Nerd @Lert

By T.K. Black

In this tale of the struggles and victories of a modern-aged child, you will embark on an internal-thought journey like never before. The intrinsic personality traits acquired throughout her life takes you through her innermost secrets and dealings with a mentally-ill mother and an absent father. Despite her failing parental scenario, her intellect is exceptionally high and her interest in the world around her is inquisitive. She wants to figure it out, get out alive, and prosper.

Quinn struggles to fit in as she grows up, the fear to show her reality to those around her creates a persona that is difficult to dissect at first glance. Her transition from being wildly unpopular and made fun of as a child to intriguing and beautiful as she grows into womanhood is not void of painstaking trials. As fate or destiny would have it, she would watch a man she loves go from a vibrant and healthy human being to also being inflicted with a severe mental illness. The events and misguidance from the adults and people in her life tasked to be her support will lead her down a road she never asked to navigate. Working with little direction and even less love and loyalty, the reader will find themselves rooting for this girl with a beautiful soul, cringing at the process, and frustrated with the injustices life inevitability brings.

This two-part series is intense, deeply emotional, and will keep you turning the page to find out how she maneuvers around the life she was handed. Quinn will learn as the story unfolds just what shes made of and learn the reasons behind each stumbling block. This story will answer some of lifes everlasting mysteries. Is all we really need in life love? Does love conquer all? If it does, how do we get there from hell on earth?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 3, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524648619

T.K. Black

T. K. lives with her family and dogs in a Midwestern suburb. She is known for her analytical and serious personality, then, out of the blue, she can jump around a room in a silly way to make others laugh. T. K. enjoys good conversation and cherishes loyalty and sincerity for her inner circle. Most of her friends have been in her life for decades since they became her family as well. Politics, music, and religion are things she wonders and thinks about the most, but are the topics she will most often avoid in a debate. T. K. is convinced people refuse to see another perspective in this day and age. She keeps herself busy with her career in horticulture and her son’s sports schedules. When she isn’t traveling around the country or raising her son, she enjoys spending time with her best friend, Chris, and her siblings. Her nonprofit work and help with those in need is always on her mind. T. K. is always looking to spend as much time as possible in the outdoors and in the sun. Writing has become her release; it centers her and forces her to look at the world around her in a more honest way.

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Nerd @lert

T.K. Black

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AuthorHouse™

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Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2016 T.K. Black. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  10/31/2016

ISBN: 978-1-5246-4862-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-4860-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-4861-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016918416

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

The Wonder Years

OREOS

I got by with a little help from my Friends

Runaway Train

Black-eyed to Boyfriend

Dancing Bears, Drinking Beer

Brainless and Tameless

Aliquippa

I got Sunshine

The Dark Ages

Repeat Offenders

War Buddies

This Part of My Life Dark Ages, Part Deux

I will try to fix you

QuickSand

Disclaimer

While some of the characters and events in this novel have reality-based content as with any author or reading, it does not depict to an exact any certain person’s character or experiences. All names have been changed to protect the assumption that this could be true. The events that could have reality-based content based on someone’s perception have been changed or enhanced for entertainment purposes only. Most locations and characters are assumed to be fictional and not tied to the author’s personal life.

I want to take a moment to thank the people in my family, we have spent so many years learning and watching other’s together. We grow every year in love and life, without you I would not be where I am. My son, you breathe life into my words and inspire me to be the best person I can be. My friends and extended family members, you all mean more to me than you can imagine. To my friends that actively, constructively helped with this project such as Lily, Gia,Knowrisk, MDH, and the editors in the industry for their endless assistance to become print ready… Steve Criado of Criado Designs for patiently working for years. Matt Palka and Chris R. for guiding me in the beginning and showing me what true lyrical, written art should be. Life is full of hurdles, trials, and joys. Find the joy.

THE BRANCHES LOUDLY SNAPPED AS I darted into the woods. My tiny fists pumped back and forth. Jack, better catch up! I yelled back to my little brother.

Quinny, wait up! he cried.

You snooze you lose, brother!

"Quinn, please!’

