebrow raised, he looked at me and said,
"who made this mess?"
I just hung my head, feeling the tears start to burn behind my
eyes, I didn't think I was going to be able to hold them back. My
forehead started to pucker, and I knew I had lost the battle.
Uncle Mitchell said, okay Shelly, why don't you and I just pick
up these little bars of soap and stick them back in that box. I
couldn't speak without losing it all together, and it seemed that
Uncle Mitchell knew this as he ruffled my short blond hair and
said, "you know I have a big old barn out back that has a great
big pile of hay in it. If you go up that old ladder on the side,
there's an old rope hanging up there perfect for swinging on. "
Darlene ran past me from the other room bee lining it for the
back door.
"You better hurry, she's gonna beat you to it!" Uncle Mitchell
said as he patted my rump, pushing me toward the door, and I
was off and running.
As I ran I could hear him tell my mom, "see the way she threw
her hip into that? She'll make a great little golfer!"
By the time I got there to the barn, I could see Darlene
disappearing into the hole at the top of the ladder.
I was up and after her. As I got to the top, the hole being a little
farther than the rungs of the ladder were apart, I had a little
trouble trying to pull myself inside. My foot pushing out on the
ladder as I tried to push my self in, and there went the ladder. It
stood like a teetering tree threatening to just stand there to taunt
my fear. Then it fell backwards, we could hear the wood crack as
it hit the ground.
Darlene already had the big rope, but Uncle Mitchell had two
ropes up there. She grabbed the nearest one and swung out as far
as she could squealing with delight. Then knowing that the
sensation would be just too much fun, I grabbed the second
rope, which was about ten feet away from the first one, just
about the time I saw Darlene let go of the rope and land in that
big old pile of hay. She laughed so hard! I couldn't wait to feel
the breeze in my face and to fly through the air like that, but
Darlene shouted for me to wait until she got out of there. I
waited as she scrambled to her feet and out the barn door. Then
I ran with that rope in my hands, jumped and crossed my legs
around that rope and swung. Then I looked beneath me.
This particular rope didn't hang over the pile of hay that Darlene
landed on. Oh there was a pile of hay all right, and right in the
middle of it was a pitchfork, and it was pointing straight up. Oh,
was I in a pickle, I was scared to jump off or let go of that rope,
and I started screaming for help. I figured Darlene could at least
hear me. I climbed up on the rope so I could see out the upper
window, I could barely see the back door of the house with the
claw foot bathtub sitting on the back porch. Wisps of smoke
were rising so I knew someone was heating the bathtub up for a
bath. I screamed at the top of my lungs, for Uncle Mitchell, my
Mom, Grandma or Grandpa, Darlene even, and still no one
came.
The hot part of the day was upon me and that old barn felt just
like an oven. I tried swinging on the rope, maybe I could swing
far enough that I could jump over to that other pile of hay. But
the rope was hurting on my hands, and it made it rub against my
legs, burning them raw. I screamed until I was hoarse, and felt
sorry for myself, I cried thinking about my poor body impaled
upon that pitchfork, which was the only image that kept me
hanging on even tighter to that rope.
The very bottom of that rope still was a good 5 feet above that
pitchfork. I was tired. I nodded off, relaxing my grip just enough
to start falling. Jerking awake I grabbed a hold of that rope and
it burnt through my hands until I had only about a foot of rope
left, now my arms were extended above me, and my body just
dangled there at the end of that rope, waiting for that pitchfork
to taste me. Self torture, especially when done accidentally, is
one of the worst forms of punishment when four simple words
made that days lesson clear, "look before you leap."
That phrase finally made sense to me.
Finally someone came, it was dusk, I had been hanging onto that
rope for at least 4 hours. Darlene had gone inside to take a bath
and a nap. No one even knew I was in peril. Uncle Mitchell came
in the barn getting some stuff for the horses and found me there,
I had blood dried down to my feet where it had dripped from my
hands.
He immediately saw what had happened, and moved the
pitchfork. "Ok Shell, you can let go now."
I wasn't sure I had even heard him, it was like he was part of a
dream. He reached up and grabbed hold of my waist, "I got you
sweetie, let go."
I don't remember letting go. But I must have, the trip between
the barn and the house was like a dream. I just knew Uncle
Mitchell had me, and it was the safest I had felt since I had when
I lived with my dad.
Mom had the wood stove under the claw-foot bathtub on the
back porch going. Uncle Mitchell told my mom not to get it too
hot that I was pretty messed up from the rope burns. I barely
remember the bath, or eating anything, I just kept hearing those
words in my head over and over and over.
"LOOK BEFORE YOU LEAP!"
CHAPTER FIVE
CHINESE FOOD AND GRANDPA'S
HANGOVER CURE
I still wonder sometimes what God was thinking.
My mother worked her butt off at the hospital, from being a
Nurses Aide to being a Scrub Nurse, then to working in
Radiology. With three of us to support and no child support
from my father to speak of, Mom worked split shift and half
overtime putting in anywhere from 10 to 12 hours a day at
minimum wage of a dollar twenty-five an hour. It was during her
second year there she got a raise to a dollar sixty-five, and I
remember well the celebration.
Mom had decided to cook Chinese, not something I think she
had a lot of experience at, but we were willing to try it anyway.
Now there are some things that are better left unsaid, and with
that in mind there also might be some things that should never
be said, like what was on my plate. It had legs. I don't mean just
two, even though that would have been bad enough, knowing
that it was running around and now it was on my plate. To be
honest, I wasn't sure it was even dead now either. It had a
BUNCH of legs and it was about the size of my hand. I picked at
it with my fork.
This particular evening my mother had a date. This was
interesting, how would this man react to having something with
this many legs on his plate? Not to mention a house full of us
"women", we didn't have to be told how important this night
was, Mom's first brave, courageous, date. I really had all
intention of being the perfect child, the perfect "little lady" as it
were, and everything would have gone all right if it weren't for
that SOCK HE. (Sock whom? Yeah, that's what I said!)
Darlene and I were sitting cross-legged on floor pillows, using the
coffee table as a platform for our plates. We were drinking
something my mother called SOCK HE, and it did taste just
about how old, tired, dirty socks smelled, I wasn't sure at all that
I liked it, even with the melted butter mom put in it. However it
did make my tongue feel funny and I felt warm behind my knees
all the way up to my shoulders. It wasn't long before I had my
food up on my fork and dancing across the coffee table. Darlene
and I were whispering and giggling about its dance when one of
its legs fell off. I was shocked!
We already found its eyes, and it couldn't be right eating
something that could stare at you, but I felt kind of a fondness
for it and when it lost one of its legs, the giggle left my throat
and I felt tears instantly spring to the surface. My forehead
puckered as Darlene stopped laughing to stare at me with wide
eyes.
"Michelle, what's the matter?" She asked.
"He'll never walk again!" I answered with a hiccup escaping
behind it.
Her mouth opened up as she squealed and threw her body
backward, "HAR HAR HAR HAW HAW HAW HA HA HA HA
HA HAAAAAA!"
That stopped my tears in their tracks! What was so gol-darned
funny about that? I gently laid the legged thing on my plate,
skewered on the end of my fork. She just pointed her finger at
me and laughed harder. I tried to stand up and everything was
kinda fuzzy. I teetered trying to get to my feet and fell over, that
made her laugh even harder. I hit the table with my butt, and the
other end of it came up just like a see-saw with her plate on it,
and it flew straight over the bar into the kitchen where my
mother sat with her date, getting the impression of his life. Mom
had just asked him, "more SOCK HE?"
She stood up had gotten the bottle and was turning to pour some
of that rank smelling stuff in his glass, sat down the bottle and
started to sit down and here came the flying plate. It was looking
a whole lot like some weird space ship with the mad alien,
complete with multiple legs and eyes. It didn't hit her, (thank
God!) but it did hit her plate, turned it up on its end and sent the
contents directly into her lap.
We heard the word, "SHEET!"
Then followed this deadly silence. I still couldn't get to my feet
finally content to make it onto the couch from the floor.
Darlene put her finger in front of her mouth and said, "shhhh
schwee don't wanno get ourschelves into trubble!"
She was talking real funny, she ate part of that thing. Served her
right, poor little helpless whatever it was.
Mom came to the door and surveyed the situation. The bottle of
SOCK HE she had left in there with us was empty. She was
covered in whatever that stuff was she wanted us to eat, (that
looked just like worms). I felt the baking soda taste hit the back
of my throat warning me that the barf was not long to follow. I
covered my mouth with my hands and tried to make it down the
hall to the bathroom. The nightmare blurred itself whirling me
into a bottomless pit from which I could not raise my head.
