It felt like a dam had broken into bits, and once the gates were opened there was no shutting them. I think part of it is having no control. How do you see somebody heading down the rapids and not try to stop them. You see the waterfall they are approaching and no matter what you do, they just won’t listen. She didn’t get it. She didn’t understand what she was doing. Is it possible to throw your life away as a teenager?
When I was a junior in high school, a new kid named David transferred in from Washington, D.C. He and I had math and English classes together and rapidly became good friends. I was not the only new person he met, of course, and soon there were three of us. Interestingly, I’d been in school with Brian for a few years but hadn’t hung out with him until David came into the picture.
One weekend David’s mom was out of town, and he invited both of us to sleep over. We hung out all weekend, watching St. Elmo’s Fire over and over again. We attempted to memorize the lines, which for me is no small task. I have no ability to memorize anything. My mind just doesn’t work that way. It is more of the easy come, easy go route. Not that I am not smart, I just can’t remember anything.
It snowed that weekend, and after smoking some pot, we ventured out for a few hours. There was a street sign down the block, and we attempted to tear it down and take it home. How cool would it have been to hang a street sign in your bedroom? Unfortunately, or fortunately, we spent an hour or so jumping up, grabbing the sign and trying to bend it over. It was metal. It was never going to work, and none of us had the ability to use any tools, even if we would have brought them. We happily moved on, not really lamenting our failure. It was only one of the many bizarre feats we failed at that day.
It was one of the best weekends I remember as a child. No worries, no issues, just having fun and hanging out. Four days later, Brian took his own life. He placed a gun in his mouth while sitting in a bathtub and shot himself. I don’t really know the details, but it had something to do with his girlfriend breaking up with him. They had been dating for well over a year and were very close.
How do you explain life to a teenager? Its ups and downs. Sometimes things work out, and sometimes you have to overcome obstacles. They just don’t seem to understand. I think so often about Brian and what his life might be like if he were still alive. Would he be a doctor? Would he be a teacher? How many lives might he have influenced and helped in a positive way?
I sat in my worn leather recliner crying that night for my daughter, worrying about what might be her next step in life. I thought about Brian and that weekend. I mourned for him and shook with fear for her. God, what happened to put me on this path?
You open your eyes a wondering child
Life is easy, soothing and mild
Soon you find yourself a teen
Times are tough, parents are mean
You look to alcohol, then possibly dope
Contemplate a gun, maybe a rope
How is it possible to face each day
Death really is the only way
Sneaking out at Mom’s house
Melissa
Melissa felt exhausted. She was back living at her mom’s house full time. Her dad had crossed a line. She would never go back to his house. She had to put her foot down. He went too far when he called the police. She might have been too angry and over-reacted to the situation, but it didn’t matter. He needed to suffer, and she was going to be sure to punish him in the only way she knew how. She wouldn’t be seeing her dad ever again. Her mother hated him and now, so did she. What an asshole, she thought, as she lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling.
Anger is nothing more than a seed. When that seed is planted and nourished it will grow and prosper. Prosper might not be the appropriate word, but anger, like any emotion can be controlled or it can be unleashed. Animosity, violence, anger, aggression, what do they mean, really? Isn’t everyone prone to cultivating the darker emotions when fraught with despair?
Melissa lay in her room with the blinds closed, not allowing the sun to peak through the tightly closed curtains. She didn’t have any desire for the light. Today was not the day to feel love of any kind.
The more she lay huddled in her blankets, the more she felt the heat of her emotions seeping out of her pores. No wonder Darth Vader was such a proponent of the dark side. Melissa felt the amplified energy bubbling over, and it was everything she could do to contain it. Her Saturday morning of rest and relaxation was being spent nourishing her resentment and presently that was all directed at her father. As with most things, the present dictates action, and no matter who she felt her anger for, it was her mother who bore the brunt of her outburst.
Simply opening her door and asking her to help clean up the house was the small nick that opened the gates of hell. Melissa hurled forth obscenities before even she fully understood what was happening.
“Get the hell out of my room!” she screamed. “Who the hell do you think you are? I am so sick of being your maid. If you want the house cleaned up, then clean it up yourself. I am so tired of this fucking shit, I can’t stand it.”
Melissa blurted forth a stream of unflattering language, and her mother simply closed the door and went back upstairs.
She knew that this was wrong. She felt remorse creeping into her mind, and with that came tears. She was so alone. She didn’t have anyone, and the few people she did have she beat away as forcefully as her small frame would allow. She curled up in bed weeping uncontrollably. She so much wanted things back they way they were. Her family back together. She didn’t understand how she was supposed to live this way. She jumped when she heard her cell phone ring. It was her cousin.
Her cousin Andy lived a couple of miles away. He was at one point the troubled child of the family. This was, of course, before Melissa began her path of bad grades, skipping school and drinking. He did all of these things, as well, with the exception of the grades. He had been in a private school up until high school, and the academics were much more stringent. Now that he had moved to the public system, it was almost easy in comparison. He might not be learning as much, but as long as the grades were coming in, who cared?
