One day, several weeks after sitting with him on one of our bus rides home, Kenny started mocking a mutual friend. The teasing turned to anger and Kenny and Bob got into a fistfight right in front of everyone. The driver stopped the bus and ordered both boys to get off. Bob and Kenny continued to hit each other as the rest of us watched from the windows. The next day Kenny and Bob came to school joking around as if nothing had happened. I realized that Kenny had a bad reputation for fighting and starting trouble, but obviously there was something about his tough-guy image I liked.
It wasn’t long before Kenny asked me to go steady. He started coming over to visit me and he charmed my mother immediately. He’d offer to help out with chores. He’d run errands for my mom and he always brought back her favorite sunflower seeds. Kenny even made up poems to convince me of his genuine love for me. Needless to say, he didn’t have to try too hard because I thought about him day and night. It didn’t take me long to get over my old boyfriend in California. Even when Jerry came to visit me a few months after we moved, I knew then it was Kenny who stole my heart.
Mom already had several boyfriends after moving to Colorado. We lived near the Army base, so it was easy for her to meet men at the local bars. My brothers where still young, instead of looking for a job, Mom collected food stamps and welfare. Her late-night drinking binges increased. Less than a year after we moved into our new home Mom began drinking heavily. I came home from school one day and found her and her boyfriend drunk. She was sprawled face down, on the living room floor. I was so embarrassed!
When my mother wasn’t drinking and our friends came to visit she was usually fun to be around. My sister and I both had boyfriends and we enjoyed having them over. Mom always clowned around with them. She made tacos or spaghetti, and whoever happened to be there at dinner was invited to eat with us.
Our first Christmas in Colorado, we couldn’t afford a Christmas tree. A few days before Christmas, Mom was trying to figure out how to get a tree for us kids. All of a sudden there was a knock on the door.
Standing on the porch was my boyfriend proudly holding on to a white, flocked Douglas fir tree. It was the prettiest tree we had ever seen. It was evident from the trail behind him that he had dragged it all the way to our house. My mom was overjoyed. Kenny had certainly made brownie points with her.
Later he bragged to me when we were alone. “I stole the tree from 7-ll. There is a ditch right beside the store. I just pushed the tree down and dragged it all the way through the drainage ditch till I came to your street.”
I was happy we now had a tree to decorate, but it bothered me that Kenny had stolen it. He said it as if he had no conscious. But even that didn’t stop me from falling head over heels in love with him.
When my mom went out drinking in the evenings, I continued my habit of staring out the living room window, trying to keep myself awake so I could make sure she came home safely. I had not forgotten her words about her dying at age thirty-five. I’d fall into a deep sleep then wake up suddenly. Walking into her bedroom my heart pounding swiftly, hoping she was home always filled me with anxiety. Sometimes she was safely in her bed other times she wasn’t. Oh God please protect her, please don’t let her die! I counted down to her birthday a few months later, and then I was finally able to relax a little bit when she went out. Although I still waited up for her as long as I could and still worried about her safety.
Mom met and married her second husband, Smitty, shortly after I turned sixteen. He was in the Army, and she let him live at our house for several weeks before they married. The next thing we knew. She left town, drove to Las Vegas and married the guy. We hardly knew him she had only dated him a few months. We kids were livid!
Smitty was big and rotund and he was always drinking beer. After they were married, we saw Mom drunk at home more often, and she still continued to take her prescription drugs.
Mom let my brothers do just about whatever they wanted, but she held a tight rein on my sister and me. My new stepdad was extremely controlling, he and Mom didn’t allow my sister and I to go out with our friends.
I spent many days and nights staring out the bedroom window, peering at Kenny’s house, hoping he’d come over and visit me. I did this even during our frequent breakups, throughout our high school years. I could see the front of his house from my bedroom window and could see when another girl was there. Lots of rumors were flying around about Kenny being with other girls. After wrestling with my thoughts for a long time I would finally get up the nerve to question him. “Who was that girl who came to your house last night? Her car was there for quite a while.”
“Come on babe, she and I were doing homework together. You know I’d never two-time you.”
Other times he’d notice me at school looking dejected. “Deb, what did you hear this time?”
“So, and so said they saw you out with Tina, last night. Is that true?”
“No, I was out with the guys. Don’t listen to those rumors. You know you’re my woman.”
Kenny would grab me and hold me tight then he’d kiss me passionately. I always melted in his arms, and I always believed him while blaming and hating the other girls for flirting with him. I’d beg his forgiveness for my suspicions and swear I’d never believe the gossip again. Of course, I believed him. I only felt truly happy when I was with Kenny or spent my time thinking about him. When he came around and professed his love for me, I felt as if my life mattered, like I was finally worthwhile and I was worthy of his love. He became my god and I vowed I would do whatever I could to keep him in my life. Pleasing him and being with him became the most important thing to me. I never wanted to lose his love.
Much later, I’d find out most of the stories of his infidelities were true. Unfortunately, I was so gullible and desperately wanted to be loved, I believed everything he told me. In fact, during most of our dating days, Kenny went to parties while I cried alone in my bedroom, all the while trying to be the perfect, understanding girlfriend.
