Intro to a larger piece still to come

There is an old house in Iraq. It sits amidst the rubble from a bombing. The house is not empty as one would think, instead it stands as shelter for a platoon of US marines caught in the middle of a fire fight.  Bullets are flying from every direction. They are hitting the old stone and ricocheting all around.  A young marine is in fear for his platoon.  He sees the dust flying and the building crumbling with each gun shot.  His heart is pounding, the gun shots are deafening in his ears. He can hear his soldiers being hit and see the blood from their lifeless bodies staining the broken walls.  His mind is racing trying to get a step ahead of the enemy. He tries to move but the sand gives way under his feet. It sticks to his body using sweat and blood as the glue. 

His body and soul have been worn and broken from his service to his country.  He thinks of his young wife and daughter back home and the daughter still in her mommy’s tummy.  The thought of them gives him strength, determination. He will not go quietly. He sees that he is the only soldier left, the others have all fought their last. He shakily rises to his feet. He checks his weapon and notes there is only a single round left. He takes a few deep breaths and says a quick prayer. He prays for his family, prays for his soul. He knows there is only one way to keep from becoming a prisoner. He was trained to always leave that one last round for himself if he is ever in such a situation. He takes a picture of his family from his breast pocket and says a silent goodbye.

He chances a glance out the window and all he can see is the lights from the Iraqi guard’s guns. He notices their black uniforms in between flashes.  He hears them calling for him to come out and drop his weapon. He knows that his gun will not leave his hand until his heart stops beating.  He steals his nerves and opens the door. He raises his gun to his head. He was determined they would not take him prisoner.  He heard an order being given to shoot the weapon out of his hands. He smiled inwardly to himself. He was a US Marine, he would never drop his weapon.  He started walking forward. He felt the shots. With each one he knew his time had come. He had held out long enough for his men. He had fought valiantly and showed them their respect had not been misplaced.  He started counting each time he was hit. One. Two. Three. Its going to take more than that. He thought. Four. Five. Six. He started getting weak, but held his grip firm.  He said his final goodbye as he felt himself growing weak. Seven. Eight. Nine…

A shot rang out in a small town in East Tennessee. It was the tenth within the last five minutes. That morning’s newspaper headline read:

“Marine killed by police had PTSD”

 

 

Dream Life Cast

Ok, I’m going to have some fun tonight. The prompt on my phone today is, “Your life is a movie, who is your dream cast”… Yeah, let’s have some fun. If I am guilty of type casting, oh well, get over it…hehehe. Here we go:

Me-

Teenage me: Jennifer Lawrence

Me now: Evangeline Lilly

My hubby-

Teenage hubby: Christopher Mintz-Plasse

Hubby now: Seth Rogan (yes, he’s changed that much)

My wonderful daughter-  Abigail Breslin (when she was younger)

My mother- Jane Fonda

My father- Harrison Ford

My brother- Jake Gyllenhal

My sisters (y’all can figure out who is who!!!)-

M: Cameran Diaz

J: Mila Kunis

R: Rachel McAdams

The fabulous Mrs. P- Sally Field

AGT Spill

Ok, I am going to write a little different tonight. I do not know if you watch America’s Got Talent or not, but there was this one band on there this week, American Hitmen. They are a group that got together during their deployment to Iraq. They normally sung rock songs, but last night they decided to cover The Beatles’ “With A Little Help From My Friends”. The judges had a problem with it since it was not rock like the band normally performed. They said that they also were not going to base their decision on the band’s military history, but what they failed to understand is that the band was making a statement with the song. They were trying to say that the reason they did ok after getting out of the service was the help they received from their friends. I personally thought the song was very fitting to the band’s story and to tell who they are. Ok, that is my spill for tonight. I will post a link to the performance below and let you all make your own judgments about it.

Watch the American Hitmen's performance from lastnight.

My Persecutor

I have so many thoughts swirling around in my head. I am having trouble grasping at a single one for a topic. I also have so many thoughts that are highly inspiring me to write about, but there would be utter chaos if I did. How can I write what I want when I have so many to protect? I have secrets screaming to be released, but it is my conscious keeping them hidden. It is so hard to want to write, but not be allowed to write what it is you feel or think. Damn these confines placed on me by society and what is supposed to be “prim and proper”. Damn them.

I am a writer. My love is putting my thoughts out there and seeing the world’s reaction. I want to entertain, I want to surprise and inspire. How can you do this being yourself when there are so many telling you to watch what you say? Yes, I speak my mind, at least the acceptable part. But what apart the ideas and thoughts that society does not want to hear? How am I to get them out of my head?

It is times like these when I really miss my father. We used to have these extremely long conversations about everything and nothing in particular. I guess I got my inquisitive nature and “don’t give a shit” attitude from him. The main thing I can ever remember him really calling me down on was using a curse word. His admonishment was always, “Susan, young ladies do not talk like that”. To which I always replied, “Now when the hell have I ever claimed to be a lady!” This was a running joke of ours.

I so miss being able to talk freely with him. I am sick of being black mailed with everything I say or type. I am tired of always having someone threaten to show my writing to people who should not be reading it. I feel as if I have a chain around my thoughts not letting them come out. It feels as if I am suffocating in my own creativity that cannot be expressed in any way other than to write, and write, and write. To me writing is a way to heal or find peace with different events, and I cannot write what I want to without fear of some type of backlash or threat.

Writing

Dream, My Love (2008)

Come beautiful poet
Rest by my side
Let my words wash away the pain
I will use my lines to chase away the loneliness
I will whisper in your ear
Words of bright sunny days
in each other's warm embrace
Come with me into the land of dreams
Of cotton candy clouds
And licorice hearts
Where the water is sparkling
And the sun is always shinning
Let our fingers entwine
While we walk through fields of flowers:
Roses, daisies, black-eyes Susans and lilacs too
We will lie beside crystal water falls
under the moon's stare
And speak words of love
Yes, come lie in my arms
And let us drift away to the land of dreams

Scared (2008)

I'm scared
Falling
What should I do
I want to open my heart to you
Just please be gentle with it
It is bruised and broken
It is fragile
I'm scared
I opened my heart for you
You fount the key and opened my safe
I told you my thoughts
I let you in
So I told you my thoughts
I let you in
I'm scared
Promise me you will be gentle
Because I feel myself falling
Take my hand
Put your arms around me
Hold me close
Tell me it will be ok because
I'm scared

Look Into My Eyes (2008)

Look into my eyes
See the picture of my soul
The breath of my heart
The wondrous capacity which is
Me

The Key (2001)

To smile is to light the world
With joy and glee
To cry is to drown the world
With the force of the mighty sea
To glance is to look at the world
Without on care
No one around to notice
Yet there are over a thousand people there
No cares, no problems
All walking carefree
Until the place is gone
Now who holds the key

Ride On My Prince (2001)

Ride on my prince
Into the field of battle
For this is your chance
To live your dream
For you have not only my support
And care,
But my heart as well
Ride on my handsome prince
Ride on