He and some friends were hanging out at the beach that day, and he asked her if she wanted to come along. She needed the distraction, so she quickly agreed. She jumped out of bed, showered and started getting ready. Her mother asked her what she was doing, and Melissa didn’t even bother responding. She was sick of both her parents and didn’t feel the need to be beholden to either one of them any longer. On her way out the door she texted her mother and told her she was going to hang out with Andy down at the beach.
She was about a block away when she heard her mother screaming at her from the front stoop, but she didn’t even bother to turn around and look. Something about “Get your ass back here, or you will be sorry!” and ”Who do you think you are?” etc. etc. It just didn’t entice her to turn around. What was her mother really going to do in the end? She had no control over Melissa. At least with all of her problems she was finally feeling empowered to make her own decisions. She would be the person she wanted to be. For better or worse, she was going to live her own life, damn it.
It took her close to 45 minutes before she met up with Andy and his friends. She knew Curtis and Samuel, but Donovan was somebody new. They were all a little younger than she was, but they were close enough. A year here or there didn’t really matter when you were all teenagers. Who really believes that girls mature faster than boys? Some teenage boys were more mature than her mother was, at least that was how she felt at times.
Donovan was cute. He was wearing some long khaki shorts, had brown curly hair and exuded that tanned beach-boy aura so many of the coastal boys had. Melissa was immediately enamored with him. She felt even more so when he pulled out his pipe, and they all lit up. Nothing like a Saturday on the beach getting high. The wind racing up from the ocean, the sound of the waves breaking against the shoreline and a few tourists gawking in the background. Melissa never did full
y understand when her parents talked about some people never even seeing the ocean. Call her spoiled, but it was unimaginable to her.
What kind of person never sees the ocean? Melissa had already been to Paris and London. She had seen Mexico and Canada. She had been to more states that she could count. How can some people not get out into the world and explore what it has to offer? Money was a foreign concept to her, as well, as with most teens. Kids don’t get the pressure that parents are under to earn a buck, all in the hope of expanding horizons and broadening both their and their children’s experiences. In doing so, they collect more crap than anyone will ever use in a lifetime. Ah, the American Dream.
Donavon had lived here for a couple of years now, but since he was a year younger Melissa had not gotten to know him. He readily offered the pipe to everyone, and now they all felt quite relaxed. They lay there, watched the overhead sun, their backs in the sand, and gazed skyward. Donavon started to play with Melissa’s hair, but she didn’t even feel it. She was enthralled with the rolling clouds, drifting slowly forward, as if they had a purpose in life – a place to go and deadlines to meet. It seemed so strange to think of goals.
Melissa’s goal was to get out of bed on most days. She was proud on the days when she took a shower and found her way to school. Wasn’t that enough? At most times in her life she struggled to figure out the point. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Andy and his friends walking down the beach. She couldn’t even remember them getting up. She, then, realized that Donavon was kissing her, and she pushed him away. Maybe that was why they left. Maybe they were uncomfortable watching this boy paw all over her. Why did she let boys do things like this with her?
Donavon playfully accepted her rebuff but asked her for her phone number. She readily supplied it. He said he wanted to call her later that night. His parents were going out for dinner and a movie, and it might be fun if she came over. She agreed and with that he jumped up and ran down to the rest of the boys. They were throwing sticks in the water and watching the ocean inhale them, only to see it spit them back out again a few minutes later.
It reminded her of taking her dad’s dog to the beach to watch her play with the little yellow ball. She thought it was possibly a tennis ball. Her dad had this big black lab that was insane. A crazy dog that loved to chase balls more than anything else in life. That dog would chase a ball for hours. It might drop dead before it would leave a ball un-retrieved. Every once in a while, the ball would get lost in a wave, and she would pace back and forth, over and over, until it resurfaced a few minutes later. The ocean always seemed to give it back.
Consistency, predictability, stability, are all foreign words to Melissa. She felt anything but. Maybe that was why she was so fascinated that something as large and unpredictable as the ocean could be so consistent at the same time. Two diametrically opposed attributes existing within the same mass baffled her. With that thought she headed home. She would have to face her mother at some point. She might was well do it before the numbing effects of the pot wore off.
When she arrived there was nobody there, so she went to her bedroom, shut the door and crawled under the blankets. It was so warm and comforting in her bed. It seemed like the last safe place on earth at times. She loved this bed. It had been her parent’s waterbed, and when they upgraded she had strongly requested it be hers. It was a little wavy and old-fashioned but she wouldn’t give it up for anything. It made her feel closer to them and to her family for some reason. She pulled the covers over her face, curled up in a little ball, and quickly fell asleep.
Melissa awoke several hours later. It was already dark outside, and she heard commotion in the house. She guessed her mother and sisters were finally home. She glanced at her phone and saw that Donavon had been calling and texting her. He wanted her to sneak out that night and come over to his house. She could crawl in the window. Sneaking out was now something she did quite frequently, so she texted him back and said “sure.” It might be fun to do something different tonight. She had never been to Donavon’s house before.