Praying God would let me live for the weekend I submitted to
the whirling mass.
Thank God it was Saturday, even so, a day at the swimming pool
didn't help Oh curse upon whomever invented that SOCK-me
stuff. A curse upon the fleas that infest your camels armpits. A
few hours later I still felt like my brain was swollen. Stumbling
back home my eyes hidden under the soaked towel I had dunked
in the pool, my Grandfather took pity on me. He mixed me up
the most ungodly tasting brew that made me feel as though every
pore in my body would be sick. Thank God he shared the magic
ingredients with me and I shall share them with you.
Grandpa's hangover and feel bad cure: Take a tablespoon of
sugar and stick in a cup. Take one bottle of Louisiana hot sauce,
just open it, don't drink it or nothing else till I tell you too, but
open it. Take one clove of garlic, not that elephant kind, but the
real garlic kind, and cut it into two pieces. Take one bottle of
whiskey and open that and pour a shot. Take 2 tablespoons of
golden seal and boil one cup of water with the golden seal in it,
then pour it through a strainer into the cup with the sugar in it.
If its too hot, and it will be, pour one drop of Louisiana hot
sauce on your finger and put one half clove of garlic in your
mouth. Chew the garlic up and swallow it, it will be nasty, and
that's what the shot glass of whiskey is for. Swallow the shot of
whiskey, then you know it might not taste so great either, pop
that finger in your mouth that has the drop of Louisiana hot
sauce on it. Right after you do that drink the cup of golden seal
tea and you'll be right as rain in 15 minutes flat. Oh yeah, you
need to drink lots of water that day. The other half of garlic?
Well, that's to eat after the golden seal tea, I guarantee it will
taste better than it has ever tasted before.!
That night, Mom's courageous date made a second appearance.
They had decided they were going to go out deer hunting.
I never knew my mother to do such things, deer hunting that is, I
mean, sure we went camping a few times before, but my mother
with a gun? With bullets? I wondered in silence however,
watching the Saturday Night Movie, the black and white version
of "Little Shop of Horrors", with the fleeting appearance of Jack
Nicholson as the masochistic dental patient.
Grandma and Grandpa were right next door, and the intercom
was on between the houses. Donna was at their house, but
Darlene and I were in the trailer by ourselves. I remember trying
to stay awake until they got home, but I found myself waking up
on the living room floor at around zero dark thirty in the
morning to my mothers hushed giggles as she came home to
check on us kids.
"Did you get one? Did you get a deer?"
Simultaneously we plied her with questions.
Gordon, her date laughed, "well, she got something all right, but
its pretty small for a deer!"
I couldn't believe it, he was teasing my mom and then he reached
right out and pinched her on the butt!
My mother? She was laughing, her eyes were sparkling and she
was in the best mood I had seen her in for a long time.
Darlene and I just exchanged "knowing" looks at each other.
Finally I blurted it out, "where is it, I wanna see it!"
They agreed to take us to the place where they had hung the days
great capture. The kill that would feed us and fill our freezer for
weeks. The build up that had been given that deer had made it
the size of a large elk before they had gone hunting, had now
found tones of, "not really big enough for the freezer."
Gordon lived in a trailer in the same trailer court that we did, a
couple of rows over and poof there we were almost instantly. He
opened the door, to muddy footprints all over his floor. He
looked almost embarrassed as he explained that they were pretty
dirty when they got back. Dirty? They both looked clean now! I
looked from his face to my moms face and they were both beet
red. We shuffled down the narrow hall to the tiny bathroom.
There was blood all over the sink, and some mixed on the floor
with the mud, and then there was the shower curtain. The tension
built, as I waited to see the great trophy my mother had brought
down.
"Now you girls are sure you want to see this?" Gordon asked us,
winking at my mom, who started giggling like a school girl all
over again.
The suspense was horrid. There we stood in the middle of the
night, in some guys bathroom waiting to see what poor lifeless
body hung in his shower. ("FEED ME CEMORE" I could hear
the words from the movie coming back to haunt me.)
Finally when my temper almost got the better of me, I was
turning to stomp out that door and walk home, he pulled the
curtain back with one quick move.
"What IS that?" I blurted out.
Darlene kinda looked at it with her head cocked one way, then
the other, "it's a bush!"
I poked her in her ribs with my finger, "bushes don't bleed," I
whispered.
It was still bleeding, whatever it was that hung dead in there.
Drip, drip, drip, a dark crimson stain lay at the foot of the
shower, streaks fell down the wall gathering in a coagulated mess
near the drain.
My mother started talking about how we were going to use it for
earrings and jewelry, and I was completely confused. I had never
seen a deer like this before, Darlene was right, it looked like a
bush all right. I reached out to touch it before anyone could stop
me and was quickly jerking my hand back, blood coming out of
the end of my finger. It was a sticker bush. Mom and Gordon
were howling with laughter, I didn't say it, but I was
relinquishing my share right there and then.
I don't think any amount of cooking would make that bush
edible. Mom was busy putting on big heavy gloves and trying to
manipulate a pair of pliers. Man, this was too much. I didn't
want to be there anymore. I tried to sneak out the front door.
Grandpa was coming in though as I was trying to get out.
"How's that porcupine coming?" Grandpa chuckled as he
addressed my mom.
Porcupine? PORCUPINE??? I listened amazed as I heard my
mother swear that we were going to eat that porcupine.
Never, ever believe that any other animal besides chicken, tastes
like chicken. I'm here to tell you flat out, its a dirty lie.
Porcupine tastes like, well, like porcupine. Id take fried chicken
over porcupine any day of the week. I pulled my food apart,
shredding what ever it was for the next month, wondering what
kind of experimental meat was being fed to us. I wondered what
would be next. This planet never ceased to amaze me.
CHAPTER SIX
I HAVE MET THE DEVIL INCARNATE...
Later in that same year, Mother was acting a bit peculiar. Although I
didn't know it at the time, somehow she had fallen into the worst trap
that could befall someone that might work with sick people. The
Florence Nightingale effect!!! Ongoing for the better part of 6 months,
not only did she go to work during her work hours, but now she was
there a good amount of the time even when she wasn't working. We
heard a lot of talk about one of her patients, how handsome h e was,
and talk of how we were soon to have a little brother.
{{{(eye-yi-yi-yi)}}} BROTHER???
Funny how adults will try to talk a child into wanting something they
had no idea they wanted at all. Most people, when talking about a
new sibling for their children, do it in a way that includes being in a
family way. Well, Mom wasn't gaining any weight, and as far as we
knew, she couldn't have anymore children. So, that still left the
unanswered question. "Just where was this new little brother coming
from???"
We were soon to find out. That very Tuesday, after returning home
from school, an almost two year old baby greeted us, bottle hanging
from his mouth and diaper heavy with stink. Grandma, living in the
trailer next to ours, was watching her soap opera, Dark Shadows, and
it was up to you know who to take care of her "new little brother".
That was what caused the accident you see. He did not want anyone
to change that smelly old diaper, and took off running. Darlene,
Donna and I all tried to catch him, and of course that young, he just
plain didn't think! Off he ran, bottle dangling out of his mouth and
diaper getting heavier and heavier, fighting it's own way off of his
derriere. Running through the living room and between Grandma and
the tv set, we heard "AACK AACK AACK! " Oh my GOD, it was
that nasty grating sound adults make when they want your attention
and right now. He looked in the direction of the noise at about the
same time that diaper finished leaving its trail down the back of his
legs to his ankles and there he went! Face forward into the coffee
table!
I held my breath, as i listened to his intake of breath. Oh man, it took
forever for him to start screaming. I knew then that it had to be bad.
Then he just kinda fell back on his little naked butt, and there was
blood squirting everywhere. Jeez, there we done it, killed our new
baby brother and didn't even know his name yet! Darlene went
running for a kitchen towel, Grandma by this time, had him stripped
clear of that stinky diaper, holding him at arms length as though he
were contaminated! I could hear her saying colorful words as she
whisked him down the hallway, then as i heard her turn on the bath
water, she shouted for me to throw that thang away in garbage OUT
side. (oh man!)