Goodbye My Brother (written in 1999)

I thought I would have you forever
But I was wrong
For that forever turned into a never
And then you were gone
You & I were the best of friends
Even though we were different
Right down to the ends
We were inseperate
You were and always will be
A great friend
And brother to me
Right down to the end

Dr. Tick & PTSD

I’ve had this one certain book sitting on my shelf for a couple years. I regret to say I never picked it up to read it thoroughly until a couple months ago. A very dear friend of mine lost his life to his personal battle with PTSD. It is too late to help him, but maybe I can reach others with the information I discovered since reading the book.  That book, and Mrs. Reiss please forgive my awful citing (it’s been a few years), is War and the Soul by Edward Tick, Ph.D. (2005).  In his book Dr. Tick discusses some of the best ways to help veterans who are waging their own war against Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD.  Dr. Tick has over thirty years of experience in helping soldiers heal from PTSD.  He uses some unconventional tactics (according to modern psychiatry) to help.  He has combined all his thirty years’ worth of knowledge into this one unforgettable read. 

                The first thing Dr. Tick does is to describe what PTSD is and how it comes about.  He talks about the two part process of war; “1) dehumanizing the people involved and 2) placing them and ourselves in a kill-or-be-killed situation”.  He talks about how the military removes a person’s “civilian inhibitions” by:

·         Taking a recruit’s civilian identity

·         Having them repeatedly practice ways of killing until it is an unconscious reflex

·         Taking to their breaking point, and pushing them over

·         Demeaning them as a person

·         Punishing the ones whose will is harder to break

Basically stating, they take these young men and women and throw them into some of the harshest situations imaginable.  They are barely even old enough to vote and are having to fight for their lives and the lives of those around them. It is in these moments that “the civilized brain shuts off and the savage takes over”.  Dr. Tick says that after this, there is no return to innocence” for these brave soldiers.  They are taught to lose all feelings, maybe not by their instructors or COs, but by their instincts to survive. Dr. Tick talks about how in order to keep your mind at peace during a war and soldier has to view the “enemy” (whoever it may be) as inhuman. 

It is for these reasons that Dr. Tick, along with Erik Erickson, argues that PTSD is not merely an anxiety disorder, but an identity disorder.  The returning soldiers lose a lot of who they are on the battlefield. In order to make a full recovery they have to find that human or civil side of themselves once again. For some this is harder than others. The ones at the highest risk are those that had to kill close up, or look into the face of their targets. The reason Erikson classified it as an identity disorder is because the young men and women who face battle are typically at an age where they are still developing a strong sense of self. War distorts what should be positive self-images into nightmares.  Dr. Tick states that “many veterans who cannot get on with life are boy-men (or girl-women) stuck in the psychic war zone, lost in an incomplete and horrific rite of passage”.

Of those soldiers returning home from the battlefield, it is estimated that anywhere from 25-60% show signs of PTSD. Dr. Tick believes that one reason for this is that as a society “we do not help survivors rebuild dignity and rediscover inner peace because the recovery of individuals is no longer a priority to the larger social system.” Dr. Tick describes their situation as going through a “death-rebirth” process to where they are transformed from what they used to be.

As bad as all this sounds, Dr. Tick asserts that there are several treatments for PTSD, but the veteran must be open to them.  He asserts that to return to their civility veterans must “cleanse, purify, rejoin the world community, follow the flow of life, and attain forgiveness”. It is from traditional, communal cultures that Dr. Tick derives his treatments. He saw where in Native American cultures the very first thing they did when returning from battle was to purify. One way of doing this was the sweat lodge. Dr. Tick lists several reasons why sweat lodges are the perfect purification tool for returning soldier:

·         It is a safe place

·         It serves as a symbol of transition from the warzone to a world at peace

·         It melts away the defenses they develop during combat

·         Their prayers are sincere

·         It is a communal experience (acceptance is a HUGE part of healing)

·         No one will be judged or shunned

·         Everything said is to be respected

·         It is considered a sacred space (veterans need to feel the spiritual connection)

The next part of purifying is telling their story. This is a crucial component. Having their stories heard and validated help veterans feel more at peace with their actions. Dr. Tick suggests this should be done before the general public with a facilitator there to encourage the veteran to dig deeper into their stories. This also helps the veteran to begin to rejoin society. What helps even more is for the nation as a whole to show their acceptance of the veteran. They may not like the war, but there is no reason to hold the veteran accountable for it. They are merely doing their jobs. Organizations such as Westboro Baptist Church are a large component that needs to be silenced in order to help veterans heal. 

Another point that Dr. Tick makes is that PTSD therapists need to be more open with the veteran. The veteran will open up and disclose more if the therapist is more self-disclosing themselves. The therapist must become part of the veteran’s “warrior society”. What is truly needed is a class of “noble citizen-warriors” who know what war does to a person and is willing to speak publicly about the subject.

I will leave off with this thought, while by many war is classified as an act of violence; Dr. Tick calls it an act of intimacy…

 

Tick, Edward, Ph.D. (2005). War and the Soul. Wheaton, IL: Quest Books.

The Burning Marlboro

I lay in bed and watch the smoke trailing up from the end of an almost burnt up Marlboro. It glistens against the clear glass of the ashtray. Such beautiful patterns come from it. It’s almost hypnotizing. Tonight is going to be another one of those nights where, even though I know I’ll catch hell for it in the morning, I just can’t sleep until I get my thoughts out. I have so much going through my mind it feels like it is about to explode. I can feel every fiber of my being getting tighter and tighter wound. I feel as though I am going to snap at any minute.  The smoke is still spiraling, dancing away from the reddish-orange glow. My mind starts wondering back.

I am still looking for a job. They all want experience.  “What experience do you have in the area?” they all ask. I find myself drifting back farther. To the outside world, I have led a very privileged life, but let’s stop to examine that for a minute and see exactly what experience I have in the field of human services.  From the ages of 5/6 until I was around 9/10 years old I was being sexually molested by my uncle. I did not tell my parents until I was 16, only a very few select friends knew. I became engaged to the boy I thought was the love of my life when I was 17. I fell hopelessly and maidenly in love, only to have him completely shatter my heart a few months later. I dated around for a year trying to find a replacement for him. It was then that he called me to come visit and to begin new talks about getting married once more. I fell for it because I was so desperate to prove that I was worth something after the abuse. I spent a weekend with him and came back home only to have him call everything off again a few weeks later.

I started college at a prestigious liberal arts college in fall of 2004, only to drop out after one year. I had began dating a guy who was originally very verbally abusive. I had let him talk me into missing too many classes. He talked me into going into nursing instead. I loved nursing. I ended up marrying that guy, even though he was mentally and verbally abusive. Don’t get me wrong, I was not innocent by no means, but there was still no call for some of the infractions.  I ended up not having the time to study which led to failing out of nursing because of a minor score of 79.9 when I had to keep an 80.

