Hell on Horrsman Road

By Honest Chunk

Have you ever met someone who you thought was your friend? Just to find out later they were a professional sociopath. Have you ever done something because you knew it was the morally right thing to do and find out after the fact, that it cost you time, money, energy, and the betterment of your own health? Have you ever saved someone who was physically disabled, helpless, mistreated and neglected then realize you would have been better off just leaving them in their own situation?
Welcome to Hell on Horrsman Road.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 8, 2020
• ISBN: 9781796096446

Honest Chunk

Honest Chunk was born on the West Coast of the United States and entered life as a GM brat. Much like US Army kids, she moved around and lived in various states across the country. Having a Hispanic heritage, all her life events involved a wide variety of rich, authentic, heavy, irresistible dishes and desserts. Being the fat, new kid everywhere she went had its obvious share of disappointments. On the reverse of that, she spent a lot of time reading and eventually gained the desire to write. Her writing dreams are finally coming to life.

Book preview

MS. BLANCHE

P oor Ms. Blanche, she was conceived to fail. She was born into a loveless, empty life despite being delivered to her married parents.

Ms. Blanche said she was never hugged or told I love you by her parents. I can’t even begin to imagine how internally dark and lonely this child was living thinking that, that was how life is supposed to be. My childhood was far from the dark, empty, lonely life that Ms. Blanche lived. She spoke very little of her mother. She said her mother primarily barked orders at her and refused to call her Blanche. Her mother only called her by her middle name when she even bothered to use one. Otherwise, it was Hey Missy most of the time. By the way, she hates that name for valid reasons.

Her father, on the other hand, did speak to her and called her Blanche. He only spoke to her in brief, hushed tones and never around her mother. He spoke to Blanche like she was a dark, dirty, shameful secret. Maybe she was.

Ms. Blanche’s childhood was miserable, to put it mildly. I wish there were happy, loving, fond memories to share, but there aren’t any. Ms. Blanche only has one story to share. It’s a heartbreaking, revealing argument that Ms. Blanche had with her mother when she was just thirteen years old.

One late afternoon, after being ordered around all day, Ms. Blanche kind of snapped. She found herself in a vicious, hot shouting match with her cruel, unloving mother. Her mother took this grand opportunity to let Ms. Blanche know why she’s unloved. Her mother screamed at her, I hate you! I hate looking at you! You were a mistake, and you should have never been born and with a trollop’s name! Ms. Blanche’s mother crowned herself with the Mother of the Century Award by stating further that she tried to lose her many times throughout the horrible, dreadful pregnancy that she never wanted. Ms. Blanche found out that her father named her after an old love he had in school. The heaviness of this information is soul-crushing to me. How could they do that to this poor child? Their own child? Who were these people?

It was said that Ms. Blanche’s mother got to name the first child and the father got to name the second one. Who the fuck names their child after an old lover?

No wonder Ms. Blanche’s mother hated looking at her every day, but that is NO excuse.

How and why they allowed a name to cause so much hatred is beyond explainable to me. I don’t know how Ms. Blanche could look at her mother after that. I place the blame on Ms. Blanche’s mother since she allowed this to happen. If there was infidelity, that may not have been able to be stopped. To have your own child, which you carried and gave life to, be named after your husband’s old flame is absurdly uncalled for.

I wonder if Ms. Blanche’s mother had secrets of her own—secrets that forced her to swallow this. How people can be so cruel and hateful is beyond explainable to me.

Ms. Blanche began to smoke and experiment with alcohol; she was only thirteen. She’s having a hard time coping with the new revelations of her life. She’s finding it increasingly difficult to sleep, eat, and concentrate, and she’s becoming reclusive. Ms. Blanche’s grades were slipping, and the school called her parents. The torments of Ms. Blanche’s life were wearing on her. Ms. Blanche went to see a doctor and was placed on some medications that would ease her stress. By the time Ms. Blanche was eighteen, she was smoking up to two packs of cigarettes a day.

Ms. Blanche never confronted her father about her name. She kept that information to herself for a long while. It kept eating away at her day after day. Tearful and heartbroken, Ms. Blanche broke down and painfully asked her grandmother for the truth.

Ms. Blanche’s grandmother confirmed it was all true. Not only did her father dearly love his old girlfriend, but he also thought her name was the most beautiful name he’d ever heard. That’s why her father named her Blanche.