No way, I thought, as I darted further and further into the dense woods. The leaves and trees danced and sparkled in deep, lush greens in the perfect summer breeze. The heat of a Midwestern suburban June had yet to set in. It was one of those days which never escape your memory, a day when your inner voice tells you, I will never forget this moment for the rest of my life. I found the dirt path that the neighborhood boys had cleared through the brush that followed the creek. A few squirrels and rabbits were startled by my sudden arrival into their quiet sanctuary, darting under the bushes and ivy my forest was becoming alive. Sprinting ahead like one of those Olympic athletes I had seen on the TV days ago, only here in the woods I ran for the love and freedom nature provides. The logs and scratchy bushes are my hurdles, and I am the Olympic champion effortlessly jumping over them. Closing my eyes, I was Snow White in her light blue dress; vibrant black hair combed neatly in a headband with perfect patent leather shoes. Gone were mismatched T-shirt and hand me down shorts. I could teleport my mind to another world in the blink of an eye; I did this often as a child, and when I was younger it made me feel like a superhero. My ability to change into a supernatural hero could place me on my favorite television show or sitcom. I would run away from the emotionally insane words that raped my ears on a daily basis, just by concentrating enough to go somewhere else. If not for the duration, it would offer a sense of escape and reprieve from a woman that was none other than my mother. No matter how bad things got at home, Jack and I knew the woods would welcome us back; it was a constant shield for our childhood.

My name is Quinn, tenderly known as Quinny to those who love me. I am nine years old today. I have an interesting timeline tied to my life. I have been born to people that probably would make the most devout human being to look up to God and ask, what were you thinking Lord? I would spend a significant portion of my life figuring this one question out. At a young age, how could see that my pain, my struggle could be closely tied to the likes of Job of the Bible or maybe even Paul? It would take years of heartache, misunderstandings, over-sensitivity to human interaction. I would doubt myself, not love myself, and cry out to God in anger for allowing me to be born by a Mother that quite simply hated, not just didn’t love, but hated her children. A mother Panda eats her young if something is wrong with them or she doesn’t want them, a mother Panda doing this terrible act would pale in comparison to the outright torture and damage my Mom would do to the insides of her children’s souls. It would take years of therapy, guidance, reassuring, and love from those that didn’t carry the responsibility for me to have my aha moment. It would take more than time to heal and discover myself genuinely. However, we all have a path, and this was apparently mine to climb.

Growing up on the edge of a Suburban town we were lucky; our backyard is not the cookie cutter houses that were popping up everywhere. Instead, our summers are long and breezy with the smell of lilac and whippoorwills calling us out to play.

These woods we grew up in are a land of magic filled with hideouts and new worlds. Our street is only one row of noble houses with great big yards, other than that; there are green trees as far as the eye can see. Each morning the sun came up and kissed the tree branches until they glowed with the colors of their season unless it was winter time, and then they sparkled like diamonds as the sun set and the moon rose. I loved the spring and summer time when those sun rays would dance in between the leaves. It looked like God was saying, good morning Quinny I see you! Or something maybe something else, like look out the window, see the beauty it is there just grab it.

I appreciated the woods, the escape from four walls and I took the chance to experience the outdoors as often as I could and this has become a life long love affair with nature’s gifts. Looking out my window, I could see where the woods began; there was a tree that had one strong trunk that broke out into three distinctive branches, and then those branches grew branches; it was like a miracle every time it happened. The yellows and orange gleamed through every branch, it looked like it did in the movies where there is a spiritual event and maybe, I don’t know just maybe Christ himself whom I had begun to learn about in Sunday school would swoop down through the light and give me, a big hug. In my world, it could happen. At least, that’s how I remembered that tree. The tree meant a lot to me, and the backyard woods meant the world to me, no matter what was happening I could run through them and take cover and like changing of the leaves become who I wanted to be. I was a young teenager when I finally figured out that they weren’t endless. In fact, the other side of the woods led to a church parking lot where we attended service for most of our childhood. It’s intriguing that when we are young, we see things as mystical and as we grow, we seem to become desensitized, and nothing is as transforming as those leaves whispering to me as I ran through my very own forest. That’s how I felt. That’s how I still feel…

I also know no matter how undeserving, she was lucky to have us. We were great kids.