My husband and I separated in January of 2008 based on irreconcilable differences. That May my father passed away suddenly and unexpectedly. I was thrown for a complete loop. Then my divorce was finalized June 4. My ex began calling and truly showed that he had changed and was able to prove it to me. We re-married July 5. I was pregnant by the end of the year. Everything went great, until I had a stroke two weeks after our daughter was born. I have fought and clawed my way back. Then we were homeless for a stint. I finally finished my degree and now they want experience? What more experience could they want?

~I have known the worst fears of a child.

~I have faced the pain of denial.

~I have been defeated, but came back even stronger.

~I have known the emptiness of losing those closest to me.

~I have known the worry for the future.

~I have known the hunger pains while ensuring my child did not.

I have lost both my best friends within mere years of each other, the ones that were always there. That I never had to say a word to, they always knew. I have been threatened, blackmailed, and called a bitch. I am still here though. I am stronger every minute from it. I stand firm in my convictions. I have worked my ass off to get to where I am, and put up with a lot of shit just to survive. I have bit my tongue so much it is permanently scarred.

I ask again, what more experience do these people expect? I have proudly dedicated my life to helping all those who need it. Do I regret any of it? Not for even a minute. It is through these trials and tribulations that I have come to be the strong person I am. I honestly feel as though I would not be here today if I had lived a pampered life. I would be just another spoilt rich girl trying to make it in the big bad world. But that is not who I am. I am a fighter, not a princess. I will survive. I have too many depending on my not to. Too many people in my future that is going to need my help. I have already failed twice, I will not fail again. I will not let myself.

Oh, look at that. The Marlboro is smoked up. Guess it’s time to leave this world and let the dream world have its play.

Brave Soldier

Brave soldier
It is on the field of battle
Where you feel you belong
With the others you fight
To protect what is just
Your body bruised & broken
Your spirit down & trodden
You look around & its destruction you see
Your head hangs heavy
Even though you have the victory
You ready your guns
For the next fight
You steel you nerves
You lift your prayers
In hopes they are heard
You fight for your country
They have taught you well
You are a United States Marine



*A friend requested a poem written for them for when they were about to deploy. This is what came of it. For more information refer to earlier blog entries.

Mad Friends

I keep finding myself thinking back to quotes by one of my all-time favorite authors, Jack Kerouac. Kerouac was a free, but highly troubled soul. I love his anthologies and prose. He had a way with words that seems to go straight to the artist’s soul that resides deep inside me. He has many quotes that touch me, but I think my absolute favorite has to be,

“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue center light pop and everybody goes ‘Awww’”

This is a quote that I try to live by. I try to include people in my life that keep it exciting. I surround myself with people who are “mad”. Now keep in mind, the “mad” Kerouac uses is the old use of it to describe someone who is a free spirit, they live by their own standards and do not let society dictate who they should be. They are their own person and find delight in the simple things. A cold beer and a voice was all they needed. It meant they were interesting.

I tend to gravitate towards people who are free spirits. They are who they are and will not change for anyone. I love my friends for their differences. As I sit here on my deck drinking my coffee and writing I find that the one thing all my true friends have in common is that they share a deep commitment. That commitment is to many things, their friends, their families, their faith, their community.

I have friends from all walks of life. I do not sit and classify them as upper, lower, or middle class. To me they are the “rebellious rebeler”, the “faithfully committed”, the “everlasting prankster”, even to use one of Kerouac’s nicknames for one of his friends, the “holy goof”. There’s the one that’s always there, the one that always makes me laugh, the one that’s always drama, the one that just goes with the flow. Then there is the gamer, the good ‘ol country boy, the county girl, the redneck.

They have a wide assortment of interests. Conversation is never boring with any of them. Thank God I’m versatile. Our conversations can go from discussing current events to why someone’s poop is a certain way (you know who you are!) then to who we think is the sexiest actor in a matter of a couple of minutes. These are just the conversations that I can speak of without breaking confidentiality. Many of my friends work in medical, you should hear some of the stories we talk about.

My friends may be considered weird by many, but they are mine. My friends are my family and there is nothing I wouldn’t do for any of them. They keep me sane. They keep me grounded. They keep me laughing. Most importantly though, they keep me, me.

ranting

I’m tired. I’m tired of guessing, tired of wondering, tired of questioning. It feels as if I am always the one to reach out. It feels as if I am always the first to pick the phone up and dial. Life is busy, but there is always a quick “hey, how are you doing”. I’ve burnt my bridges, I know that, but the past is the past. I am who I am. If you like me, you like me. If you don’t, then I really don’t give a rat’s ass. Just don’t waste my precious time with your bullshit. Don’t be am opportunity friend. In my book there is no such thing as a part-time friend. I am not one of those that trade friends in with every breeze. The friends I have I treasure and keep my whole life. My bestfriend I have had since elementary school! Hell, even my husband I have been friends with since I was twelve. Those that know me, know that I would put my life on the line for every single one of my friends. I would do everything humanly possible to help a friend. I tend to make friends very selectively. If I choose to let you into my life it is not something to be taken for granted and thrown around. Friendship is not a one way street. I am over having to second guess.

Moments to Remember

I have spent some time recently thinking about what my life has been and what has made me who I am today. There are several things that come to mind that have had a profound impact on my life. Even though the stroke I had severely affected my long-term memory, I can still remember these events as clear as day. They are the events that have impacted me the most and left permanent marks on my soul. Some of them cast a heavy weight on my heart and are extremely difficult to relive, others bring much joy and happiness to my heart. There is no degree of importance in how I list them, other than the first. After all, they have all had a profound impact on my life.

1.       The first and most important event of my life has been the birth of my baby girl. She is an angel sent to me. I was beginning to give up hope in ever having a child of my own. She brought with her a storm which has yet to settle. She is as sweet as an apple, but has the tartness of a lime. She puts a new smile on my face every day just by the way she wonders sleepily into the living room with her cute little bed tasseled hair. She questions everything and takes nothing at face value. She has to know exactly why things are the way they are (which I absolutely love). She is a sponge for knowledge. She is even feistier than I ever dreamed of being. Above anything, she makes me want to be a better person and make the world a better place for her as she lives and grows. She is, after all, my little miracle.

2.       The next memorable event would have to be my father’s passing. My father passed away May 18, 2008. His death was a complete shock to me. He was sitting there talking to my mother and just suddenly fell over from a stroke. He died instantly. If you have been keeping up with my blog then you know that my father was the largest male influence in my life. He was the best father any girl could ever ask for. His death really brought me into a deep depression, which no one has ever heard about, until now. I was falling and lost. My father was always on of the very few who could get through my wall of protection and truly see what was going on deep inside.  He taught me so many valuable life lessons. The main one being not to judge others based on what they are, but rather who they are. To love everybody as I would expect to be loved, but also not to back down from anyone trying to do me harm either. I know one of his proudest moments of me is when I punched one of my boyfriends so hard it knocked him off the porch because I found out he had been cheating on me. He raised me to be a tough tomboy, and by God that’s exactly what I am.  He taught me to be a caring person and to help others, but to also have that edge about me.