I couldn't find a way to pick it up without it getting on my hands, not
only that, but the mere sight of it made me start gagging, Donna ran to
the kitchen and got me the kitchen garbage bag, Darlene handed me
the newspaper then both scooted away hands flying to their mouths
and eyes watering, big as saucers. I couldn't endure it any longer, I
shouted, "OPEN THE DOOR!"
Darlene flung the door open and gave me a wide berth, as I ran
tripping over my own two feet and the garbage bag with the diaper in
it went flying. I landed on my feet, recovering after I lost the bag,
which was now in Grandmas geranium garden. I could hear Grandma
shouting for Darlene to get "him" some clean clothes to take to the
hospital, and that "you girls" better behave while she was gone. She
stormed out the door, took one look at her geraniums. Looked at me,
standing with diaper doo on my hands scrambling to get it to the
garbage and said with a voice that struck fear in my heart, "Ill deal
with YOU later!"
The gagging, forgotten for that instant, was quick to return, all the
way to the dipsy dumpster. I was pretty short back then, and the top
of the dumpster was closed. So sitting the bag on the ground, I found
a pallet behind the dumpster and pulled it to the side. Now I had a
ladder. Feeling PRETTY smart, I climbed up that pallet and had to
stand almost on the top slat, grabbed the top of that garbage dumpster
and yanked hard trying to get it open. Got it open finally after two or
three tries, I didn't think it would be that heavy! Climbed down and
grabbed that garbage bag with the diaper. Now for someone who was
feeling pretty smart the moment before, my brain must have gone into
hibernation, for instead of just throwing that bag up into that
dumpster, I did stop to think what would happen if I missed. I
pictured a rerun of Grandmas geraniums patch, and went for my
ladder. It was a little more difficult climbing up this time, hauling that
bag up with me. I carefully climbed to the t op slat pulling that bag
with me and tried to heave it in over the edge. It wasn't as light as just
a dirty diaper you know, it did still have all the kitchen trash in it
as
well. However, it was one of those bags Mom brought home from the
hospital, and thin plastic. Grasping it wrong could mean a tear and
garbage all over the place. So as I heaved it up and into the dumpster,
it started to go over the edge but it got stuck on a barb or something.
I
grabbed the side of the dumpster and gave a little hop off that pallet
and here came that garbage bag, the pallet fell over, I landed part way
on top of that and the garbage landed on me.
I remember two old ladies sitting on their porch watching me, just
howling with laughter, choking and turning red. I lost the fight with
the gag reflex and barfed. Face red and feeling sheepish, I was
grateful beyond words as one of those women's husbands came and
picked me and the garbage up.
A kind twinkle in his eye, and a sympathetic voice, he asked if I were
okay. I just kinda mumbled, "yeah". As he put his hand out, even
though I had stuff all over mine, I knew then there was a lesson to be
learned.
A kind word is often forgotten, a harsh one never.
Certain acts of kindness will follow you all your life. The respect that
man showed me that day, I always remembered whenever someone
worked on a car and said they'd shake my hand but they were all
greasy. I don't care if its covered in diaper crap, if someone offers me
a handshake, and gives me that respect, Ill shake it even if I'm
wearing white silk. A little respect can go a long, long way.
Several hours later, Mom came home, her bouncing baby boy in her
arms with a big bandage on his head and 5 stitches!
There was also a man with her, I never saw him before and he
walked with a heavy limp.
Ill never forget the introduction, "girls, I want you to meet your new
father!"
NEW WHAT???
This was troubling, as far as I was concerned I was perfectly happy
with the Father I DID have. How could people just turn that on and
off like a light switch?
Mom was almost 29, and this, this man, well he looked like a
teenager. He almost was, he had just turned 21 in January.
He had been the patient mother had done nothing but wait on hand
and foot. Injured in an motorcycle accident, he had to have his bone
pinned together. They grafted a piece from his hip but his leg was still
now almost an entire inch shorter than the other one. Still, he acted
pleasant enough, smiling and greeted each of us girls with a healthy
hug. Speaking of how we would all go camping together, how he
would take my sister Darlene out to teach her how to hunt, how we
would all live together under one roof and be a real family. All a nice
sweet little package. He was going to go back to work in a few
months, then mom could stay home where she belonged with us kids
and not have to work two jobs at a time. After the misery we had
gone through the past two years without my real father, I started to
believe this curly haired man. Mostly because I wanted to believe.
After all that very day a curly haired man helped me at the garbage
dumpster, I decided to reserve making a judgment until later, but for
now, I would give him the respect he deserved as any adult.
It wasn't even a month later that we moved. From where we lived at
the North end of Klamath Falls, Oregon, it seemed like forever going
to our new house for the first time. We went from a three bedroom
mobile home into a two bedroom split victorian home. The victorian
itself was two stories, we rented the top half. Even though it was the
top half, Grant Street was sooo steep, that the top level met the street
with only five steps leading into the front room. I had moved one
semester away from the end of the school year. It had taken forever
to make friends at the old school, and now, once again I would have
to start all over. I wondered if they would forget me.
The first few weeks were one of laughter joking around, everyone
helping in the kitchen, popping corn in the fireplace in the evening
after homework was done, and feeling as though maybe this "new
daddy thing" might not be all bad after all. Then came the day for
open house at the school. Stearns Elementary was within what the
adults called walking distance. Which wouldn't have been bad as the
crow flies, but there happened to be a river running through it and to
get across without sprouting wings or drowning, we had to walk an
extra mile in distance t to cover the area it took to cross over the
bridge. I had a new friend named Latoya, she was a dark skinned girl,
with fuzzy hair. Every day she would ask if I could come over and
play after school, everyday I had to tell her that I was told if I didn't
come straight home that Id get a spanking.
Everyday I promised that I would ask my mom if I could come spend
the night.
One day in particular, the day of the open house, she decided to ask
my parents for me. This wouldn't have been a big thing, she was a
nice girl and had nice parents except for one thing. One thing I didn't
know about "daddy". One thing I was soon to find out would leave a
lifetime imprint on my heart. An imprint from a hand straight from the
shadowland.
Time came for open house, and daddy (his real name was Jim),
walked me to my school. Darlene was in middle school and didn't
have open house, and Donna was just in first grade and only went a
half day. Darlene stayed home and baby-sat Donna, while I ventured
for the first time absolutely alone away from home with "daddy Jim".
We talked and laughed about all kinds of stupid stuff, and when we
got to the river on our side, he stopped and showed me how to skip
stones. He pointed out the ducks and showed me the difference
between a male and female mallard, how they were colored different.
By the time we were crossing the bridge, we were walking hand in
hand. I had let my guard down. As we got closer to the school, he
asked me about what I was learning in school. I had let my guard
down. I told him it was tougher than the other school, that
my teacher told me the week before, by the end of
school I would
know every bone in the human body, I would know
the reproductive system and how animals made
babies
I had let my guard down.
I related how another girl named Michelle was in the same class and
that she sat two seats behind me, so now the teacher called her
Michelle, and me Michelle number two. I had told him we were
learning about something called the underground railroad and that was
lightning bolt out of the blue that triggered something inside of him.
He changed right before my eyes. Grabbing me cruelly by the
shoulder he spun me around.
"You take me to your teacher right now!"
I couldn't figure out why I was in trouble! We had already received
small spankings from "daddy", and they were something to run away
and hide from. Just for not getting our homework done, or leaving a
few pieces of silverware after doing dishes. Not coming home from
school within a certain period of time. I never saw him look like this
before. He marched me into the school house pushing me in front of
him. The other kids I knew from school there with their parents, were
real quiet as they walked by the other direction. They knew! We all
knew what it was like to be switched, or the terror that awaited them
inside the principals office with that two foot long, 5 inch wide paddle,
with one inch holes drilled it. The principals paddle had nothing on the
fear we all felt knowing that now wed have to deal with our parents
after school also.
Not to mention the fact that a parent teacher conference was soon to
follow.
One boy I knew, even though shorter than I was, stood up for me in
his own way, by turning around and coming to walk at my side. I
hadn't even really held hands with a boy, and he reached out grabbed
my hand and gave it a friendly squeeze, "Your artwork sure looks
good in the class, its the best there!"
I squeezed out a thin smile, he kinda winked and turned to my step
dad saying, "that's one heck of a nice girl, Sir." Jim stopped for a
second and again, almost visibly changed personalities.
The change lasted for the duration of the walk to the classroom.
When we got to the door he paused and asked me, "which one is your
teacher?"
One last dive, "he's that real smart one over there, you know what I
like about him? He makes me understand!"