I was a tomboy through and through. A cute little girl, small in frame with poker straight hair. I had bright blue eyes, which sometimes turned green, even as a young lady my eyebrows were thick as the day is long. The color of my hair was a deep dark brown that I pulled back tightly into a ponytail. I idolized my big brother; I still would throughout my life. My older brother is Ben, and he has reddish-brown hair with freckles around his nose. His eyes were a whirlwind of color that people call Hazel. We looked the most alike and were the closest in age giving us a connection that binds us today. Ben was a character, and he was the funniest boy in the neighborhood. All of looked forward to time spent with Ben and wondering what walk he would have today. You see, Ben had a different style of walking for everything- If Mom were mad that day Ben would walk shoulders back and stomp but the smile never left his face and the twinkle was always in his eyes. Other situations funny or sad created a walk, Ben always had a different turn. Most importantly, he always looked out for me. I remember the first day my brother went to kindergarten a few years before this, day and I stayed by the screen door almost the entire day waiting for that bus to bring my brother home. If he climbed a tree, I scooted up there too. It was similar to Jack but different. Jack and I were the thinkers, the creators, the innovators in our family. We would become inseparable as we grew older and more kindred in thought, how we would treat others. Ben, Jack, and I loved the woods by our home. There were animals in our woods and trails; we lived in them for hours on end every day. This one particular day I found myself running as free and fast as a wild horse in an attempt to lose my little brother Jack. In my mind, I was faster than the quickest and blackest horse. I loved to compare myself to animals or characters I admired. I saw freedom and laughter and pined for it. Jack had black hair, deep brown eyes, and was scrawny and skinny in stature like the rest of us. He had a unique look, yet we all looked alike in a way. We were all from the same set of parents, but each of us was just a little different from the other. We would eventually grow to realize we all had our Dad’s eyes and eyebrows. This strong gene trait would carry on to future family members and so on. It became almost a painful reminder of the void we also felt in the area of having a father that loved, cared for, and protected us. He was absent, to say the least; I will touch on this later on in the story.

As for the woods, I spent my time there and on this particular day I had wanted to go to the woods by myself. That day, I had on ripped jean shorts, a bum t-shirt with red and white high tops or Punky Brewster shoes I had inherited; can’t remember. Point being, I was on a mission. I was completely prepared to build my house or fort made of twigs and leaves. I was home that morning, and my Mom was having a bad day, she told me she hated me and wished I would just leave her alone. I had asked her if she could help me with something. Point being, she took her anger out on me and threw me around my bedroom screaming and yelling. I wasn’t devastated by the day’s events; I had grown accustomed to this type of day because it had become the norm in our home. I told myself daily that it would be okay. There was no wiping of tears in our home growing up, no reassurance, and we figured that to get through this childhood alive we should just deal with it. We justified every behavior growing up and dismissed it as if it wasn’t that bad, or maybe Mom was just upset that day for the fortieth day in a row. We had grown accustomed to being hated, despised, a mother’s love was foreign to us. By this age, it hadn’t occurred that this was a part of normal life. The only comparison was to watching television characters or storybook tales. Is this a self-indulgent attitude some would ask? To the naked and uninformed eye it may seem a bit, however, if you know this feeling it isn’t. We grew up like some others had to I’m sure, but our Mom found the talent of blaming toddlers and teenagers for everything that was wrong with her life. It was her Mom, her Dad, a friend; it was always someone else’s fault. It would take a long time to understand that, and I surely hadn’t figured it out by this day, but I would in time. The bad day would end and will end with a slap or a punch, maybe a slew of mean, vile words was spoken, then she will stop being angry sometime soon. Our biggest worry was that a bruise would show up when we went to school, that was not good. I was emotionally independent due to the nature of my upbringing and wise beyond my years. I remember thinking that day she threw me around the room that I was just going to go to the woods and build my house to live there. My subconscious thought reminds me that if I am going to build a home in the woods, then I will most certainly have a critter issue. That afternoon I began to gather leaves and branches to lay them onto a larger tree. Slowly but steadily my home is looking more and more like an Indian Teepee. The Tree branches I had chosen were bent and broken, not standing up correctly or entirely devoid of any sound structural ability whatsoever. I am not impressed. I stop to think and place my hands on my hips tilting my head to the side; I do this as a child and will continue to do this my entire life growing up into adulthood. I was a task oriented child, focusing on the task at hand was a non-issue. I am attempting to imagine life as a wilderness girl, deep in thought, I guess that some great bear or big animal will take a liking to me. As I would grow into an adult, this would look like A.D.D. The inability or the distraction of being taken off task would prove to become an obstacle that I would have to hone in on and address, but today wasn’t that day. I was handy, able to connect branches and tie them together with leaves or ferns. Once I set my heart on something or someone, I was going to see it to the end. Good people don’t throw others away or disregard their feelings, ever.