3.       When I think back to my high school years there’s always this one memory in particular that sums them up. It was the summer between my sophomore and junior year. Me and a couple of my friends (TJ & Julie) decided to go to the drive in. I cannot remember what movie was playing. All I know is I was driving my old ’92 Ford Explorer (the Tank). TJ was being his normal goofy self and dared me and Julie to climb on his shoulders as he walked around. We didn’t believe he could do it. So of course we decided to try. I climbed on his shoulders first, then he backed up to the Explorer where Julie had already climbed on top of the car. She managed to make it up and sitting on top of my shoulders. We just knew TJ was going to drop us. He managed to walk around the Drive in with me and Julie both on his shoulders. Then I also remember us sitting in the back of the Explorer with the back open and he kept spitting tobacco juice all over my bumper. I remember making him clean it off too! That was a truly fun night and just a glimpse into the fun times I had in high school.

4.       The next memory is not a happy one, but one I’m glad that happened. I was sexually molested as a child. The abuse began when I was 5/6 and ended when I was about 9/10. I never told anyone except my friends Jason, TJ and Jarrad (who is now my husband). It was Jason that I walked to the most about the abuse. He was the one I would call at 3 am when I’d been woken by a nightmare. I remember the night as clear as yesterday. I was sixteen. I woke up from a particularly bad nightmare and called Jason. He had been trying to convince me to tell my parents. This one night I tried like always to talk him out of it. He finally made the threat that either I tell them or he was going to call them right then and there and tell them. I remember walking downstairs and waking my mom up and asking her to come upstairs. She came up and sat on the bed and I told her. I was so scared she was going to have a heart attack. She went right away to wake up my dad. I had to retell him the story. This was also the night my dad found out I was smoking. To his credit he never said a word about it. I guess he figured I had more pressing concerns.

5.       Then there comes the moment when I finally knew what I was meant to do with my life. After telling my parents about my abuse I became very vocal about it. If people would listen, I would talk. I wanted to spread the word so that other victims knew they were not alone. I never fully understood what this meant for me until me and a friend was driving back from Knoxville one day. I will keep the friend’s name private because I do not know if she has told anyone else or not. Well she started asking questions about my abuse, which of course I readily answered. It was then that she came out and told me about her own abuse. She had been one of my best friends all through school and it completely floored me that she had been abused as well. She told me that the only reason she disclosed the abuse to me was because of how vocal I was about my own abuse. She knew I would understand what she had been through. I was also a good listener. This is when I realized that my purpose in life was to go into psychology so that I could help others through equally difficult times. As most of you know, I am a strong advocate for PTSD awareness. I firmly believe that if my friend had not shown me my purpose that day then I would be the one in therapy for PTSD related to childhood sexual abuse.

6.       Then there comes the first time I ever took the stage. I wasn’t a public production, just finals for Drama I in high school. We were to do a duet acting scene. Me and my partner Annie chose to do Twelfth Night by Shakespeare. When I started the class I was a timid and shy lil thing. Keep in mind this was before I disclosed my abuse. It was my theatre instructor, Mrs. P, who would not let me sit in the corner and go unnoticed. She broke me out of my shell. For the final I was on stage playing Olivia. We were doing the scene where the Duke sent his messenger to profess his love to Olivia. I was completely dressed in black, including a black veil. Mrs.P had me jumping all over the stage and playing the role for all it was worth. This is something I could never have done without her guidance and support. Mrs.P has been a constant in my life since then. She was at my wedding, she came to the hospital when my daughter was born and she was there for me when I had the stroke. Mrs.P sets the bar extremely high for teachers. She helped me more than any non-family member ever has. I do not think she ever realized the profound impact she has had on my life. For all that she has done for me and taught me I shall ever be thankful.

7.       Then there comes my first wedding. I have been married twice. The first one is the one you will never forget. I remember how nervous I was because I had to wear a dress. (If you know me at all, then you know I NEVER wear a dress). In fact it was the first time many of my family had ever even seen me in a dress. I was so scared I was going to trip walking down the aisle. The funniest part is that my father (the one NOT in heels) is the one that tripped. Then there was our darling little flower girls and ring bearers walking down the aisle side by side holding hands. One of them was even carrying a naked baby doll! It was just too precious. Then the look on my husband’s face when he finally saw me in a dress after eight years of knowing each other. Heck, I had even seen him in a dress before he ever saw me in one! No, he’s not a cross-dresser, mw and his sister used to bully him in middle school because he was so much smaller than us. But now he’s the bigger! Let’s just say he’s paying us back!

8.       Another memory I will never forget is when my sister-in-law and I were about 12-13. We were at their house (which sat on a main road). We decided to pull a prank over Jarrad. WE got him outside, tackled him to the ground and stripped all his clothes off him. We then proceeded to thrown his clothes on top of the house and lock him outside. He had to climb on the house butt naked to get his clothes! Yeah, I told you we used to bully him!

9.       Then there was the time in high school when my mom, my best friend Misty and I went to Wal-Mart. Me and Misty started out in the craft section. When my mom got about 5 feet away I picked up a vase, and in my loudest most redneck accent, said, “Shishter, Let’sh find a vase for Uncle Eshter’s ashesh!”. My mom was about to kill me. Then Misty proceeded to pick up a vase and call out, “Momma, will thish work?” Then when we were in the checkout line there were these two obese ladies in front of us. They both looked nine months pregnant and like they were mother and daughter. Misty being Misty started singing “who’s your daddy? Who’s your baby” right behind them!

10.   The last even that has had a profound impact on my life is the death of my brother and best friend. As I have spoken of before, I am a very strong supporter of PTSD awareness. This event is the reason. My brother was a United States Marine. He served his country proudly and had completed many tours as a scout sniper. He was discharged medically due to PTSD. March 21 of this year his battle with the illness came to an end. He went into a flashback which ended in him firing shots into the air and the police being forced to shoot him because he would not drop his weapon. TJ was a true Marine until the end. He was always a constant in my life. I loved him as much as any sister would love her brother. We were of no blood relation, but the bond was there. The unexpected deaths of my father and my brother have had a profound impact on me. I find a large hole has been dug in my heart. Besides my husband, they were the two strongest male figures in my life.

When I look back over where my life has taken me I find that there is a lot of sorrow. It is the moments of sunshine breaking through the clouds that gives me hope. I hold huge dreams for my baby girl. I hope to see her become a woman I will be proud of, which I know she will. I hope she learns from my mistakes and makes her own. Mistakes are the only way we ever learn in life. I hope that I may use my life in a way that will help others. After all, we are only given a relatively short amount of time on this planet before we are taken to whichever after life we believe in. We have to make the most of the moments we have.