The last sentences fell on deafened ears. He just asked the same
question in another way. "Is your teacher a white man or that nigger?"
I had let my guard down!!! He grabbed both shoulders and shook me
until I thought me teeth would fall out, but my teacher grabbed him.
Calmly, firmly, and spoke through clenched teeth as he said, I don't
know what he said! Whatever it was Jim sure didn't like it one iota.
He pushed me behind him and said some horrible things. Talked like
my teacher wasn't even human! Said that he was taking me OUT of
his class, as of this very minute. Right about then, these big guys
came in, the physical education teachers and coach. I don't know
what all happened, cause the coach told me to go out to the
playground for a little while, they wanted to talk to "Jim".
My girlfriend was out there, her parents talking to one of the teachers
outside. She grabbed me by the hand and pulled me to meet her
parents! Her dad put out his massive hand, and I reached out and
shook it, he had callouses just like my Grandpa. I remember smiling
and telling him exactly that. Her mom just bent over and gave me a
hug, just about the time that Jim came out into the school yard. He
was pulling his belt off. "How many times do I have to tell you stay
away from them niggers!" His strap flew, and connected. The man
who's hand I had just shaken, shook his head sadly. Coach was
shaking his head along with him, and my girlfriends father said, "you
ought not to do that.."
Jim turned and I scrambled to my senses and my feet caught wind. I
knew I had an advantage, his leg hadn't fully recovered yet it had
been 5 months since he got out of the hospital, but Ill be damned that
by the time I made that bridge he was on my ass. I felt the first swipe
whiz past my ear and catch the top of my head. Adrenaline forced me
into overdrive as I was just able to stay out of his reach. My burst
was short lived however, a mile and a half, I was winded, my side felt
like it was on fire, a burning pain that threatened to cut me into.
Clutching my side, laboring to breathe, I looked behind me. There he
was big as life walking calmly toward me.
"Ill teach you to run from me!" He hit the cyclone fence with his thick
leather belt, the belt buckle, a cowboy buckle reflected the sun right
into my eyes for a split second. ** w h i t e l i g h t*** As quickly as
the thought whispered across my brain it was gone. The distraction
held me motionless as he came nearer and nearer. Each step he took
he emphasized his words with his belt on the fence. How he was
going to beat the nigger lover right out of me. I was too tired to run,
my legs were numb and my side hurt like hell. I looked up towards
our house. only one more block to go, I was on our street, but our
house was the second from the top on the steepest populated hill in
the City of Klamath Falls, Oregon.
God gave me strength, cause I know I had none of my own. Jim had
caught up to me. I felt the impact of the belt and the sting as it
wrapped around my leg. He jerked it back pulling me off balance as
he reared back to hit me again. A white car was driving by, he held
his hand in the air with the belt, and growled at me to get in the
house. I scrambled for the five steps leading into the house, God I
wanted to just do my homework, take a bath and go to bed.
I hadn't gotten to the couch when I was told I could go out and weed
the garden. So I went out the back door, when the belt caught me
square across the shoulders. "Change your school clothes!"
He reared his hand back again, the belt swooshing as it cut my fear
like a knife. I dodged and ran to the bedroom I shared with Darlene,
Donna and Dewayne my little brother. "Get em off!"
I shucked off my dress after I had put my pants on underneath
it, then turned my back to put on my shirt.
"Turn around here you ain't got nothing to hide!"
The shadow land was here. In this very room, and it was armed
in more ways than one. All the disgusting, nauseous, nasty bad
that ever contaminated the human race was right here.
The phone rang, it was my Mother calling home from work to
check on us kids. Jim was telling her that I was kicked out of my
forth grade class, and he had taken care of it, Id be in a new class
tomorrow. Nah, don't worry, I'm taking care of the punishment.
Kiss Kiss, I love you too sweetheart.
I was already out in the backyard before the phone hit the
cradle. I grabbed the hoe from the shed and the bucket I used
when I had to weed the garden and started for the patch of
vegetables and weeds. I was on the third row, when it started
getting dark. I was hungry. Hadn't had but a pancake that
morning, no lunch. My stomach gurgled. By the time it was
dark, it was around 9:00. Mom wouldn't get home until between
10:30 and eleven.
Walking in the back door to the kitchen, on the left side is a wall,
on the right as you pass through the door, kitchen cupboards
and counter started. This counter portion was about 6 feet long
to the corner, the sink was just before the corner. Then as the
counter turned again toward the living room in an perfect elbow,
the stove was put in about 3 foot from the sink, more counter,
the refrigerator part of a wall separating the kitchen from the
living room. The TV was on, and Jim was talking to one of the
kids. I walked to the refrigerator, opened it and pulled out a
hamburger patty left over from the dinner I wasn't invited to. I
grabbed the pitcher of koolaide, with one hand, had the
hamburger patty held between my teeth so I could shut the
refrigerator and get a glass when I felt my teeth hit the side of the
pitcher, puncturing a hole in my lip, the pitcher went flying and
koolaide made everywhere a sticky mess. Again I felt a
connection to the back of my head, I saw blood dripping on
my
hand. I looked up in time to take it across the face. My glasses
went flying. I fell from the koolaide and now, was wedged up
between the refrigerator and stove, in that 8 inches of counter
that separated them.
I had let down my guard.
I stopped counting the times that belt fired upon my skin, I only
know that I was sobbing uncontrollably, and his voice was like a
the roaring of a tidal wave in my ears. "are you gonna stay away
from them.. NIGGERS?"
I couldn't believe I heard my own voice say, "yes
daddy... I promise daddy" "You will call me sir!"
"yes daddy"
"I said SIR"
"yes sir....."
This had to be a bad dream, this wasn't happening to me! He
finally wiped off his face with his forearm and limped very
heavily into the living room. I peeled myself away from the small
space I had wedged in, at least protecting some of my body from
the wicked belt. Darlene came in, and looked at me.
"Michelle you're a mess, " she whispered.
"koolaide is all over... " was all I could say.
"Don't worry Ill clean it up. You gotta take a bath."
I looked at my reflection from the mirror on the dining room
wall, I didn't know the outside of me could hurt worse than the
inside. The numbness wasn't wearing off, but the sight of myself
alone made me agonize. Darlene went in to run me a bath. I was
moving rather slowly trying to get across the room.
I made it almost to the hall to turn the corner and Jim was
hollering at Darlene to get into bed, Darlene started to say
something about the koolaide, he raised his arm and she fled to
the bedroom.
I had gone in the bathroom and tried to get undressed. My
shoulder was messed up from where I had been wedged between
the stove and refrigerator, I couldn't raise my arm to get out of
my shirt, I felt myself starting to sniffle just as I felt my shirt
being ripped off over my head. "Skin a rabbit!" Jim said as it
felt like the shirt would rip off my ears. He undid my pants and
pulled them off then picked me up and put me in the bathtub. A
soapy wash rag attacked my face as my head was held still by an
anchored hand full of hair.
"Gotta wash that nigger stench off of you!" He swore as he
grabbed the scrub brush used for cleaning the bathtub, and
applied it to my already raw and bleeding skin. I started crying
hard and my head hit the back of the bathtub, causing me to see
black and red, a hard knot was rising fast, my hair was grabbed
again to pull my face up while he pressed his face to mine and
tried to put his tongue in my mouth. I struggled, clenching my
teeth together, as he backed off and put his hand down there.
Probing, poking, shoving, until I bit him.
"why you little ..."
The phone was ringing. That had to be Mom, please be mom! I
felt the shadowthing laugh.
Darlene had snuck out of bed and came into the bathroom. She
got me to stand up and get out of the tub, dried me off and was
pushing me towards the bedroom. "Hurry before he gets off the
phone!" she whispered.
I nodded, my bed was on the top bunk, I just stared at it in
misery. She knew, she motioned me to sleep in her bed, and she
would sleep in mine. I nodded mutely crawling in between the
nice cool sheets. Darlene tucked me in around 10 minutes before
Mom came home. I was so hungry and thirsty. When I heard
moms voice I called out. Mommy I'm thirsty. The door knob
started to turn, thank God she was coming in.
"Barbara she just had a whole pitcher full of koolaide, no more
for her tonight", he told my mother, "GO TO SLEEP IN THERE
BEFORE I COME IN WITH THE BELT!"
I watched the doorknob relax. Knowing that at least I was safe
until mom went to work the next day, safe when Id be at school.
Safe until the next time "our new improved version of a daddy"
would absolutely, beat, terrify, and psychologically horrify, me
beyond what any human should endure.