“I love it that you’re not like the other girls. You’ll stay home and wait for me.” He’d often say.
During one of our many breakups my mom brought home a scrawny German Shepard. I named Bummer. Bummer had a peace sign between his ears and he became my buddy. He’d sleep at the foot of my bed and wait at the bathroom door for me to come out. After Kenny and I got back together, unfortunately, Bummer took second place in my heart. He would often chase Kenny and nip at him. He did not like my boyfriend. I should have trusted my dog’s instinct. It would have saved me years of heartache.
18
My First Job
“Lazy people want much but get little, but those who work hard will prosper.” Proverbs 13:4
After about a year, we began to really enjoy the state that had become our new home. For the first time in our lives we experienced the four seasons. Raking the newly fallen red and gold autumn leaves and jumping in the piles we made became a fun chore. As winter approached we eagerly waited for the first snow. We’d watch the white flakes drifting downwards tasting the coolness on our tongues when we ventured outside, wrapped in heavy coats, with bread bags covering our tennis shoes and gloves warming our hands. After the long winter, we would enthusiastically watch for tiny, pink crocuses to peek through the frosty ground in the early spring, with their promise of warm months ahead. Summers were filled with late nights, drive-in movies, popcorn, pizzas, and lots of kissing with my boyfriend. All these things confirmed our love for this place we called home.
Mom and her new husband seemed to get along right after they were married, but it wasn’t long before they began to argue mostly about who would get the last beer in the refrigerator, or who would make dinner that night. Once they brought home a dog and named him after the beer Olympia (we called him Ollie for short), and they fought about him, too. It seemed like drinking was involved in every part of their lives; even the name of their dog.
&nb
sp; Smitty was a cook in the Army, and he helped my brother Mike and me get our first jobs. Mike worked in the mess hall and I worked at the Accounts Receiving office. As a junior, I got out of school at 12:30 p.m. and had to be at work forty-five minutes later. Sometimes my mom would let me drive the station wagon, but usually, if we weren’t broken up, my boyfriend took me and picked me up. I worked a three-hour shift, but during Christmas and summer vacations I worked 8 hours. I was so proud to be making $l.60 an hour—much more than I had ever made babysitting.
Time went on and I began to form friendships with some of the army men who worked in the office. We all had pet names for one another, such as Del Monte, or Shaggy, and I was called Dobie. I enjoyed laughing and being silly with the guys. During the course of my shift I had to walk from one building to another and, inevitably, someone would notice me and say hi. After all, I was a nice looking, trim teenager, and a fresh new face on the base. After Kenny and I got back together, I always felt guilty talking to the soldiers in my office and I knew I would get the third degree when Kenny picked me up. As soon as I sat down in the passenger side Kenny would began to drill me. “Did any of those doggies talk to you? Did anyone look at you today?” He kept badgering me: “I bet you’re always talking to those doggies, aren’t you?”
“You shouldn’t call them doggies, that is really derogatory.”
“What do you care? Everybody calls them that. I mean it, I better not find out you’re talking to them. Promise me you won’t ever talk to those guys.”
“I won’t.”
“You better make sure you don’t, because I’ll kick their ass if anyone tries to talk to you. You got me?”
“Yea!” Please don’t ask me any more questions.
I soon realized it was just better to keep my mouth shut and quit talking to the soldiers. I also realized if I walked with my head down while I delivered packages to other offices, nobody would say hi to me then I wouldn’t have to lie to Kenny about somebody talking to me or looking at me. I don’t know why I looked forward to him picking me up. I probably thought his jealousy and controlling ways proved how much he loved me.
Eleventh grade was a great time because Kenny and I dated almost the entire school year. We went to all the dances, football games and drive-in movies. Never had my life felt better. I was working part-time after school and I spent every spare moment with Kenny. But still we fought. I continued to hear rumors about his infidelities and I always blamed myself and begged for his forgiveness. He always forgave me. He never took responsibility for what went wrong in our relationship and I never expected him to. After all, I reasoned if things went wrong, it must have been something I did to cause it.
That year my mom’s drinking continued to slide out of control. I still cooked and cleaned and took care of my little brothers and I argued constantly with my new stepdad, about his stupid rules.
Weeks turned into months and I experienced many firsts with Kenny. Skipping school was one first, but I was so worried about getting caught I never did it again. Another first for me was skipping work; a little white lie to my boss took care of that.
“Don’t go to work today. Come spend the afternoon at my house. My mom and dad are at work and we will have the place to ourselves.”
“No, I’d better not do that. My mom can see your house from our front yard and I can’t miss work. I don’t want to lie to my boss again.”
“You know you want to stay with me instead of working. I will park my car in the alley behind my house. Your mom will never even see my car.”
After a little bit of prodding, he would talk me into it. I felt guilty, but it still didn’t stop me. It was so much easier to skip work instead of school. I found myself doing it a lot.