In the woods, it is quiet, and I’m alone. These woods provide that for me, and when I am hurting, I know I can come to this spot and quiet my life for a moment. Our home, while it may sound crazy to some people there was none of that. There was no peace, no rest, and no quiet or soft place to land. It was run with a hateful animosity, little love, little laughter, and damn near no hugs. My brothers were off somewhere, I didn’t care where really. I had left Jack in the dust on purpose. I needed to be alone and figure this out; my favorite place would increasingly become alone in my thoughts. These habits began at a young age and I couldn’t tell you what age, but I promise you this as well; as I would grow and have relationships it would affect them. For example, any guy I would date when I got older would get irritated if I rushed off to be alone when I was upset. I didn’t want someone in my face when it was time for me to process. Some people enjoyed talking things out, and with my experience so far people liked to scream things out. Individuals and adults like to be mean to children in my life. The important people never made the right choices in my life, and I knew it as a young girl. I was looking at my crappy house/teepee, and I think I need to get some branches with more leaves on it or something.

Snap! I hear the snap of a stick and whip my long-haired ponytail around, and they jump out. All of the neighborhood boys and my brothers; Oh Shit! I was a quick little girl, and I reacted fast, and I didn’t give it a second thought running away as fast as the wind will take me. I am a mighty panther, running through the jungle… NO, I am not in a jungle because that is not a safe place and I could imagine snakes hanging from the trees. Think quick Quinn. Come on, you can do it. Grrr, I can’t focus. I am in a panic, and I am trying to not smash my face into a tree. My ability to take my thoughts to a safe place are interrupted by tree roots tripping me and branches flying in my face. There are boys chasing me, I am in the neighborhood I grew up in, and my brothers are part of the posse. I didn’t stop; I knew I would get hurt if I did. If the boys in our crew were running after you, you were going to get hurt, and it didn’t matter if you were a boy or a girl. All in good fun of course. Like the game where every one of the kids would go outside and play, Play around. It wasn’t playing around actually. It was more like come break your back and get elbowed in the face, but it’s the front yard so we can call it play around. Because it’s fun, however, it is not fun.

Let’s face it; we needed some form of entertainment, and this was suburb living. We weren’t in some fantastic area in which there was something to do every day. It wasn’t like in the movie Stand by Me in which we had some big important mission to accomplish; although I would imagine it to be that on days. We were surviving the best we knew how on little instruction and even less love. That said, this day in the woods was different than any other day I had yet to experience. I had never felt fear, even if the boys were chasing me. I wondered if it was because she had beat me up that morning for blinking incorrectly at her. My mom. I had a different feeling inside me, and it felt like fear or panic inside of my soul that I had never felt before. I ran quickly and wouldn’t stop. It was like if I kept running like this, then no one could ever catch or stop me. I could keep on running and never look back; I imagined nice someone picking me up on the side of the road at some point. There was a woman with a beautiful sweater on and her hair neatly tied back. She caught me right as I reached the end of the woods, the man in the car has this smile with gleaming teeth. His arm stretched across the back of the seat, and he has a cardigan on as well as a tie because he just got off of work. The car is a fancy car, I don’t know what kind it is, but it had apparently just been through the car wash on his lunch break. She