THAT TAUGHT ME TO LISTEN TO MYSELF, and not to LET
MY GUARD DOWN, around those who wear the disguise of the
shadowland. My biggest lessons were yet to come.
CHAPTER SEVEN
TRUST PEOPLE TO BE WHAT THEY ARE
YOU know, there was this story I heard one time, it was about
this old woman who took in a snake she found, dying in the
middle of the road. You see, the snake had come to lay out in the
road, for it was warmer there, and he was bound and determined
to feel the heat of the midday sun. Unfortunately, the sun wasn't
quite high in the sky yet, and the snake, who was still cold was a
bit sluggish, not able to move as fast as he could when he got
warmed up you see...
Well now, this old gal was a coming up the road riding on her
bicycle, (actually it was more of a tricycle for adults) and she saw
that poor snake just a laboring to get across that road. Upon
closed look, she instantly felt compassion for the snake as she
found him to be injured. It looked to her as if someone had run
right over that poor helpless snake. Well, being the kind of
person she was, that is to say she WAS kind, she lifted that poor
snake up, took off her sweater, already warm and cozy, and she
wrapped that snake up oh so gently and gave him a place to rest
in her basket, until she got home. Then the woman started a fire,
she knew that the snake would like the warmth of that, placing
him right next to the fireplace, and at the same time near a
mouse hole, the snake knew he had it good.
For five weeks she tended that snake, talking to him as if he were
a dog or maybe a cat, stroking his scaly skin and ever watchful
of his injuries. Finally one day the snake decided he had long
enough of a vacation, and when the woman came to pick him up
and clean his bedding he curled himself outward in a nice arch
and launched his fangs into the softness of her neck.
The woman's eyes flew wide open, she couldn't believe that this
snake whom she had nursed back to health had done this to her,
as she lay gasping for air, dying on the floor, she cried, "why?
Why have you done this to me? Haven't I been good to you?
Haven't I saved your own life, given you food and shelter and
warmth? Why?"
The snake was surprised by her question! He shrugged it off, as
he replied, "well, I AM a snake after all!" Trust a person to be
what they are. You can trust anyone at all, as long as you trust
them to BE what they ARE. Trust a Liar to LIE to you, trust a
thief to THIEVE from you, trust one who has abused you once
to do it again and again and again, and finally trust yourself to
know when enough is enough. Trust yourself to see those around
you. Trust the judgment of animals and small children.
I found that to be a very hard lesson, for I really tried to see the
good in everyone. I found that those who do abuse others,
especially women, animals and children are TYRANTS,
COWARDS, LIARS and THIEVES. They steal your emotions,
they steal your precious life, they steal your will and they will
tower over you and bend you to their will by way of brute force,
domination, and by psychologically brainwashing you into what
they can control.
The fear instilled in me on that day of the open house at the
school, was met with a defiance inside of me that could not be
quelled. However, I was not smart enough to hide my emotions,
when I went to school that next day, I knew he would be sitting
with his binoculars watching me at lunch, watching me walk to
school and anticipating the moment I would reach our door. I
knew that my safety was dependent on getting a message across
to someone, but who could I tell? Who would believe me?
Already my knees were week, as I crossed the bridge and watched
where he had hit the fence with his belt in my mind all over
again. By the time I had reach the other side, I was fairly
running. My back and legs hurt, but not nearly as bad as the way
I felt inside. I could feel the tears welling up inside and was
suddenly calmed by the release of the endorphins and
enkephlins, I had to calm down.
The bulrushes looked to be a good spot to hide out, there was a
small clearing right to the center, and it was one place where I
could deal with this pain. I stooped over to walk in there, not
knowing if they concealed me completely or not, and as I
dropped to my knees, I felt the wetness of the tears silently drip
down my cheeks. I looked up to the sky and I howled, I cried
great wracking tears, as my soul screamed out to God to please
protect me. I cried until the heaving sobs were like hiccups,
unstopping in my pain. I remember curling up on my side and
rocking back and forth, praying fervently for my father to come
and get me, praying for my mother to see what had happened. I
lay there for a long time, loathe to move. Though I knew if I
didn't show up for school that a phone call would be made to
"daddy jim", and to my mom, and I couldn't take another
beating like that. I remember feeling my face and finding the
raised skin, still swollen from the lashing Id received. I could
barely hear the school bell ring for recess. RECESS!! I was up on
my feet, and flying down the path. I was supposed to be in an all
new room today, with a new teacher. Oh please God, please
don't let them call my house. I ran across the playground into
the double doors at the end of the hall and couldn't open them.
I streaked around the building and ran right into "Coach". He
just grabbed me and said, "Why aren't you in class?" I guess it
took him a second to register that it was me, because in the next
moment he crouched down and pushed the hair out of my face,
his face had an expression I had never seen before, and he had
what looked like tears in his eyes as he looked me square in the
eyes. My forehead started to pucker, I couldn't go through
crying all over again, he just held his arms out and gave me a
hug, saying the same words over and over, "I know sweetie, I
know". After a little while, he asked me if I still had a smile
tucked away, somewhere, and I tried so hard to smile, but my
cheek hurt and my face was swollen. He smiled at my effort and
taking me by the hand, took me to my new classroom. My new
teachers name was Miss Colt. She looked at Coach kinda funny
when he brought me into her room, but Coach just shook his
head and told her to take good care of me.
That day at lunch time, I didn't have a lunch ticket, and hadn't
been able to bring any from home, I felt miserable and asked if I
could please just stay inside and lay my head on my desk. Miss
Colt, said well, we will see. She pulled out her own brown bag
with her lunch inside and pulled out a sandwich that had been
cut into two pieces. I wasn't about to ask, as I watched her open
a small bag of chips, and push a half a tuna sandwich and that
whole bag of chips towards me.
"Well, would you please have lunch with me?"
Sorry to say, I could only nod my head, my mouth was full
already, I was so hungry. a pancake for breakfast the day before,
nothing for lunch or dinner, and this morning I had a bowl of
corn meal mush. That woman, Miss Colt was an angel. She told
me not to go anywhere she would be right back. I was trying to
get a drink from the sink in the annex when she had found me.
In her hand was a container of milk and a straw. This was the
best lunch I have ever had in my life!! After I had drank most of
my milk and long after I had devoured half of my teachers
lunch, Miss Colt went to her closet and pulled out a black long
case of something that made my heart skip a beat. When she
opened it up and I saw it, my jaw dropped to the floor, then she
strummed it, and the sounds bubbled out of it brining new life to
me. A GUITAR!!! Oh how I ached to hold it, to strum it, to feel
the bubble and the tickle, to play my soul out for God. To play
my soul out for me.
First and foremost, you must understand, that these days of my
life were as much hell as any prison encampment. It didn't really
matter if I was respectful or not, it didn't matter if I did anything
to deserve being treated worse than any animal, what did matter
was how I kept my sanity. After living in the house on Grant
Street in Klamath falls, we had moved out to Anderson Avenue,
near Kingsley Field air base. Where I was able to actually
become a part of the civil air patrol. There were moments where
I cried aloud to God, sitting on the railroad tracks behind our
back weedy yard. A miracle, I needed a miracle. Yet at this
tender age, I barely knew what a miracle really was. Im still not
sure if I know. I will tell you one thing, if me being alive right
this very second is a miracle, well then I've witnessed a miracle. I
am going to jump around here a bit for a while, for as I stated,
this was a very painful place to be and there was no way out .
Even now, I find tears falling down my face thinking of what we
people have to endure, knowing what I endured, and seeing over
and over again examples of the same aberrant behavior.
?
Church was one of the only things I was allowed to study without
supervision and a leather belt or a lilac switch ready to sting my
flesh. I remember being sent out to gather the weapon to teach
me proper respect.
If I brought a good sized switch back I would carry welts up and
down my legs and back, my derrière especially giving its share of
blood letting. I would stick to the inside of my underwear and
my pants, even though I tried to put paper toweling between my
skin and the material, it would still have to be peeled loose at
school. I couldn't stand it anymore. About the second week after
school started and I still refused to dress down the Physical
Education teacher pulled me into her office and asked if I had a
problem getting a uniform. Well, as a matter of fact I didn't have
a uniform, neither could my family afford the $20.00 for the one
piece red jumpsuit, or an extra pair of tennis shoes designated
only for the gymnasium. I couldn't tell my teacher I wasn't
allowed to wear fancy smelling perfumes or deodorant, for it
made me smell like the whore my stepfather claimed me to be
after crying when he molested me. How could I tell my teacher
that I was afraid to pull off my pants and t try on a pair of shorts
because my skin would bleed? How could I stand the ridicule of
the other girls who were never bruised, who always looked so
perfect and who rolled their eyes after asking me a question and
receiving the truth. What did it matter to anyone?
