A Heart to Heal
Sometimes in life we have to take a step back and look over the years that have gone by and evaluate our own value. I have recently learned that I have done a lot of nothing good and a lot of making mistakes. I am currently in the re-evaluation period of my life and I am beginning to think I should have done this a few years back.
1994 Freshman year of high school, what a year! Standing behind the high school band room (Abbie, Jon, and me) where we could see who was coming but nobody could see us, standing there, smoking cigarettes and passing our joint around to get our “happy on” before first hour started. I of course already had a little “happy juice” running through my veins from the pint of vodka I downed before getting on the school bus. Drowning my problems away in booze and weed, seemed so much more easy then, than now.
By the time first bell rang for class we were all pretty happy and capable of making it through the first couple of hours of classes. I make my mad rush to catch up with my other friends that, were not considered to be part of the “pothead classification,” and we hurried off to class as if I had done nothing wrong.
First and second hours were a blur, third hour was one of my favorite classes, Advanced Band, not so popular at most schools but at Fatima High School, home of local celebrity Mr. A and with no football team, band was a big thing! In parades our school was the one everybody waited for and the other schools dreaded. Police officers would go through to push the crowds back because our marching band took up the whole width of the road and all you could see for what seemed like blocks was blue and gold proudly marching and playing their music.
Band was my release, I could play my flute or piccolo and all my sorrows would flow out in the form of music. Music mixed with my drunken/high state of mind gave me the freedom from all my problems. I could close my eyes and float off with the notes I was playing and not have to remember them till the music was over and the drugs wore off. The let down or the end of my high and drunkenness occurred right as lunch time was starting at which point my pothead friends and I snuck back to our spot and smoked some more and passed the flask of vodka I carried in my book bag (the flask being one that I stole from my mother’s underwear drawer each morning and placed back each afternoon before she got home).
My school day was pretty much a blur after lunch and by last hour I was bottoming out from my high and intoxication. Spanish class was the end of my day, Mrs. Steg and her monotone voice saying words that really meant nothing to me. The class was suppose to be an easy ‘A’ but I managed to screw that up with the nap I took every day during that class. I didn’t care though, when was I ever going to use this language and if they don’t want to take the time to learn my language then why should I take the time to learn theirs.
Those were the days, so I thought. Drowning my life away because I couldn’t handle the reality of it. Who could though, 14 years old with no father, a mother who is so blinded by love that she won’t see that the man she has living under her roof with her children does not have eyes just for her but for her daughters also. A man who beats her for being smarter than him or for her getting upset because he’s so much of a loser that he won’t get a job and expects her to give him an “allowance.”
That was fine though, as long as she was with him she felt guilty enough for me to manipulate her into buying my friends and myself all the alcohol we wanted and then to give me enough cash to not only pay for my way into parties on weekends but to also be able to buy my weed. It worked for me, after overdosing and almost dying and then almost killing Dickhead (the name I gave her “true love”) I came to realize that she was consumed with being loved and that the love of her children didn’t matter to her at that time. That’s when I learned to use her guilt to get what I wanted and I took her for all that I could.
Later on in that year she found a “roach” floating in our upstairs bathroom and came to me to accuse me of smoking pot. I was quick to say that I had seen Dickhead up in our bathroom and smelled something “funny” when he came out. She was quick to pack us up and move us out after that. The one thing she didn’t tolerate from her lovers was drug use under the same roof as her children which, now that I think about it, is stupid! She couldn’t believe that they would try to fuck her daughters but had no problem believing that they were smoking pot in her house and leaving them for it.
I now can see why I thought I was only put on this earth to be a sex toy for all the perverts in this world. I was molested by my babysitter Ben Hall when I was 5 years old. He would take me down into his basement and touch me and put things inside me while his mentally ill son stayed upstairs with my baby brother. He would tell me that if I told anyone and if I wouldn’t do the things he wanted me to then he would let his son kill my brother. I couldn’t let that happen so I laid there on his shop table in the basement and let him shove his fingers inside me, and with tears running down my cheeks and not a sound being made for fear my brother would suffer I laid there while he shoved a broomstick where it didn’t belong.
That was just the beginning of it for me; off and on throughout my childhood and into my teenage years and even the first part of my adulthood I dealt with perverse acts towards me from men I knew, men my mom brought home, and men I thought were good and trusted. The one thing that saved me wound up being the last thing that broke my heart and brought me to the state of mind I’m in now.
Over the summer of 1994 I spent a lot of time at the Meta Ballpark visiting with Kyle H*****. He was a “not so popular kid” in my class who, last school year, asked me out so much that I finally said yes to him only to break his heart two weeks later by breaking up with him right as I was getting ready to skinny dip with my new boyfriend Terry.
My mom had moved my brother, sister and me to Meta so we could live with her one true love Dickhead. During summer break Kyle worked at the ballpark cutting grass and since he was all I knew in Meta he was the one I would talk to when there was nobody else around worth my time. We would talk on the phone for hours on end and I would go to the ballpark when he was working and talk to him there.
He was so different than any other guy I had known before. He listened and he cared. He took time to get to know me and not once did he try to get into my pants. I would sit and watch him working on that old John Deere lawn mower. He would have his shades on, his shirt either laying on the lawn mower or off and tucked into his back pocket, a Marlboro Light hanging out of his lips, grease all over his hands and sweat beading on his forehead, with the sun shining on his red hair.
We would visit almost daily at the ballpark and I would stare at him in awe. I was amazed to find myself having feelings for him that I had never felt before and I didn’t want to feel then. He would speak so softly to me and treat me with such respect. I fought hard to not care for him, forced myself to hide the feelings I couldn’t fight. I would catch myself looking at him and every now and then he would look up at me and smile that sexy and sweet smile as if to say “I know you love me and I will wait for you to know it too.”
Wow, to be 14 years old and have such strong feelings for someone. Even now just thinking about it makes my heart flutter. What happens to the emotions one has at the start of a relationship just as love is starting to blossom and bloom? If we all could take the time to step back into those old shoes and remember those feelings then love would never die or be forgotten it would continue to grow and feel new and good and exciting.
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