Her mother was not talking to her, which was fine. It would make for a quieter evening if they could both keep their mouths closed. Melissa grabbed some bread and chips and walked into the living room to eat her makeshift dinner. Her sisters were chomping on McDonald’s burgers they must have picked up on the way home. Her mother loved giving them fast food for dinner. Weren’t mothers supposed to cook dinner once in a while? Melissa sometimes wondered if her mother even knew how to turn a stove on.
She sat and watched TV in the living room as the nightly activities continued. Her sisters changed into pajamas, then along with her mother, they all retreated to the bedroom to watch “Friends” on TV for a while. Eventually they all three fell asleep with the show still blaring in the background. Nobody had even acknowledged Melissa. Not a hello, or a how are you doing, or anything. She felt like a piece of furniture mixed in with the other table and chairs, but currently she was not needed. She was ignored.
She went back to her bedroom, grabbed some clothes and took a shower. It was likely that nobody would even miss her tonight, so she wasn’t even that careful about covering her tracks. She did sneak out her bedroom window, though. At this point, it was practically her doorway. She came and went out of it about every other night for her extracurricular excursions. Tonight was more the norm than an exception.
She found her way the couple of miles to Donovan’s house, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. There was a curfew for teenagers on the coast, and the last thing she wanted to do was get picked up by the police. After sneaking up to Donovan’s window, she tapped lightly three times, and he quickly raised it helping her inside. Luckily his room was on the first floor. One of the grand benefits of living by the ocean is how so many houses have their living rooms and kitchens upstairs to take advantage of the views. It makes it so much easier to sneak in and out of first floor bedrooms.
He immediately broke out the pipe, and they started smoking his stash. Melissa found she truly did love smoking pot. The more she used it, the better she felt about using it again. She knew her dad had smoked pot and was pretty sure he still did. She found his pipe and ashes left in a box at one point when she was searching his room. He got upset when he noticed she had been through his things, but she really didn’t give a shit what he thought. She was sick of him in so many ways.
Donavon sprinkled something on the pot before they smoked it, and whatever this was gave her a feeling of euphoria. She had never felt happier or more peaceful than she did at that moment. He had some vodka to mix with soda, and with all of it added together, she didn’t even care what was on TV. She just laid there, drifting in and out of happiness as she absently felt him begin to fondle her. It was so strange. Most of the time when she had sex, she never even really knew it was happening. In the back of her mind, she wondered if she never felt it, maybe it didn’t count as actually having sex. Shouldn’t you have to feel it for it to be real. It was always over so quickly, it seemed like a moot point.
The two of them must have fallen asleep at some stage of the evening, because the next thing Melissa knew it was light outside, and she freaked out. She glanced at the clock sitting on a chair next to the bed, and it was already 5:30 a.m.. The sun was just coming up, so she should still be able to make it home. Her head was spinning, and there were clothes everywhere. She couldn’t find her bra or her panties, but she pulled up her jeans and threw on her shirt as quickly as she could manage. Jesus, her head was pounding. What was that stuff she had smoked last night?
She crawled through the window, and all the time Donavon did not stir. He was out cold and wouldn’t be up for several hours. She fought her way home through the foggy headache that controlled her consciousness. It took her close to an hour, but she made it through her window easily. Nobody stirred in the house, which was good. She went to the bathroom, splashed water on her face, and changed into her sweats she had left on the floor the day before. After grabbing
a glass of water, she made it back to her bed and fell face down on the side. Barely missing hitting the floor.
It was, then, that she vomited. She heaved so violently, she couldn’t even move. It just kept coming and coming like a natural spring fountain that runs continuously. It ran down the side of her bed to the floor below, forming a pool of mixed artifacts from her previous couple of days ingestion. She looked at it and heaved again. The sight and smell of her expunged vomit sent her into convulsions. Then, she fell asleep, resting with her head over the side of the bed. Her eyes finally closed, and she lay peacefully, sleeping as the sun poked through the shrubs outside her window.
Is it possible that some people are so troubled they are only at peace when they are asleep? Interestingly enough, does it make sense that sleep will even bring peace? Would the dreams of a disturbed soul be as haunting as their actions in real life? It doesn’t seem fair that some people never get a break. Shouldn’t everyone at some point figure out a way to breath in and out, just enough to allow themselves to catch up to what life throws at them.
Around 10 a.m., Cassandra ran in and jumped into bed with Melissa. She was oblivious to the smell as only and 8 year old can be. She was used to running in after 10 to snuggle with her older sister. The rule was no earlier than 10, and then only after knocking. She had been knocking for several minutes, but when there was no answer, she ran in anyway. She flipped on the TV and curled up next to her older sister and started watching Hannah Montana. Eight year olds seem to love the singing pop sensation.
Learning to Cry Page 14