Back to the cutting of the switches. Of course, it did cross my
mind a time or two that a smaller switch wouldn't make me bleed
as bad or leave the long rips in my skin that would scab so tight
that when I sat they would break and bleed. Can you imagine?
That these were the thought in my head as a child? NO ONE
CHOSE TO SEE THIS HAPPENING!!!! The smaller switch was
very limber, surely it wouldn't break into my skin the same way,
and he certainly couldn't poke me with it like he did the other
one. Being sent out to cut this switch was almost as painful as the
"discipline". Knowing that as soon as I would walk in with it,
that I would be bent over a chair or a bed, and then.... and
then.... and THEN.
He laughed when he saw the smaller switch, and I found the sting
of a small switch equally as bad as the largest one. I could not
have guessed the results as what would usually be a beating for
ten minutes seemed to take a half an hour, feeling the sting of
that small switch tick, tick, tick tick the end of the switch still
tearing into my skin leaving multiple tiny lacerations. Why was
this happening?
During all this time, over the four years, since my mother
married this piece of trash, I wasn't allowed to talk to my father.
All of a sudden such a picture was painted of this horrible person
that my mother divorced, who wouldn't pay child support, who
wouldn't do this or that. Who also wasn't allowed to see me or
talk to me except upon rare occasion and then it was only for a
few moments. The threats began, "If you don't straighten your
act up I'm going to ship you off to live with your father." The
threats followed what seemed to be a well defined plan of
brainwashing and manipulation. The threats started after one
day just before we moved from Grant Street, my mother
informed us that my father was no longer my father, legally or in
any other manner. That if he loved me that he wouldn't have
given me up for adoption.
ADOPTION??? ADOPTION??
What in the hell was she talking about? If my father loved me
that he wouldn't have stayed out playing music all night, he
wouldn't have kept a whorehouse in the back of his barbershop,
that he would have paid for child support, and because he didn't
pay, that he lost his parental rights, and because the amount
owed was supposedly in excess of $15,000.00 that he took the
cheap way out because he didn't love me. He signed me over for
adoption to allieviate the $15,000 dollars of back child support.
HE SIGNED ME OVER, GAVE ME UP FOR JIM TO BE MY
FATHER. AND IF I DIDN'T STRAIGHTEN UP MY ACT, SHE
WOULD SHIP ME OFF TO LIVE WITH HIM AND HIS NEW
BLEACHED BLOND WIFE.
I tell you what, If I ever, EVER, see someone treat their kids or
lie to them or in any manner fuck with their heads like that, they
are gonna have to deal with a child who has known the pain, who
survived and by all that is HOLY, I will not stand for it. I will
not look the other way. I will not turn my head and say it is none
of my business.
I have never seen and known so many blind people existed on
this planet. That day in Physical Education Class, I did talk to
my teacher. I did tell her I didn't have a uniform or extra tennis
shoes, and when she said she'd have a talk with my parents, I
knew then I would be facing certain death, or close to it. Of
course when I pleaded with her not to, she took it the wrong way,
as though maybe I actually did have a uniform and just didn't
want to partake with the other students. Maybe I thought I was
"too good" to wear a school uniform. I couldn't believe this.
Was this whole planet insane? When she got started on a tirade it
was as though her entire body turned red. She grabbed me by the
shoulder and was trying to propel me to the principals office and
I could sit there in detention until I decided to dress down with
the rest of the class. When she grabbed me, her fingernails dug in
to an area of abuse and it started to bleed. It bled through my
green shirt I had on, leaving a black looking spot that seemed to
just keep getting bigger and bigger. I couldn't stop the tears from
sliding down my cheeks and nose, and she just froze.
I heard an intake of breath, and she whispered, "oh my God!"
Then she talked in a lower tone of voice and told me to turn
around. I couldn't believe she had turned from that angry red to
an almost white color. She sounded like her voice was shaky,
when she asked me If I could take off my shirt. I hung my head,
and revealed my shame. As I tried to unbutton the front of my
shirt, my tears came even quicker, until my eyes continually
overflowed. I bit my bottom lip to keep it from shaking, I
couldn't unbutton it, and I just stood there, head bent, crying as
I am crying at this very moment. She walked around me in a
circle, looking at my legs, then lifting the back of my shirt. She
saw a piece of paper towel hanging out of the top of my pants,
where the waistband dug into the sores. The next time she spoke,
she just said, " I won't call your parents, but you bring some
shorts to school so you can take P.E. and that was it! That WAS
IT!!! Nothing else was ever said. I came to gym class, but I still
didn't want to dress down. I found a note later from the teacher
asking me to have my parents attend the parent teacher
conference at the school. Life was and is so uncertain. To send
anyone into a situation or to cause a situation, to knowingly put
someone into danger to terrify them with the thought is as bad as
committing the abuse themselves.
After school, I had bible study. My bible study teacher knew
something was going on, I know she did because she would listen
to me pray for a miracle. My pastor knew, for my pastor, the one
who performed my baptismal ceremony, knew when he baptized
me, for I told him. He told me to give it to Jesus, give it to God
and God would take care of me for I was a child of God.
There was a certain officer of the law, that at a time did public
presentations on the evils of drugs to the "Parents without
Partners" meetings, and specially to the offspring of those single
parents, a Sergeant Durence.
He knew for I told him my "new and improved version" of a
father was beating me and touching places that were private. He
also chose not to see. He like the others had become magically
blind.
My mother, my MOTHER chose not to see anything,. She would
look RIGHT AT IT, as he would grope between my legs, making
me to sit spread eagle on his lap, forcing his tongue between my
lips as he would play. Mother would look STRAIGHT at it, and
NOT SEE IT. I wanted to die. I wanted away from this, four
years had passed since the time my mother married this piece of
shit. I was 12, almost 13 and I would have no more of this. Then
one day I happened to have a bloody nose at school.
It wouldn't stop bleeding. I was anemic, lived with a vitamin K
deficiency, and the school nurse had a wad of kleenex the size of
a train station she used to squeeze my nose making it hurt even
worse. I stood up after 45 minutes and felt like I was falling over.
The nurse picked me back up off the floor and told me not to
move. After an hour had passed, my mother was called. She told
them to get a hold of my "father" and have him come pick me
up to take me to the hospital. He arrived 20 minutes later,
shoving me out the school door and into the car. Silent all the
while. I got in the car scared for my life. As I said, I didn't have
to do or say anything to be disciplined. I was scared. He got in
the car and reached for my leg. I tried to sit as close to the door
as I could, and this angered him. The mental torment was
underway then as he tried to terrorize me by telling me that the
doctors at the hospital were going to put a hot poker up my nose
to stop the bleeding. I couldn't stop t he uncontrollable shaking,
I couldn't stop the tears from welling in my eyes and I couldn't
stop thinking about a red hot poker being shoved inside my
nose. I pinched my nose harder, praying to God to please stop it
from bleeding. We were about a half a mile from the hospital
when the bleeding slowed to a mere drip. "Daddy" decided that I
should just go home, put on some pajamas and go to bed.
I bit my lip to keep it from shaking. When we got home, I went
to the room I shared with my little sister, pulled out my flannel
pajamas and started to put them on. I knew what would happen
if I didn't. I felt weak, and tired. I was emotionally spent and
exhausted.
He came to the bedroom door watching me, in his hand was one
of my mothers nightgowns. He threw it on my bed and told me
to put it on. It was spring time and warm out, too warm for my
flannel pajamas. I put it on and threw back the covers crawling
into my own bed, pulling the covers tightly around my body, half
rolling up in them. All of a sudden I was very cold. He called me
to come to the bedroom he shared with my mother, had
something he wanted to show to me. I pretended to be asleep
until I heard him say Id get the belt if I wasn't in there on the
count of three, " ONE, .................TWO,......................." I
was
out of bed. I felt as though the next however long it was lasted
for an eternity, as I stood just outside the doorway, and heard
him say, " come here and look at this". He had pictures laid out
all over the room, pictures of people and animals, people and
other people, girls and girls and boys naked with other boys and
girls. He asked what I thought about his photographs, and asked
if I would take off my mothers nightgown and pose for him. Ill
pay you a twenty dollar bill if you just hold your guitar in front
of you and let me take your picture..."