Extremely short story

Prompt: Write a story in 7 words.

She loved, she lost, her heart broke.

Top 10 people who have passed that I would like to see again or meet

I have sat down and thought out a list of ten people who have passed away that I would like to see again or even meet for the first time. (Yes, I am trying to cure writer’s block!) A few are really close to my heart, the rest are people that I believe would be truly interesting to chat with. So without further ado, here is my list:

1.     The first and foremost would be my father. There should not have to be any explanation to this choice. My father was a very good man. He was my rock throughout my childhood. He always had the right words. He supported me in any choices I made. Hardly ever did he discourage my ideas. When I mentioned to him I wanted to buy an old VW bus and track across country he completely encouraged it. He didn’t tell me not to go, but to just be safe. He even sat down and started helping me plan my trip, which I unfortunately never got to go on. I remember when I was seventeen and wanting to enlist in the Navy after school he was right there with me supporting me all the way. Unfortunately I ended up with a bum knee and could not go. There is not a day that goes by that I don’t stop and think what advice he would have for me, or what prank he would be trying to pull on me!

2.     The second would have to be my best friend and big brother, TJ. TJ was taken just a few months ago after a battle with PTSD. He was a US Marine. He was also always there for me growing up. I remember countless threats he made to my boyfriends throughout school that if they did not treat me right then they’d have to answer to him. He was my protector. He was also more often than not my voice of reason. He would support me in all my endeavors, but would also be the first to tell me if I was about to do something stupid. He was there to hold me up in the good and bad times. He was always able to make me laugh. I hold all the love for him that you would a biological sibling, perhaps even stronger because we were not blood related. I think that made our friendship and sibling bond even stronger.

3.     The third would have to be my Granny. I cannot remember too much of her because she only came into town a few times a year when I was a teenager. She had health problems and was living with my aunt out-of-state. She is my namesake. The main thing I remember from my childhood with her is always leaving her house with a paper towel full of apple peelings (my favorite snack as a child).

4.     I have to give a cookie-cutter answer and say Shakespeare. I am a great lover of theatre. He has to be one of my favorite play writers. I just love his out-of-the-box thinking for his time. He truly was an innovator of theatre.

5.     One of my favorite authors is V.C. Andrews. She passed away years ago, but her novels are still being published by a ghost writer. I love her plot twists and turns. How she can keep the reader intrigued through a whole series of books.

6.     I also love Jack Kerouac and his “Beat Generation” writings. I absolutely love On the Road and his drug driven writing style. He wrote what he thought and did not give a damn about what others thought. He was one of the fathers of the beatniks. I would love to talk to him and learn from his travels.

7.     I am a psychology major. I have to throw Sigmund Freud into the mix. I would love to be able to pick his mind. I love his theories on the formation of personality, the id, ego and superego, defense mechanisms, etc.

8.     I love the music of Jonny Cash. He was a country soul. His music will live on for years to come. His music touches souls everywhere.

9.     Florence Nightingale was one of the founders of modern nursing. She truly transformed the profession. She took it from a job for prostitutes and turned it into a noble profession. She did not bend to convention. She was from an affluent family and went into a profession held only for the lowest of society. Without her we would not have as skilled of medical care as we do. There would be many lives lost.

10.  And my number ten would be Johnathan Larson. Who is he you might ask? He is the writer of the worldwide phenomenon “Rent”. He wrote and produced this incredible musical for his generation, and then he was killed on the day of its release. He bent conventions and told his story without editing himself. “Rent” truly is a master piece. It is just so sad that Larson never saw his hard work pay off.

Well, there you have it. The top 10 people who have passed away that I would love to see again, or even meet for the first time.

Insomnia Thoughts

Death. It’s always present, always staring at you with those beady little red eyes. It lurks in the shadows waiting for its chance to dig its razor sharp claws into your soul. Not the souls of the dying, but the souls of the living. The survivors. Those of us left to carry on after a loved one dies. Their deaths leave us scarred and broken. We try to pick up the pieces and move on, but how can you ever truly heal after loosing someone so close? Death picks the good ones to take with him. He is taking them out of this hell on Earth. He chooses the ones that brighten others’ days.

Within the last seven years I’ve lost an uncle, my last two grandparents, a great uncle, my father and my bestfriend. And people ask me why I don’t talk. Shit, I’m scared to get close to anyone. It feels as if anyone I’m close to is taken. The worst ones are the ones we thought we would always have, but are ripped away from us. We are prepared for the ones that have been ill’s passing, in a way. It’s the unexpected deaths that take the hardest toll on us. They are the ones that leave the largest scars. They are the wounds that never quite seem to heal.

It’s been five years now and it still stings as much as it did then. The only difference is I can hide the tears no longer. No more can I be the strong one. I’ve tried to stand strong for the ones that needed me. I’ve swallowed my pain to ease theirs. I just cannot be the pillar anymore. I’ve hid my thoughts. I’ve monitored my words. Perhaps that’s why it hurts so much. Perhaps that’s why I’m still haunted at night when the only thing around is the dull hum of the AC. Maybe that’s why I’m scared to fall asleep, scared of what my dreams might bring.

update

Hey guys. Sorry I haven't posted anything in a few days. I've been working on a big project. I don't know if anything will come from it, but maybe it will help to raise the bar on a few things. All will be revealed in due time. Just hang in there and know that I haven't forgotten about y'all. I'm still writing, just nothing to post at the moment.

Time

You know what I can’t stand? I can’t stand those that find pleasure in wasting others’ time. I’m the type where if you say you’re going to do something, then do it already. Do not beat around the bush and find every excuse in the world. This is not high school anymore. People do not find those games amusing. I’m the type of person where if I like someone then they know it, if I do not like them then they will definitely know that as well. I also believe in taking life one day at a time and enjoying life as it comes. However, I will not let someone whom I give my time to waste it. That is time that I gave up from my life and will never be able to get back.

Now don’t get me wrong. I am usually the first person who will offer to help. When a friend is in need, I am there for them. Even if the person is not a friend I try to help. I offer people a shoulder to cry on, a friendly ear to listen, and pearls of wisdom. I always have time for those who need me. I’m so over this fake friend bullshit that it’s not even funny.

Now that my bitch session is over here are tonight’s pearls:

• If the events of the past few years have taught me anything it is the fact that we are never guaranteed a tomorrow.
• Tell those you love today that you love them; you never know if they will be there tomorrow.
• Never take a single thing for granted.
• Laugh openly and often, Learn everything possible, Love freely.
• Be who you are.
• Do not let people take you for granted
• Enjoy the weather, no matter what it is.
• Dance in the rain.
• Go fishing.
• Always play with children, they keep you young!
• Do not take yourself too seriously.
• Find company of those who make you a better person.
• Let your hair down.

And perhaps the most important thing:

• Do not judge others. Their life is their life, let them be who they are and want to be, not who you think they should be. If everyone were to come out of the same mold this world would be very boring!!!