The first time I ever got drunk was with Kenny and a group of his friends. I was barely sixteen and my mom didn’t allow me to go out to parties. I didn’t really want to go to parties. I just didn’t want to be left out when Kenny went. One night, when my mom’s husband was out of town, she agreed to let me hang out with my older brother and his friends.
“Deb, we are planning on picking up Kenny and his friends.” Mike said after I hopped in his buddy’s car.
“Oh, thank you,” I said to Mike.
We rounded the corner and picked up my boyfriend.
“Hey Mike did you get the booze?” Kenny asked.
“Yea, my friend got it for me. There’s Boones Farm, Mad Dog, Ripple wine, and Jack Daniel’s. Here, help yourself.”
I was so glad to be included and I know it was because of my brother. Kenny rarely took me when he went out with his friends. I wanted to be like the others, so I mixed the alcohol, threw back my head and guzzled whatever I could get my hands on. It was a bitter cold night and ice had formed on the nearby streets.
“Have you ever gone skitching?” One of the guys asked.
“What’s skitching?” I asked, naively.
“Stop the car Greg. Let’s show Debbie how to skitch,” Pete laughed.
A few of us stepped out onto the street and crouched down behind the back of the car.
“Now hold on to the bumper. And whatever you do don’t let go.” Pete said.
“Go, Greg, take it slow,” shouted Kenny to the driver.
“Wow, thus is sooo much fun!” I said, slurring my words, holding on to the bumper as we slid behind the car. We all took turns that night watching each other through the opened windows. We were having a blast.
My next memory was tripping into my house. Apparently, I ran in, missed the bathroom, and threw up all over the hallway while my seventy-five-year-old grandma slept soundly in one of the bedrooms and Mom was out doing some drinking of her own.
Coming into my room the next morning, Mike said, “Deb, after you puked, I cleaned you up, pulled your hair back in a rubber band and put you to bed. Mom is really mad at you. You’d better go talk to her.”
“Did you tell her?”
“No, I think Grandma heard everything. She must have told her,” Mike explained.
She was waiting in the kitchen. Nervously, I sat down at the table. “I can’t believe I got drunk. I’m so sorry it was the first time I ever drank. I know you’re disappointed in me and I feel so sick.”
“I wish your grandmother hadn’t heard anything that went on last night. But I believe you, I know you feel bad. You usually don’t do anything wrong. Having a hangover is punishment enough this time. I trust you to make better choices and I am glad your brother was with you.”
“I will make better choices. I promise you I won’t ever drink again.” I reassured her. I couldn’t believe she had been so nice to me.
And true to my word, I didn’t ever get drunk again as a teenager.
One week later, my boyfriend invited me to go to a party with him, I was so thrilled.
“Mom can I go, please? I won’t drink.” I wanted my mother to trust me.
“I know you learned your lesson, so I’ll let you go. Don’t let me down.” Luckily Smitty was still out of town.
“I won’t, you can trust me. Thanks, Mom.” I hollered as I ran out to Kenny’s car.
19
A Night Gone Bad
“An honest witness tells the truth; a blasé witness tells lies.” Proverbs 12:17
A couple of hours later, I was wondering what all the excitement was about attending a party. It seemed kind of boring to me. The guys and girls were hanging out, talking and drinking. I stood next to Kenny and listened to him boast, brag, and laugh. Kenny and his friends were the only ones I even knew at the party. I felt very uncomfortable being there, but I clasped onto my boyfriend’s hand, happy that he had invited me. And true to my word, I had not even sipped a drink.
Walking into the hallway, I followed Kenny as he headed for the bathroom, much like a loyal puppy would. As I stood near the door, waiting for him to finish, two guys walked past me.
I noticed one playing with a switchblade pretending to stab at the other guy. I turned to step out of their way. Just then I felt a searing pain above my knee on the outside of my right leg.
“Oh, man, I’m sorry, didn’t mean to stab you.” Turning to the crowd, Frank yelled.
“Hey, we need some help in here.”
The next few minutes flew by as Kenny grabbed a towel and held it on my bleeding leg. Carrying me to his car, he turned on the engine and sped towards the nearest hospital. Suddenly, sirens blared and a flashing red light was behind us.
“Officer my girlfriend has been stabbed. I’m rushing her to the hospital.” Kenny explained with a little slur in his voice.
“Hold on, let me pull in front of you and give you a police escort.”
My mother was called and came to the emergency room just after my deep gash was stitched up.
“Mom, I swear I didn’t have anything to drink, I promise!”
“I’m so sorry for what happened. I know because the doctor told me he didn’t smell any alcohol on your breath. And I am very proud of you.
That would be the last house party I went to.
I missed a whole week of school and then had to go back and walk with crutches. I was embarrassed as I walked amidst all the stares, and felt so angry with Frank for cutting me. He never did get in any trouble for it!
Shortly before the stabbing incident Kenny’s parents bought him a super-fast, super-cool car for his birthday, it was a 1965 blue Mustang with white racing stripes on each side. All the kids at school ogled over it. Gone were my days of riding the school bus at least while Kenny and I were still dating.
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