I shook my head, I was still lightheaded and swayed. Then his
whole attitude changed, as he flung the photographs laid out on
his bed onto the floor. I started to fall. He grabbed for me and
caught the nightgown ripping the side of it, the force slung me
onto the bed.
This is too painful. For it was then that he spread my legs and
pushed his own pants down, he tried to ram his stick into me.
Again and again, and I only knew the huge pain in my head and
in my legs and in my belly, I couldn't control my screams even
when he drew back his hand and backhanded me with his fist,
telling me I was worse than my sister. I couldn't stop screaming,
I was crying hysterically, when he hit me so hard one last time
that my nose burst blood all over everything and my world
turned black.
I woke later, hearing my mothers voice asking "Daddy" why I
wasn't brought to the hospital. My eye had swollen shut, and I
had dried blood all the way down my neck. He told her I had
fallen at the school, which was how I had gotten the bloody nose,
the bleeding stopped on the way to the hospital, so he brought
me home and just told me to get in bed. Mom opened my door a
little further, and saw part of my face.
My mother sold amway to supplement our income, and had to
go pick up an order from the distributor. I was out of bed and
pulled a pair of shorts on with a t shirt. Then I begged her to
please let me ride with her. She agreed, saying she wanted to
know how I got that bloody nose at school. We went out and got
in the pickup truck, leaving my two sisters and little brother
there. We weren't at the end of the block when I told her.
"Mom, you have to stop him."
"Stop who Michelle"
"Daddy Jim, mom, he keeps hurting me. Mom, listen."
Mother just started rambling about how if we got a whooping we
probably deserved it;
"MOTHER!, HE PUT HIS PENIS IN ME". I couldn't put it any
plainer than that. "He did this to my face mom!"
"Michelle do you even know what a penis is?" she asked.
Then as I told her what happened, my mother pulled the truck
over and reached in her purse for the .357 she carried for
protection.
"Im going to kill that fucking bastard!" She screamed.
And for the first time, my mothers eyes opened. " Damn him!"
that fucking bastard! She whipped a doughnut in that old dodge
truck and headed back toward our house, loading her gun as she
drove. Then I probably said the stupidest thing I have ever said
in my entire life. "Vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord."
Mom finally pulled over and reached both her arms out to me.
We both cried. Then she spun another doughnut and headed for
the police department.
Mom told them what I had told her, and they weren't going to
do anything about it. Mom finally told them if they wouldn't do
something about the son of a bitch that she was going to shoot
him. THEN, the police stated they could do something. THEN,
the police told my mother they would escort her and I to our
house and do a standby while we got a few belongings and they
would put us under protective custody. Well over an hour since
the time we had left we returned home, with three patrol cars in
tow.
The officers went to the door first to find my sisters crying and
my little brother crying. He was still swinging at my older sister
when they stopped them. Pulling a chair to the middle of the
room, they forcibly sat him in it while Mom got my sisters and
brother out of the house as well as a few changes of clothing for
school. The police had arranged a room at the City Center motel
for two days, and just when I prayed for a miracle.
He was in jail. That's what the papers said two days later, it said
he was jailed for "domestic dispute". I just couldn't believe it.
However that was just the beginning. A few days later, the day of
his arraignment, the charges were for multiple rapes of minor
children, physical assault and domestic violence. This hit the
papers. The hell wasn't over yet.
Now at school, either people hedged me altogether, or clucked in
sympathetic tones as they would watch me pass by. The worst
were certain boys and girls who had learned a new way to be
cruel. Taunting me or wheedling voices asking me to have sex,
cause I was no longer a virgin, so now what, treated like a person
who could become a whore for them?
Girls who treated me as though I were sub-human, and teachers
who went out of their way to treat me differently. Not necessarily
bad, but all I wanted to do was pick up a guitar and play the
pain away.
Music class came. I had been taking violin since 4th grade, and I
was in 8th grade now, after Miss Colt, had been my teacher I had
begged for a guitar, finally my Mom got me a cheap guitar for
my birthday at the end of my fourth grade year, it might have
only cost her $10.00 at a yard sale, but it was worth the world to
me. It was my most prized possession, it and my violin that is. I
played a position in orchestra called first chair. And during
breaks and lunch, one would usually find me curled up
somewhere with my guitar unless I was involved in a chess
tournament.
I had lost interest in my church, during Jim's jail stint, he had
told my Pastor he wanted to be saved. My Pastor in turn came to
have a talk with me, asking me to forgive my "daddy", and to
tell my mother we should let him come back home. I looked at
that pastor long and hard, and wondered what he really was
inside. I didn't think he was of God! Oh, it's not a matter of
being able to forgive, cause I can forgive, but I will not forget,
and just because I can forgive, it didn't make me STUPID.
One important lesson I learned from all of this is:
NEVER, NEVER, NEVER WALK BACK INTO A SITUATION
THAT YOU RAN THE HELL AWAY FROM.
I told my pastor I was going to check out some other churches
closer to where we were living. He scowled at me and made this
claim, "but we are the only true church of God!"
Another important lesson emerged!
NO ONE CHURCH HAS A MONOPOLY ON GOD.
After that I started going to several churches, I wondered about
that a lot. I became a seeker of truth, and of justice. Many years
ago, I a young girl, was given the opportunity to be present in a
Court of Law, as the Judge passed sentence upon the man who
had molested me from the age of 8 until he impregnated me just
before my 12th birthday. No matter who I turned to MY pain
and need for justice was ignored.
Then came the day that I missed my period. School had almost 3
months left before the end of the year. I didn't realize I missed it
until my sister had her period and she was always a week after
me. It was put off on stress, but I felt different somehow. The
courts had kept Jim in Jail without bail, I had to appear before
the Grand Jury before this and give testimony of how he had
hurt me and poked me. I had to face the public that seemed to
know all, who before this time were ultimately blind. Finally he
took a plea bargain, and pled that he had temporary insanity
finally sentenced to charges of "fondling a minor". Meanwhile I
had to be checked out by a doctor, for the courts. When the
Judge asked me if I wanted to say anything before he passed
sentencing on the man who was pleading "temporary insanity", I
stated that it was my opinion, that this man who had terrorized
me, beaten me and raped me and my siblings for 4 years, should
have a tattoo put upon his forehead. A tattoo that said "Child
Molester" or "monster".
After the Judge remanded the man to the state mental
institution, he addressed me, saying "sorry", that would be cruel
and unusual punishment.
The doctor said I might have an infection. For me to come back
in a few weeks to be checked again. Mother acted like she hated
me. My sister told me that Jim had promised to divorce mom
and marry her. My little brother was so wigged out he spent most
of his time holding my hand or sitting in my lap, my little sister?
That was mom's baby and mom doted on her, what was I
supposed to do with this pain? I remember the day he was
sentenced. When the Judge asked me if I wanted to say
anything before he passed sentencing on the man who was
pleading "temporary insanity", I stated that it was my opinion,
that this man who had terrorized me, beaten me and raped me
and my siblings for 4 years, should have a tattoo put upon his
forehead. A tattoo that said "Child Molester" or "monster".
Pleading temporary insanity to fondling because the doctor's
report stated there had been no penetration?? I was shocked! I
was also pregnant, there was no infection. I couldn't believe the
doctor had lied! "Daddy" was sentenced to do time in the Salem
Mental Institution for the criminally insane, until he was deemed
safe to be in public. After the Judge remanded the man to the
state mental institution, he addressed me, saying "sorry", to
tattoo "child Molester" on a persons forehead, would be cruel
and unusual punishment. Three months later he was deemed
only to be a threat to the members of my family. He was released
on specific conditions, he was to go to Louisiana and work in the
oil fields at a job he supposedly had lined up. he was to have no
contact with my family. We moved back to Grant Street right
across the street from where we used to live in a big white house.
Two bedrooms upstairs, master downstairs big dining room, and
kitchen and a huge basement. I was lucky enough to have an
afternoon job at the YMCA, and earned enough money for some
sheet rock to make my own bedroom in the basement. Mom
seemed to realize I needed this and she and her new boyfriend
Mike helped me partition off my own space for a bedroom. My
entrance was behind the house downstairs from the floor Mom
slept on, I had my own living room, console stereo and had just
bought a Chicago album and a Led Zeppelin album to play. I
put one on and one to drop when the first had finished and
grabbing my guitar, kicked back on the old mangled couch we
had drummed up for the basement, playing aimlessly as I talked
aloud to God.