has a tear glistening in her eyes as I reach her at full speed. She is so happy to see me, so she opens her arms wide and gives me a big hug. Since she is so glad to see me, she kindly pulls the twigs out of my hair, and I tell her while short of breath what the boys and my brothers were doing. The boys get to the ditch, and they stop right away because there was a responsible adult kneeling down on one knee and had her arm around me. She was my protector, she was beautiful, and in the kindest voice she speaks, Now boys we don’t chase girls like that. Especially little cute ones like this girl. She sends the boys away, and they run back to our house. I am free, I am held, and this was my destiny. She would set me free; she would cook for me, she would make sure my clothes were clean, but there is just one problem. She isn’t real; she exists in my imagination and my ability to detach from anything I view as becoming physically or emotionally too much to bear. In my mind, in my heart, it worked. I needed to imagine her because she centered me and gave me hope. I knew deep down that this would never happen, but it was peaceful and gave me a safe place to land if only for just a moment. I was a cute kid I think, I tried my best to behave even when I was upset, and maybe other people would love to have me for a child. They would take care of me, help me pick out clothes and feed me every day. Was this a lot to take in? Were my thoughts too detailed and adult-like? I don’t know the answers ultimately to all of this. However, I knew that I was amiss. I tried to think of others less fortunate than myself and be thankful. There were plenty of people in this situation; the problem was that ours was so emotionally devoid of love and nurturing that we were forced to think like adults. We were made to try to understand a lack of love too early. I fantasized on all of this while running and at some point had gained a sort of super power speed. The branches hit my face as I weaved in and out of the path. I had tears streaming down my face while I was running; the colors were blurring in my peripheral vision, and I became numb. I was numb to every bad thing I had seen in life. I was numb to every hit from my Mother and every bad thing she’d ever said to me. Why was I thinking this while running from the boys in the neighborhood that had always chased me? I felt like I was done running from being hurt. I was only nine years old, and life had handed me more yelling, screaming, hitting, and negativity than most adults see in a lifetime. I had seen my grandmother attacked, friends belittled and talked about, where was the love? What chip was missing to put children in their rooms for entire days? Why? Why was I made to deal with this crap at such a young age? The questions fell as fast as the tears streaming down my face; damn that imaginary lady that was supposed to pick me up at the break in the woods. I wish she would be there. I had been to church; I had listened to my Sunday school teachers. I knew the basics; I knew to love others and be a nice person like Jesus was. It didn’t sink so deep into my soul at a young age because I had the daunting task of figuring out why if God loved me so much that he sent his son to die for me, did he also entrust my siblings and me to a woman that hated us. I couldn’t go with that lady, my imaginary mother figure I mean. I had to stay behind as long as possible to share the brunt of her attacks with my siblings. I would also spend, mostly half of my life asking this question to God. I would ask him, and I would rebel. I’m not certain if this day in the woods was when I had enough of the neglect and abuse, but it was heavy on my heart. I was always scared, never safe, always running, and how could I blame the boys for doing what boys do best? More importantly, how could I blame the other kids when they had no father in their life and a mother that would never tell them how important or extraordinary they were or for that matter, I was?

