Tequila. Surely someone spiked it. I knew I felt woozy as I was trying to be sexy sitting on the console of my boyfriend's Ford Bronco, all of 17. I announce that I would say the multiplication tables starting from 9 and go backwards to stay focused. I was told I was somewhere in the middle of the 8's when I passed out, slumped forward and slid between the gas pedal and the console.
And, yes, we were moving. My boyfriend was flying down an unfamiliar highway in the backwoods of central Texas at 80, drinking himself.
Somewhere in the process of driving from Bastrop to his parents' home in San Antonio, I lost control of my bodily fluids and pissed myself as well as puked on myself and the car. I was completely gone, so I didn't even know he had changed my clothes for me at some point.
We arrived at his parents' home and I experienced one of the most demoralizing moments of my life. I could not move. I could, however, hear and see a little. The boyfriend drug me into his house with one arm over his shoulders. I could not move my legs to walk, or anything. Couldn't really pick up my head. But I heard his father say, 'Jeee SUS Christ, son, what! IS! THAT?!?!"
I wished I were dead. Or at least buried. So ashamed.
His wonderful family took care of me, cleaned me up, and put me to bed.
The following morning they called my mom and were very honest that they were going to let my mom know the severity of the situation.
I was scared of what mom would say, especially that maybe I wouldn't be able to see the boyfriend.
But, you know what Mom said? She said that I had had a very difficult week. Lots of stress. That I probably just blew off some steam. And that was that.
That's when I knew. Even though the last thing I wanted was punishment, I knew I should have it and that something was very wrong.
Monday, December 3, 2012
Sunday, December 2, 2012
The diamond ring
She wore a purple dress, too warm for the season. I knew it was too warm for the season because my mom taught me these things. And now, she was living in a mission, and even this was a step up from the God awful streets. As much as I prayed to accept the things I couldn't change, the truth of this crushed against my soul.
I had asked her if there was anything she would like to have, now that she had a home, an actual place to live. Yes. She wanted a diamond ring.
In the past my mom had worn beautiful jewelry. I remember one amethyst butterfly and diamond silver ring and matching pendant, in particular. She was not from this kind of place, but she had come to know it fairly comfortably. And now it was all gone. All of it.
Whether these items were hocked, stolen, sold, or bartered, I don't know. I don't know where the upright piano that was my great aunt's went. Nor do I know where the pictures from my childhood are. My trophies and medals from gymnastcis, U.I.L. for orchestra, all gone. These are some of the casualties of homelessness.
The repercussions of what I grieve over since it was my mom who had all these keepsakes and it was my mom who lost them, seem to be relentless and unending. It comes up over something as simple as a fun project at work when people want a photo of you when you were little, or your mom to compare it to. Thank God some of these things have resurfaced and also that other family members have at least some of these items.
So, I choose a diamond ring from the few that I have. This one was given to me at my son's birth. It's not much, but it is something.
I understand why she wants a diamond ring. It respresents some of the dignity, elegance, and beauty that we used to know.
I had asked her if there was anything she would like to have, now that she had a home, an actual place to live. Yes. She wanted a diamond ring.
In the past my mom had worn beautiful jewelry. I remember one amethyst butterfly and diamond silver ring and matching pendant, in particular. She was not from this kind of place, but she had come to know it fairly comfortably. And now it was all gone. All of it.
Whether these items were hocked, stolen, sold, or bartered, I don't know. I don't know where the upright piano that was my great aunt's went. Nor do I know where the pictures from my childhood are. My trophies and medals from gymnastcis, U.I.L. for orchestra, all gone. These are some of the casualties of homelessness.
The repercussions of what I grieve over since it was my mom who had all these keepsakes and it was my mom who lost them, seem to be relentless and unending. It comes up over something as simple as a fun project at work when people want a photo of you when you were little, or your mom to compare it to. Thank God some of these things have resurfaced and also that other family members have at least some of these items.
So, I choose a diamond ring from the few that I have. This one was given to me at my son's birth. It's not much, but it is something.
I understand why she wants a diamond ring. It respresents some of the dignity, elegance, and beauty that we used to know.
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