I was pregnant all right. Not even 13 years old, couldn't hold
down anything. The smell of eggs alone were enough to make me
run for anything I could barf in. My Mother took me to several
places. The law stated that abortions were legal only in cases of
rape and incest, for minor children. I was scared to death. I spent
a lot of time alone playing guitar, and talking aloud to God. I
took long walks in the afternoon at lunch and sometimes was to
tired to walk back and would fall asleep at my favorite get away
place. I had to wait for the state to approve for treatment either
way. And I had been made a ward of the court. I would know in
seven days. I only knew one way where I could find the answer
and HIS answers didn't always come right away. I was thinking
about this when the bus dropped me off. I walked the steep climb
up Grant Street, turning into our driveway. In front of the house
was a huge thick pine tree, between it and the dumpster was the
driveway that led down to the back yard an door basement.
Something was wrong. I felt the hair rise on the backs of my
arms and neck as I had passed the pine tree. I took three more
steps and something told me to turn around. As I did, he stepped
out from behind that pine tree and he had a gun in his hand.
I heard a voice in my head scream RUN, but as I turned to do
so, a white hot freight train picked me up and threw me over that
dipsy dumpster and down the rock barrier of the neighbors yard.
I could fly! I kept flying up and up and turned to look at my
body laying down there on the ground. Dark stuff started
creeping in around my sight and the next thing I knew I was on a
white couch.
I realized my eyes were open, it was as though I had just woke
from a dream, and I was at home. Not the home in my dream
about that place they called earth, but HOME. Everything was
illuminated. We all had a certain appealing glow. I was very
disoriented. Now not able to discern which one was the dream, I
felt dizzy and foggy and couldn't walk properly. Then someone
came in and said something inside my head. They were worried,
and said something about me only being half there. If I didn't go
back I wouldn't be able to exist in either place.
Go back where? I was home. A radiant one came in and touched
me I felt something I cannot describe, then as a fleeting dream a
flash of the nightmare I just had came screaming back and I felt
nothing but pain, then a warmth between my shoulders and
behind my knees and everything went black.
I could hear voices talking to me, and I felt as though someone
was pulling me back from a very far place on the other side of
the mirror. This was probably because I could see my body, from
where my reflection should have been. I heard my Grandfather
call my name, telling me it was time to come back. I could see
him reflected in an orb of some type. Then I felt the pain, and
the pain devoured my reflection, causing my sight to go black. I
floated in this dark place and finally found the healing sweetness
of sleep.
Many days past without me realizing anything to do with the
concept of time, it was just a number of times the world rotated.
Timeless we are and timeless I am. Abstract thought and vision
filled my existence until one day I told myself I should start
breathing. I was hampered by something, and felt as though a
great weight had settled on my heart and chest. I didn't
remember breathing being this difficult. I tried to swallow, and
found something in my throat and that was what brought me
screeching back to this perception of reality. My room was very
bright, and hurt my eyes, everything hurt as a matter of fact. A
doctor and nurse rushed in and spoke to me, taking vital signs
asking me how I felt. I felt ageless and ancient, I felt a great deal
of discomfort and pain.
"Do you hurt anywhere, would you like something to eat? Don't
try to speak just nod your head..." they seemed to drone on and
on.
My voice didn't want to work, I was able to gag on something.
The Doctor nodded his head and told me not to speak until they
removed the tube. Do I know where I am?
Pretty obvious I'm in a hospital, of course this could be a bunch
of aliens trying to fool me that have just done some kind of
awful thing to me. "You are in a hospital, do you remember
what happened?"
It was as a fleeting dream, I was able to just retain what I had
been through since getting off the bus, but as a dream it was
loathe to stay in my conscious memory at that time. I felt a sense
of abandonment as it slipped away, leaving me alone to my cruel
reality. Tears stung at my eyes, feeling a great sense of loss,
worse yet I couldn't remember what it was. I was not able to
regain this memory until three years later. That was when I spoke
to another about dying, and they told me what happened to
them, which was nothing like what happened to me. Yet
somehow a word was spoken that triggered my memory, and
again the hole in the veil put over my memory widened.
Life would never be the same, thank God, hard to believe it
wouldn't get a whole lot better. Over the next year, my mother
seemed to take somewhat of an inhospitable attitude toward me.
I was given the brunt of any given situation, given the most awful
chores to do. I can't say they were anymore awful than the past
four years had been.
My memories found me reliving my twelfth birthday. I had
spent my birthday digging a 1/4 mile long sewer trench for our
broken sewer line the length of our driveway. At school the day
before my birthday, I had been given a chain necklace by a boy,
and when I had dug in the mud and sewage until it was dark,
mother had Jim call me in, told me to wash up for dinner. I felt
pretty bad no one had remembered my birthday except the boy
at school, and was fingering the chain as I sat at the dinner table.
Jim had made the comment that a person shouldn't wear chains
around their neck. I just knew he was going to take it away from
me. He left his end of the table and came around the back of the
high slatted wood back chair and said, "don't you know why you
shouldn't wear chains like that?"
All of a sudden I was scared, he was still standing behind me. I
felt him pick up the chain from the back of my neck, and just as
I heard, "THIS IS WHY!!!" He pulled the chain taut around my
neck and tied it around the slats of the chair back behind me. I
couldn't breathe, couldn't talk, my mother coming through the
kitchen door to the dining room with fried chicken, said "oh my
god what have you done!"
I had passed out, the next week sported a strange looking bruise
around my neck. My friend asked why I didn't wear the
necklace. I told him I really didn't want to lose it. Fingering the
same necklace now I brought myself back from the events of the
prior year. Ah, but that was a year before, now Mother once
again was involved in Parents Without Partners, just as she was
before she had married Jim. Once again we were thrown in with
the other kids of divorced or single parents. This type of
influence the parents thought were helping one another, was
highly emulative of the actions of the single parents at one of
their meetings, either that or maybe it was because us kids knew
what was going on. We did watch our parents get ready to go
out, we did know when they came home and with whom. Just
like the boys who watched their fathers get ready for the evening
with one thing on their minds, of course came the promise of
"maybe there'll be some good looking girls your age there too...
I remember one boy in particular. He had a partial upper plate
in his mouth, and he was always trying to kiss me. Not just a
peck on the cheek mind you but opening his mouth and sticking
his tongue out. I was afraid of kissing him. I didn't want to kiss
with my mouth open to begin with, and I just knew that if I did
his teeth would land right in my mouth. GROSS OUT!!
It wasn't but a few weeks later the boys were suggesting strip
poker, and spin the bottle. My sister knew these games, I wanted
nothing to do with them. I didn't want people seeing me naked. I
didn't want people touching me. It wasn't right, it scared me, I
wasn't comfortable, I just didn't like it at all.
Near the end of my 14th year, I met a guy. Im not even sure how
I met him, I just remember him driving up to our trailer, (yep we
moved back behind Grandma and Grandpa,) and he was driving
a motorcycle. Not one of those trail bikes either, this motorcycle
had a rumble to it. My mother disapproved of course, said I
would break my neck. Where are we going? To the theater, the
walk in, to see "2001 a Space Oddessy". I threw on my waffle
stompers and a pair of jeans, grabbed the old flight jacket I had
acquired from a second hand store and I was there. I started to
throw my leg over that seat and he warned me back, had to kick
start it first. On the second jump that bike rumbled in close
competition of the anticipation of my soul.
Carefully, I put my leg over the seat behind him. He had a long
sissy bar for me to lean against and showed me where to put my
feet and we were off. I had never felt so alive, so free. My face in
the wind brought back instinctual memory. Putting my arms
around his waist, I just hugged up against him.
He patted my leg and I could see him smile in his side mirror. I
felt happier than I could remember ever being.
He never pressured me, was just one of the kindest, wonderful
people I had ever met, he treated me like I was the most
important person to him in the world. I began to believe in
something more than what this life had offered me thus far.
I had gone from Pentecostal church in 3rd grade to Baptist
church in 4th grade, to an Episcopal, to Lutheran, to Catholic,
on and on and on in my 8th grade year and continued on
through my teens to look at the different sects of the Christian
religion, hearing in almost every church of how they claimed to
be the only true church of God. I watched how the members of
these churches and the kids I knew from school would act at a
church function and how they acted the rest of the time and
wondered how all of them could turn it on and off.