I heard that Ms. Blanche’s father said Blanche was supposed to be their child. So it may be that Ms. Blanche got a dishonorable-mention mother.

Sounds like a case of the one who got away to me, but other sources say no. Yeah, right—another dirty lie, I’m sure. My guess is that Ms. Blanche’s father was having an affair with the old girlfriend and knocked up the wrong woman, but that’s just my thought.

Those who could shed more light on the subject are all dead and gone. I’m sure they’re glad that those secrets died with them—not that I think the real truth would be revealed. People were much different back then. A lot of secrets died with folks.

Ms. Blanche’s father was an entrepreneur and had his hands in a lot of things: rental houses, telephones, oil, geology, and construction. When Ms. Blanche was old enough to run the books and collect rent from her father’s rental properties, her father had a lot to say to her. Never mind the wife; this is business. Ms. Blanche said she thinks her father felt bad about her childhood but didn’t want to further anger his wife by showing any love or attention to her. Her father had kept his distance all those years but was trying to make up for it by buying Ms. Blanche a new car. He told his wife, Blanche needs reliable transportation if she’s going to be working for me, you see. Her father also paid Ms. Blanche well and took care of her bills. There was no love between Ms. Blanche and her mother at all. In fact, Ms. Blanche doesn’t even speak of her—ever. All Ms. Blanche ever said to me about her mother was I was a mistake and should have never been born.

What kind of mother could stand to look at herself in the mirror every day after saying something like that?

None of this was Ms. Blanche’s fault; she didn’t deserve this, but it happened, and it truly messed her up. It gave her a false sense of reality. It gave her a gross sense of family and a misconception of love. The life Ms. Blanche lived was a foul, cruel lesson in evilness. Was it her mother’s fault because she didn’t want another child or her father’s fault for naming her after an old girlfriend? Neither is an acceptable excuse.

To make this shit cake even tastier, Ms. Blanche has a brother, Fowler, who is one year older than her. He never endured the unjust, cruel trauma that she had. Ms. Blanche had to witness her brother being loved, spoken to, and treated better than her day after day. Fowler got to run wild and free. Boys will be boys is what they say. Ms. Blanche said that her brother was allowed to do whatever he wanted. Their reasoning was Soon Fowler will be a man with responsibilities. He must be allowed to run amok and sow his oats before then. Ms. Blanche suffered physical abuse and emotional cruelty for fifteen years at the hands of her mother. She suffered until her mother suddenly became too busy to bother with her as much. Ms. Blanche’s parents gave birth to another daughter, Lamy, when she was fifteen years old. As if things couldn’t get shittier for Ms. Blanche, it’s been said that Lamy was their pride and joy. Ms. Blanche’s parents waited on Lamy hand and foot. She was never made to do any chores or made to do anything for that matter. She never wanted for anything. All she had to do was say I like that, and there it was. Lamy was carried throughout her life. Lamy never tended to her sick parents, never had to fix their affairs after their passing, and never had to fix the rental properties or help sell them. Lamy just took her inheritance and happily skipped away.

Poor Ms. Blanche, she might have gotten some relief from her mother’s abuse, but it was replaced with disregard. You would think that being invisible would be better, but it wasn’t.

What a fucked-up way to treat a child. For what? Why? I’ll never want to understand the reason.

I can’t even begin to imagine who I would be without the amazing mother I have. I knew at a very young age that I would never be able to live up to her motherly stature. My mother is brilliantly smart, strong as an ox, clever, fearless, creative, patient, selfless, and a hilarious smart-ass, she can do anything. If she can’t, she’ll go find the answer and learn it. I’ll never be able to tell her or show her how much she means to me. Thank you, mom. I love you immeasurably. I’m proud that you’re my mother.

We frequently learn from our experiences and become products of our environments, and we pass these things on. It’s the nature of the beast until you choose to break the cycle and change. We repeat what we don’t fix.

How do you change if you have no good examples to go by?

That being said, it’s no wonder that Ms. Blanche’s youngest son, Erron, turned out like he did.

We’ll get to Erron’s self-written, fucked-up, twisted chapters later. First, let’s talk about Mr. Dumas, Ms. Blanche’s first husband.