I fell into a quiet and labored breath pattern as I ran, and instead of crying; peace falls over me, and I keep running. As I turned the last corner before getting back on the trail I… WHAM! I trip, stumble and fall right on my face. I laid with my face in the dirt, my pride shot, and a prayer that the boys would just go away. I hear the faint laughter fade away and feel a sense of relief. I love my brothers dearly, but those neighborhood boys alongside my brothers made them act differently at times. I couldn’t blame my brothers back then, though at times I would try. The issue was that most people around us had no clue what was really happening, but some would come to learn. Our Mom wasn’t conventional or normal, and she wasn’t giving or loving. She wasn’t anything you would see on television or in your local grocery store. There wasn’t hair being combed and put back in place. There weren’t directives on brushing teeth, what to wear, and most of the time there wasn’t her preparing our meals. If there was instruction, it was to save face for the people in our lives or to inject full control on us. That would be welcomed in some households but the way she did it was manipulative and to find a reason to abuse. There was something wrong with her, and I had figured this out by the tender age of nine. I’m face down in the dirt after attempting to build a home out of sticks and leaves in order to escape her daily presence. Most days I would prefer to live outside instead of in the home with her, and as we go on you will further begin to understand my dilemma. This day was so important to me, though, and this moment was the pinnacle of my emotional intelligence and understanding of my pitiful parental situation. You see as I lay face down in the dirt in these woods I love so much I realized what was missing from my life. I was nine. I had thought that what she did and how she acted may be a part of life. It took me watching shows, other families, and knowing other adults in my life to finally figure it out. I laid there, and I was secretly pining for a mom that would know I was hurt because of her motherly intuition. This mom would be different and she would be calling my name for being gone so long or coming out on a search for me and to make sure I was okay. I instantly cursed myself for thinking such things, and I knew if I wished for these things that I would never make it out of adolescence in one full emotional piece. This is where you will begin to see the absolute incorrect thought process. I thought I would actually get out of this house in one full emotional piece if I just… What? Forced myself not to want happiness? I still had a lot of growing to do at this point. I did have to accept my fate, my Mom and Dad didn’t love or care for me the way they should. If I didn’t at least grasp this concept, then my life would end up even worse, and that wouldn’t help me either. While thinking of everything I have before me in life I cried intensely. I had never cried like this, it was like I was allowing myself to let go of the childish idea that my parents would ever change. I was letting go of the thought that they would love me wholly and completely one day. No Quinn, let it go. That is never going to happen, and you have to make that okay. My inner dialogue always took over and made me feel so alone and aware. It forced me to feel like I was the only person I could talk to and be sincere with. This would pave the way for many years of dealing with things on my own and internalizing. I loved God, I felt he was real, but I wouldn’t turn to him or surrender to him as they say. How could I surrender to God? This was on me, everything. My entire life, I would blame on myself. I would be responsible and take the task on to deal with everything alone. My trust was shattered, and I had seen bad things up until this point. There were moments I would witness and be protected or shielded by my older sister. I won’t go into full detail, that is her story to tell, and I will let her tell it when she would be ready. The flashing lights of police, however, I will say and the screaming would stay within my dreams and nightmares for a lifetime. I am laying low behind a piece of furniture watching her slam things and throw heavy things all over the place. There was no rest, that’s why I couldn’t relax in our home or feel like it could be a good day. You never knew what you were going to get, I look up, and her hands are around my grandma’s neck more times than I can count. Ben is trying to protect grandma when she has an episode many times. The chaos, conventional and absolute chaos would always center around what kind of day it was going to be. I see a table flip over in a fit of rage, her anger is real and present. There is no patience, no understanding, just rage. My brothers were boys, and my sister had moved out to this day. I was alone, and I was aware, and I didn’t like it, but it was my reality. I looked at my pinky, and there was a large piece of glass stuck inside of it. Of course. The good thing was that this scar would never go away. I knew that, and I would one day be okay with that fact. Hindsight is always 20/20, one day this scar would remind me to stand strong, it would tell me how I felt on this day and shed light about who I really am. I didn’t enjoy the sight of glass stuck in my hand, so I did cry even harder (Hey, I said I was emotionally independent; this didn’t mean I didn’t cry like a baby when I got hurt.) The boys were long gone, but there were no hard feelings. They had no clue I had cut my hand, and I never got mad at them very much anyways. I gave them a lot of grace for things like this. I did sit up and lifted my face. I stared at my dirt-ridden body and hands looking straight up through the trees at the beaming sun. The rays of the sun were streaming through the trees just the way I loved for it to happen. There was no reassurance with that happening, I tried. I told myself it would be okay and it was just a cut. I was torn on how to handle this blood dripping from my hand. I squeeze my eyes open and shut looking around for some magical answer from a tree in which I did not receive. Do I go home crying to my mom with the mood she’s in or go to a neighbor for help? How was I able to tell if I needed stitches or not? I knew I was hurt and had no idea which steps to take next. I didn’t know what to do, so I did what I knew; I got up and walked ahead. I wasn’t sure what the plan was or how to fix this. This walk home was the longest one in my life up until that point. This began a pattern in my life. I would understand and realize the importance of this moment as I grew older, but it was at that very moment I started to become who I was going to be as an adult. My problem-solving skills started that very day in the woods.