 

 

Daddy's Little Girl (2006)

Her heart is pounding
The music starts
She has to remember to breathe
The door opens
She hears nothing
Except the dum dum de dum
Of the music
Right, left, right, left
Down the aisle they go
She looks to her side
And sees her father there
She sees a single tear fall from his eye
"Its ok dad" she whispers
"for today I am a bride"
Her father kisses her cheek
She feels him tremble
As he places her hand into the hand
Of the man she loves
But he knows that she will always be
Daddy's little girl
He watches the ceremony with his wife at his side
He arrives at the reception for his introduction
As "Father of the bride"
He smiles as he watches his little girl dance
With her new husband
They move so gracefully around the dance floor
And then he hears the DJ announce its his turn
To dance with his daughter
As they take their place in the center of the floor
Everyone is watching
He does not know why but he is nervous
"Its alright Dad," she says
"For although I am now a wife, I will always be your little girl"
He knows then that it will be fine
For as he looks back over the past twenty years
He remembers wanting a boy, but telling his wife
He would make his daughter into a tomboy
He remembers her learning her ABC's and the weekends of camping
He remembers teaching her to fillet a fish
He remembers all the talks they have had while fishing
He remembers the hesitation he felt when he put her in the driver's seat of his truck at ten years of age
And she remember him teaching her to drive
And him telling her to just keep it between the lines
She remembers all the Forensic meets he judged when he did not know anything about theatre
she remembers him running lines with her to help her memorize her part
She looks up at her father and sees the tears in his eyes
"It's ok Dad," she says
"For not only do I have a husband today, I have given you a son
But we will still go fishing
And have our heart to hearts
After all, even though I am now a wife,
I will always be Daddy's Little Girl"

Southern Girl

I am from summers camping
Swimming in the sun
On the lake fishing
With friends having fun

I am from the stage of Shakespeare
The comedy or Orsinio to the tragedy of King Lear
From the screen of movie starts
To the Matrix and Pearl Harbor that raised the bars

I am from hanging out playing pool
With Jacob who is a little Pesky
From listening to Kenny
Singing, "She thinks my tractor's sexy"

I am from the South
The great Tennessee
From the United States
The land of the proud, the brave and the free
That is where I am from

Fly free

Up in the sky
Flying so high
Over trees
Over seas
Flying so high
Up in the sky
Straight to me
Soon to be free

True Love Lost (2002)

A beautiful flower
Once stood tall and proud
Floating through the air
With the love she had found

Soon shall be wilting
With every tear she has cried
For the true love she had
Suddenly died

As her colors change
And each petal falls
Out to him
Her heart calls

For at last she had found
A love strong and true
Now she weeps
No more to hear, "I love you"

Now left to stand
All by herself
With nothing left to do
But put her heart up on a shelf

I took a chance (2002)

It was love at first sight
That I took the chance
To let myself fall
Heart and all
To let myself say, "I love you"
Trust me, that is very true
Now I know not what to say
I never thought it would be this way
I gave you my heart
Expecting not to get hurt
But I fell to fast
and now you say it won't last
So tell me what to do
Now that I love you

Rose (2002)

Oh beautiful rose
Alone you stand
Ah but hope arose
As in came a watering hand
But oh to wait
For that gentle touch
From that hand
You dream of so much
It seems so near
Yet beyond reach
From a lonely rose
For what affection seeks

Elements of Earth (2001)

The rushing wind
Enters on a winter's day
With a message that says
The cold is gone & sunshine is one the way

The night is over
It is time for a new day to begin
It is time for the lowers to bloom
And birds to sing

The storms are gone
The seas are calm
The Earth is gentle
When love comes to call

If Love Was (First Poem I ever wrote in 6th grade)

If love was a flower
You'd be a rose
If love was a picture
You'd be the perfect pose
If love was a face
You'd be the smile on it all day long
If love was music
You'd be my favorite song
If love was a day
You'd be the sun which lights up the sky
If love was a gift
You'd be the one I'd buy
But love is none of these
Love is in the heart
That is very true
Love is forever
Like me and you

Excerpt from a novel I'm working on.

Chapter 2

Damn it, why does this always happen the night before a test? I ask myself as I sat up and rub my eyes. I had had another nightmare. I reach for my cell phone and dial the number. I can feel tears in my eyes. My body is freezing from the pouring sweat coming off it. Ring ring ring I hear on the other line. Come on man, answer.

“Hello,” says a very sleepy voice on the other end.

“Thank God you answered John. It happened again. It was worse this time. It was under the bridge again.” I inform my friend John on the other end of the phone.

“Crap Sarah. You need to do something about this. Don’t get me wrong, I love getting phone calls at three in the morning from you, but it isn’t healthy to you. You need to tell your parents. They have to know. The police might be able to do something with that prick. He needs to go to jail, or be shot, either one.”

“You know I can’t tell them man. They all love him to death. They will never believe what he did to me. I mean what can I do to prove to them? It happened six years ago.”

“I don’t give a shit Sarah, tell them. These nightmares seem to be coming more and more frequently now. They will not go away until you speak up.”

“Gee thanks man. A lot of help you are.” I laugh. “But really thanks for being there. Just hearing your voice has helped. I think I’m gonna try to get offa here and get some sleep. I have a huge algebra test tomorrow.”

“K Sis, call me if you need me. I love you girl.” John reinforces me.

“K, thanks again man. G’night and I love ya too bro.” I hang up and lay back down. The dream replays in my head as I feel the tears start to fall down my cheeks.


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I’m riding in an old truck. My little seven year old body is bouncing as the truck hits the bumps on the old highway from Maryville up to Townsend. It’s late, very dark out. It makes the ride seem longer. I know where we are going. My uncle picked me up from my parent’s house to go spend the night with him and my aunt while they were in town. They had my Granny in with them. I couldn’t wait to see my Granny. I loved my Granny.

“What do you say we take a short pit stop up here?” my uncle grins at me. He pulls me to sit closer beside him. He takes my little hand and holds it on his legs. “Here, you look bored. Would you like something to play with?” he undoes his zipper and pulls it out. I can’t believe what he’s doing. At the time my little seven year old brain has no idea what it is he puts my hand on and starts moving it rhythmically back and forth. I can feel it grow in my hand as he starts to moan. He pulls the truck over underneath a bridge. It’s so dark that you cannot see anything without a light. He turns the truck off and switches off the head lights. And climbs out of the truck pulling me with him. We walk to the passenger side of the truck. He leans back against it and pushes me down on my knees.

“Put it in your mouth sweetie.” He says as he tries to move my head closer. I fight with all the strength in me. It looked like a snake and I had no intention of ever putting that in my mouth. It looked like a snake head that keeps popping out of a whole when he had me rub it. (This is now what I know as being uncircumcised).