MR. DUMAS

M s. Blanche met Mr. Dumas while she’s working at an optical office. It was a job she dearly loved; she loved it more than any other job she ever held. Ms. Blanche will frequently tell stories about this job to anyone who will listen. She’ll also tell you repeatedly that today’s optical offices are untrained and no one knows what they’re doing. Her words, not mine. I’ve had to get my glasses adjusted three times, she said. Ms. Blanche seems to think they need two men in the back to do things right. I don’t know how they made glasses back then, but OK, Ms. Blanche.

I think that she keeps needing to get them adjusted because she falls asleep with them on. That’s just my thought on it, though.

Ms. Blanche was a young, slender, milky-white-skinned, red-headed beauty with an infectious, warm smile. It’s no wonder that Mr. Dumas asked her out. Ms. Blanche was breathtaking despite the trials and tribulations of her childhood. You would never have guessed that this beauty wasn’t loved at her home. Mr. Dumas was a typical old-school insurance salesman. (No offense to old-school salesmen.) He’s tall, dapper, and clean-shaven. He has a medium build, thick brown hair and was a strikingly friendly man.

Ms. Blanche told me the story of the one and only time Mr. Dumas had her tag along to an in-home insurance sale. They were at the home of one of her friends. Ms. Blanche said Mr. Dumas talked really fast and made everything sound absolutely necessary. Ms. Blanche confessed that she was aroused by his thorough sense of knowledge and the presence he had as he delivered his sales pitch. When the couple declined a certain coverage, Mr. Dumas said, Sure, no problem. Then he later slipped in the documents to have them sign and get the coverage anyway. Ms. Blanche called him out on it, saying, Dumas, they said they didn’t want that coverage. Mr. Dumas apologized and said it wasn’t supposed to be in there. Then he proceeded to explain the utter importance of said coverage. The couple still declined. Mr. Dumas was less than pleased that he lost the up sale and never invited Ms. Blanche to go with him again.

After a short courtship, they married. Not long after they’re married, Ms. Blanche heard that Mr. Dumas might have been getting cozy with someone at his work—someone who was also married. Mr. Dumas was working at a big-time insurance company and often spent extra hours at the office in order to obtain corporate accounts. Ms. Blanche never caught him or them together, but she still tells this story.

One early Saturday afternoon, Mr. Dumas told Ms. Blanche that they’d be attending a dinner party that evening. Ms. Blanche isn’t one who asks many questions; she had no reason to decline and therefore agreed without hesitation. It’s been a while since they’d gone out, and she thought it would be pleasant, so she smiled to herself. Ms. Blanche got dolled up, put her curly red hair into an updo, and dazzled herself with sparkling jewels to enjoy the evening with her husband. Mr. Dumas was pleased with the appearance of his wife, kissed her cheek, and told her she’s beautiful. Blanche blushed. Well, that’s odd, but I like it, she thought to herself. Little did Ms. Blanche know that this dinner party was being hosted by Mr. Dumas’s mistress and her husband. Ms. Blanche found out this bit of information as she’s introduced to the woman; she’d heard her name before this evening. Ms. Blanche remained calm and acted like she didn’t know a thing. She’s furious that Dumas would have the nerve to do this to her. Ms. Blanche felt utterly disrespected and like a fool.

This other woman—how smug she was with her tight, short, sheer black dress and bright-red lipstick. She acted like a floozy with Mr. Dumas in Ms. Blanche’s face, the audacity of this floozy. The brief small talk was nauseating, to say the least. Ms. Blanche pretended to care and answered with short responses. The drinks were being served graciously and were abundant. Ms. Blanche isn’t a drinker; she’s a sipper. She observed how loose they were all getting after a few drinks. Mr. Dumas and the floozy were at the bar, chatting while he’s mixing drinks. Ms. Blanche noticed the woman’s husband staring at her. He stood up and slowly walked toward her. Much like a snake, he slithered toward her and then sat next to her. He started off slowly by complimenting her attire: What a beautiful blouse! My, how it glitters! Your perfume smells so inviting too! Ms. Blanche nervously thanked him for the compliments. He inched a little closer toward her. Then his eyes moved to her neck jewelry, and he touched it and was seemingly interested in where she got it. Ms. Blanche flinched. He’s sitting uncomfortably close to her; she felt the need to move but couldn’t. Ms. Blanche could feel his hot, intoxicated breath of scotch; it’s sickening her. She’s trying to lean away from him without being rude; her stomach’s in knots. Then his glassy eyes moved to her lips. Ms. Blanche has always favored shimmering lipstick; it complements her fair skin tone. He stuck his fingers into her mouth. Ms. Blanche freaked out, pushed his arm away, jumped up, and threw her drink on him. Ms. Blanche then said, I don’t know what you all have planned here, but I want nothing to do with it. Ms. Blanche immediately headed for the door. Mr. Dumas scrambled behind her and asked, What’s your problem? We’re just here to have a good time with each other. Ms. Blanche told Dumas he could stay and have his good time, but she was going home. They argued all the way home. Ms. Blanche called him out on the floozy who was his mistress. Apparently, Mr. Dumas wanted to have a wife swap—Ms. Blanche’s exact words. She told Mr. Dumas, No, I’m not interested.