The Wonder Years

AS I DESCRIBED EARLIER, THE neighborhood I grew up in was piled high with mischievous boys plus me and my brothers. I knew of one girl living on that street, and her name was Amber. To say the least, she was not kind to me. Amber would torture me on the bus and encourage the other kids to laugh at me. Trust me when I tell you this, though, it wasn’t a difficult task. When I was in elementary school, I was a certifiable loser, so her job was made easy. Sure, I was cute to adults, at least they tell me that now and would remark at what a pretty little girl I was. That may have been true, but I didn’t believe it. My wardrobe consisted of a pile clothes on the basement floor. More often than not they were dirty and speckled with mold, and they weren’t clean. My hair was always in a tangle of knots, and I remember all of my socks were hand me downs. Even if when they got holes in them, and I still had to wear them. I was able to internalize at a young age and usually didn’t respond to any bullying. It went on for years and years and especially with Amber. She lived so close; I couldn’t escape it. One day, we were swimming at our neighbor’s pool and she kept dunking me, laughing at me, and throwing me in. I wasn’t sixty-five pounds soaking wet by the age of nine. Just imagine a tall, overweight girl messing with you all the time. She reminded me of my mother, how she would be as a child. How ironic would I think and how typical? Was it my personality? Did I irritate the kind of person that wants to knock you around and make you feel bad about yourself? I knew my mom was that way, not so sure what was up with Amber. She probably has a different view, but isn’t that the way the world works? Perception is a reality I would dare to muse; some are sensitive, and some are abusive. I wasn’t the latter, I was thoughtful and most often kind. I always thought it best for me just to keep to myself for the most part. Just like my thoughts on the bus, how do I get out of this without getting beat up at home and after the bus ride? I would keep this type of thought process to myself; my upbringing caused me to learn just to live with it. One time, Amber chased me off of the bus and threw me around in the New York City girl pink ruffled skirt my older sister had purchased for me. It had already been a bad week at our home, so when she was throwing me to the ground and beating me up, my brother Ben threw rocks and books at her to stop Amber from hurting me any further. This girl had plotted to jump off of our elementary school bus and run over to our stop to kick my ass. I would think, man she is miserable because she’s so chubby and fat. This type of passive-aggressive name calling would ensue in my life as well. I would think it; I was trained not to say it out loud. It made me feel better about the abuse to address her weight issue. It forced me to feel better about my mother’s abuse by poking fun at her weight. She had it out for me in a way that was underserved and unkind. To add insult to injury, I walked into our home with my white stocking torn at the knee and blood all over my leg. My face was red from her hitting me, and my hair was pulled and messy. My Mom was in her room and wouldn’t come out at first. Ben helped me clean up my knee and made fat jokes about Amber to get me to laugh. He always had a way of making me feel better. He wanted to make me smile and no matter what he always could. Jack was still really young at this point, but he also held disdain for Amber. He wanted her to stop hating me, stop coming after me, and a lot of this desire came from my brothers because they knew what we went through at home. There was already too much anger and negativity; we certainly didn’t need a neighborhood kid adding to the pain we had already experienced. At times this nemesis would prove entertaining, but I just couldn’t understand how I had the life I did, and she had the life she did, yet she was angry all the time. As I grew older, I would begin to learn that not everyone has a great life. There are reasons most of the time people act hateful. As I grew wiser, I realized she was jealous of something that while I was growing up had no clue I was in possession of. I never understood jealousy; it wasn’t a part of me. I wanted to live, breathe and run as fast as those boys in my neighborhood. That was one of the biggest goals when I was a kid. I wanted that, some peace in my home and to avoid Amber’s bullying as often as I could. I would get a little older and under the tutelage of my older sister would write a poem about Amber and read it loudly on the bus. I probably shouldn’t have done that, and I ended up feeling sorry for it. I think this is how I became somewhat content in my company as a young child. I knew at a young age, that God had dealt my us a pretty raw hand in the parental department; since he was God, I should deal with it the best I can and stay happy no matter what. At least on the outside, on the inside God was a source of questioning in my life. By the age of three, my Dad was missing in action and lived approximately a half hour away from our childhood home. He was tall, dark and handsome. We all would end up having the same striking jawline and distinctive eyebrows as him. His name was the same as my brother Ben, and he only stuck around until I was a young child in the toddler age range. He would come in and out of our days causing my memories of him to be more like flashbacks. Quick visions of him leaning over me or walking into the door. My Mom. She lived in her emotional hell either completely ignoring us, and if we got on her nerves, she would then scream or hit until we were out of her presence. She didn’t take a second breath of thought in the area of physical abuse. To be fair, this wasn’t every day of our lives, and there were rare moments (maybe one day a week for eighteen years) in which she would be interested in how we were doing or try to invoke humor into the house. The problem was, the other six days she would scream at us, hit all of us, and yell things that most adults wouldn’t say to their worst enemy. I never understood her or the reasons being why she treated us like this; I wouldn’t understand. It was pointless to try to understand this woman at the age of nine, so I didn’t try too hard. I knew I had to stay out of her way and navigate my life on my own. If I didn’t stay out of her way:

Quinn, get your ass in here right now! She’d yell. My eyes would get big and wide, I knew it was coming. I had pissed her off, my mind would race and replay every action from the day. I hadn’t even seen her that day yet and couldn’t find one thing in my little brain. I wanted to know and I had to know so I could prepare a response. I’m coming! I’d yell back in the nicest tone I could muster up. The door would creak open slowly so I could survey the situation. There were clothes on the floor, her bed was unmade because she was still in it and there she was. My Mother, the woman who gave me life. It was mid-afternoon and she hadn’t said hello to the world yet. Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been calling you young lady!

I was playing outside in the woods. I’d say with my hands twisted up, my legs rocking me back and forth in preparation to possibly run. I didn’t dare. I needed a place