“Come on baby, I know you’re curious about it. Do you not want to make me feel good?” he asked as he eventually was able to get my mouth onto the thing. I was afraid it was a snake and would come alive and bite my tongue off. He shoved it so deep in my mouth that it was gagging me. He didn’t care he put his hands on the back of my head and started forcing it on and off his member. It tasted like the worst thing in the world. I had to keep from retching. He was moaning with evident pleasure. How could someone get pleasure from this I thought? “That’s it baby, lick that lollipop.” He moaned out. This went on forever it seemed to my young mind. Finally he grabbed hold of my long hair and forced my mouth all the way onto it and I felt him shudder. That is when I tasted the absolute worst thing I have ever had in my mouth. It was hot, and salty, and sour and bitter all at the same time. I started gagging but he kept my mouth held shut as he let me remove it from “it”.

“You have to swallow it. It makes it all the better.” He said as he held my head until I was able to force myself to let the vile liquid creep down the back of my throat. It took every ounce of control I had in my small body to keep from vomiting it all back up. He pulled a towel out from behind his seat and rubs himself off and handed it to me to wipe my mouth off with. Then he climbed back in the truck as if nothing had happened and told me to hurry up. We didn’t want my aunt to get suspicious.

“This is just our lil secret. No one can know, if they do we will both get in a lot of trouble.” He nonchalantly informed me as he started up the truck and drove off.

------------------------------------------------------

This is when I woke up and called John. Why will these nightmares not leave me alone? I wonder to myself. This is only one of the many incidents that I dream of. There have been others. On the bank in Laurel Valley, in his brown leather chair at his house, the bathroom at his house, the ugly orange colored leather love seat at my Granny’s. Even just sitting in his truck going down the road he had to fondle me. I have many memories of this.

It all started when I was around five or six, I have blocked out the exact ages, and ended what I was around nine or ten. Let me guess, you thought I had the perfect childhood? Everyone does. Not many believe me when I tell them my father’s brother-in-law molested me. Thank God for John though. I told him when I was twelve and he has been there for me ever since then. If I have a bad dream I can call him and he will be there. He has been my support, my beacon of light, my savior through the last four years. Right now I believe that only about three people know of what has happened to me. And that’s the way I want it. I was a bad girl. I should have never done those things. It was my fault that they happened. This is the rationalization that my sixteen year old brain is telling me. I could have stopped it at any time by just saying no.

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“Hey John, it’s me again. It happened again tonight.” I call my brother a week later, same dream different night.

“Girl, go downstairs right now and tell your parents. They need to know, and I bet you ten to one they will believe you. In fact I know they will.” I light up a cig, “Just do it now Sarah.”

“They will not believe me John, I know it. I just want these dreams to stop. I can’t handle it anymore.” I start crying.

“You can do it and they will believe you. Would you do anything in the world for me Sarah?”

“You know I would John. I’m always here for you.”

“Then promise me you will do something, for me.”

“Anything John”

“Ok, promise me when we get off the phone you will go downstairs and wake your parents up and tell them what has happened. Sarah, now promise me.”

“I can’t John. I just can’t.”

“Yes you can Sarah, and you already said you would do anything in the world for me, so do this for me. Because as much as I love talking to you I can’t keep getting woke up at 3:30 am.” He laughs.

I take a hit off my cig and breathe in deep.

“Yes John, I promise. I will do it.”

“Great, now I’m going back to bed and you are going to go tell your parents. I love you sis, always remember that.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, I love you too bro.” he hangs up.

I lay my phone in my lap and take my time finishing the rest of my cig. I dread what is fixing to happen. I look around my room. It’s completely black, just like my mood. I prepare myself for what’s to come. I put on my robe and take the longest walk downstairs I’ve ever had in my whole life. My feet feel heavy as lead walking down them I can feel my stomach going up into my throat. I feel like I’m fixing to retch. I can hear my dad snoring as I draw closer and closer to their room.

“Mom, mom” I wake her up. “Can you come upstairs for a lil bit? I need to talk to you.”

“Sarah, what is it?”

“Its important mom, I really need to talk.”

“Ok, I’ll be right there.”

I walk back upstairs, feeling like I am on death row. It is four in the morning. I know mom is agitated because I woke her up. I sit down on my bed and light up another cig. Mom knew I smoked but dad still did not know. I hear her footsteps groggily coming up the stairs.

“Ok now, what is it honey?”

“Sit down Mom. I have something really big I need to talk to you about.” She sits down on the bed. “Ok Mom, I don’t know how to say this so I’m just going to blurt it out. JC molested me when I was younger.”

“JC? When? Where?” she looks shocked. Her face is growing red. Oh god. I think, she’s going to have another heart attack.

“It started when I was around five or six and ended when I was around nine or ten. I cannot remember the exact ages because I have blocked a lot of it out. There were numerous times in numerous places. I have blocked most of them out as well, I do remember the worst ones. I have been having nightmares about them lately and John thought that if I finally came out and told you and dad that the dreams would end. Oh God Mom, I am so sorry. It was all my fault.” I start crying, “I should have said no with more force, I should not have let him. I was a bad girl. I am so sorry.”

Mom grabs me and hugs me as tight as she can, “Oh no hunny, it’s not your fault. It’s that sorry son of a bitch's. He is the one to blame, not you. You were young and didn’t understand.” She looks like she is fixing to pass out. “Let me go get your dad.”

“No Mom, I can’t tell him. You do it. I just can’t.”

“It’s ok hun, you just sit there and finish your smoke. When you are done come on downstairs and we will all discuss it.”

That was the night Dad learnt I smoke. I cannot remember any more of the events of that night other than dad’s middle brother came over and talked to us. We thought he believed me then the coward ran to my dad’s sister (JC’s wife) and told them what I had said. Of course they said I was lying. So that same brother went to the police and told them that I had been telling that my uncle molested me and there was no way he would do it because of a certain faction he was incorporated with and a certain ring he wore. We went to the police and I told my story. I sat at the desk of a thin brunette lady cop. I told her everything. Answered every question she had no matter how embarrassing and in the end all she could say was that they could not do anything because of how long it had been since it happened. I felt crushed. I revolted. I fell in with the wrong crowd.

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“Hey Chicka! Bout time you got your ass ready!” I call to Ches as she stumbles out her back door.

“Yeah yeah. I told you I was coming.” Chesney flashes a smile from her freckle covered pale face. Ches is a natural red head, very pale skin covered with freckles. She has emerald eyes which sparkled whenever she was up to mischief. She was shorter than I, but most girls are, and had very short curly hair. She reminded me of little Orphan Annie.

“Girl, shut up and get your butt in here. I’m ready to party.” We were on our way to Ches’ dealer’s house. I was spending the night at her pad and we were planning on getting totally “baked”, if you will, and just having fun all night. She climbed up into my SUV and off we went bouncing down the road towards Top of the World. (Yes, that is a real place in East Tennessee). We pulled into the drive and Ches jumped out and ran up to the door to place her order. She received her “loot” and jumped back in. Driving down the mountain she began rolling a “stick” as she calls it. She sparked it and I tossed in Sublime, which I knew was one of her favorite bands, and off we went. Her favorite song came on, “Smoke Two Joints” and there she was hanging out the window of my car singing at the top of her lungs. I remember pulling back into her drive and going inside. After that the whole night is a blur. We partied and hung out and had one of those conversations that can only be understood when you’re high. I remember waking up the next morning and going to school. Me and Ches both still had a high. It was cool though because we were both able to act straight. This became a norm for me. Hanging out with Ches and getting high. This is on reason I cannot remember much of my high school years.

The one thing I can remember about high school is my theater class. I went into ninth grade Drama I as a shy and timid girl, I emerged a vivacious, energetic sophomore. This is all thanks to my theater teacher Mrs. Q, that’s what the students called her because it was futile to try to spell or pronounce her last name. Mrs. Q is the type of teacher that you immediately respect, not only because she demands it, but also because she earns it. She will be her students’ best friend, their counselor as well as their teacher. She is the one that pulled me out of my shell, she would not take no for an answer. To this day Mrs. Q is my favorite teach, she even attended my wedding and my father’s funeral, but all that is later to come. Mrs. Q is my mother’s age and acts just like my mother. She speaks her mind and sticks her foot down when she needs to. She didn’t care what we did in Theater class as long as we got out work done and didn’t mess anything up or get into any trouble. In fact she even let us sleep as long as we did not have a job to do that day.

I remember one day when I was a freshman, Mrs. Q was working on the stage and went to pull the stage curtains closed. A bat fell out of the curtains and landed on her head. She jumped and spun around. The bat was just as scared of her as she was of it. It took off flying around the stage while she hiked her dress tail up and started jumping around on stage and screaming. The “preps” in the class went running and hid in the light booth while Melissa and myself were standing in front of the stage cracking up. One of the boys ran to the other side of the school to get the physical science teacher to come and catch it. We bugged Mrs. Q about the bat falling on her until the day we graduated.

There are many memories form high school that have been forgotten, but I still have many from my closest friends. While writing this book may of them have come back. Like the time me, Melissa and Mom were in Wal-Mart. Now let me start off saying that Mom hated taking me and Melissa anywhere because of how crazy me and her were together. We were walking back in the material and craft section when I got a wild hair up my ass and turned to Melissa.

“Shishter, let’sh go find an urn for uncle eshter’s ashes!” Mom bout died. I said it really loud and with that exact pronunciation. We ran over to where the glad vases were and I picked one up and looked at mom, “Momma, will thish work?” Melissa was cracking up and mom was beat red. We kept following mom thru the store throwing random stuff in her buggy, including a box of condoms, and the we would hang back and let her get a head of us and we would start making whimpering sounds and saying really loud, in a whiny voice, “No Momma, don’t leave us. Momma where are you going?” Then when we got up in line there were these two women in front of us. They looked like mother and daughter and both were about to pop with child. Neither of them had a wedding ring on either, and here’s Melissa standing there singing at the top of her lungs, “Who’s your Daddy, Who’s your Baby?” Mom was about to just walk out right there. We had her so embarrassed.

Then there was Melissa’s eighteenth birthday. I was dating this one guy at the time and he drove a Tracker. Me and him picked her up and went out on the town for the night to celebrate. Well, Melissa was still a virgin and we decided it was time for her to get over that. We decided to cruise the strip of Kingston Pike in Knoxville. We had the top off his car and had a sign that said, “18 year old virgin wants laid.” Every car we came too with guys in it me and him were yelling it to them and pointing back at her. Melissa was so embarrassed but kept laughing about it. Needless to say, nothing happened that night but we sure did have fun. Then there was the night we decided to go to this old house that everyone says is haunted. Melissa decided she wanted to go back and wait in my boyfriend’s car so I went with her. We were sitting out there in the dark and I kept telling her the story of the house and really playing it up when I noticed him sneaking out behind the car. I knew what he was going to do. Without her seeing him he climbed up on the bumper of the car. I was telling her the scariest story I knew. He started jumping up and down on the bumper to shake the car and that girl shot out of there screaming. It was hilarious.

There were also numerous times that were the sort of time that you would just have to be there to fully grasp the situation. Like when we were driving around and Melissa’s cousin decided to pull her pants down in the back of my explorer and flash everyone at the strip in Maryville. Or the time when I went with Melissa to get her belly button pierced. Her cousin was with us and she had her navel already pierced yet when she saw the blood from Melissa’s piecing she freaked out and about passed out on us.

Then there was always good ‘ol Anna. Me and that girl got in so much trouble together. One time we were driving around in my Explorer with her boyfriend and mine and her gay brother sitting in the back seat. They dared us to drive around without a shirt on, so of course what did we do? Me and her stripped our shirts off and we went driving thru the Wal-Mart parking lot with just our bras on and the windows down. Oh yeah, it was also in the middle of December. Then one time I decided to burn all of the letters I got from my ex-fiancé and we were upstairs in my bed room on the window seat with this huge pan and tearing up the letters and burning them when the smoke alarm went off. Mom came running up the stairs and there was Anna jumping up and down on the bed waving a magazine in under the smoke alarm to get it to go off. Mom still rags us on that one.

Teddy…man what stories do I have on good ‘ol Teddy. Me and Teddy have our many stories, some tellable, some not. We got into everything. We would spend countless hours just riding around Knoxville at night and digging the late night vibe that hung in the air there. We had some very weird conversations about life and love on those nights. We had this thing, as a lot of the people we ran with did, called “finger sex.” It’s not at all what it sounds like either. We would hold the tips of our index fingers to each other’s and move them around and that was basically all there was to finger sex. We would joke around about it and he used to say I impregnated him with it.

Then there was Donny. Man, I’m telling you that boy had more hair styles than a model in a fashion show. He’s had green hair, Mohawks, been completely shaved and everything. When we met Donny used to bug the hell out of me wanting me to date him. He asked me out every day for almost four months until I finally relented and said yes…then broke it off with him two days later telling him I just wanted to be friends. He’s been my little brother ever since.

I also had this friend named Jess my senior year. He was a theater major at Maryville College. There’s not enough paper in the world to describe Jess. Jess was a character. He helped me out a lot with my acting; I got come very great advice from him. I introduced Jess to Donny and a beautiful friendship bloomed from that considering each loved to smoke pot constantly. Jess’ dorm is where I spent many nights at Maryville College when I got there.

One thing I remember about high school is also all the boyfriends I had. I would have a new “flavor” as my uncle calls it every week. I cannot even begin to list all their names. High school to me was a place to learn who I was and to express myself. No, I was not part of the popular clique and to tell you the truth I really did not give a damn either. I had my friends and that’s all that I needed. My and Ches eventually lost touched when she moved away. I got my life sorted back out again and quit smoking. I didn’t have no where near all the guys that I had while hanging out with Ches. My life for the most part was back on track.