Ms. Blanche awoke on Sunday morning. She did not feel well and stayed in bed most of the day. The night’s events left her reeling. Ms. Blanche thought she might have just been sick of Mr. Dumas and that she’d be better in the morning. Monday morning came, and Ms. Blanche didn’t feel any better. She decided to take herself to the doctor. The doctor’s office ran some tests and blood work. Ms. Blanche found out that she’s pregnant with her first child.

Ms. Blanche’s pregnancy wasn’t an easy one. She suffered from severe morning sickness and had almost-constant back pain but still had to work on top of it all. Two-thirds into Ms. Blanche’s pregnancy, her doctors asked her to stop taking her antidepression and anxiety medications. They wanted to see if that would ease the issues Ms. Blanche was having with her pregnancy. That suggestion seemed to have helped, but now Ms. Blanche was becoming depressed. Stopping her medications so suddenly made Blanche fall into a crying depression on most days. Ms. Blanche’s doctors ordered her to be bedridden for the last month of her pregnancy.

There was no television in her bedroom. Mr. Dumas refused to place a TV in the bedroom for Ms. Blanche. He said, It would look awful and be in the way. The bedroom is no place for a television. Go to the couch if you want to watch television. Ms. Blanche read a lot of books and magazines to pass the time. Reader’s Digest quickly became her favorite magazine.

Guess who waited on Ms. Blanche the entire month she was in that bed? Her father. He brought her breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Her father made his wife cook extra food for Ms. Blanche and Mr. Dumas. Every afternoon, he would rub Ms. Blanche’s legs and feet. After her father had his supper at his home, he would bring Ms. Blanche and Mr. Dumas their supper and read the daily paper to her. You could tell her father was trying to make amends for his lack of attention during her childhood.

Scout was born with a slight mental retardation, which was diagnosed back then as a learning disability. There was a lot more to it than that. Ms. Blanche spent a tremendous amount of time and energy on Scout’s numerous doctor appointments. The doctors were perplexed as to what could be the reason behind Scout’s issues and how to manage them. Scout had behavioral, anxiety, and sleeping issues. Scout was extremely mischievous, sometimes violent, and more than any day care could handle. Ms. Blanche was forced to leave the optical-office job that she loved so very dearly. Ms. Blanche’s new full-time job was taking care of Scout. She was relieved that she could give Scout her full attention, but it was maddening for her most of time. Ms. Blanche found herself not benefiting from her medications like she used to. This made Ms. Blanche start chain-smoking and feel worthless. This feeling wasn’t new to Ms. Blanche. She’s becoming tolerant of the hands she’s being dealt. And to make Ms. Blanche’s life easier and more pleasant, Mr. Dumas would do a white-glove test (check for dust and dirt) when he got home every day. According to Mr. Dumas, if she wasn’t working outside of the home, then she would work within it. The duties of a stay-at-home wife are to cook, clean, and take care of the children, period. Ms. Blanche understood. Her new life continued for approximately four years. I’m sure she felt trapped. Hell, all Ms. Blanche knew was a life of being bossed around. What else could she do? Where could she go? Ms. Blanche did the best she could with the cards she had. I admire her ability to keep marching through. It seems as though everything wants to stop her from living a good life—a life she can be proud of. Ms. Blanche has so many reasons to give up, but no, she accepts everything and keeps pushing forward.

Mr. Dumas’s quickly becoming a big shot in the insurance company. Several times a week, he entertained clients. Late one night, Mr. Dumas came home intoxicated and frisky. Ms. Blanche became pregnant once more and for the last time. This pregnancy wasn’t like Scout’s. It is either that or Ms. Blanche hadn’t had any time to notice. Between Scout’s needs, Mr. Dumas’s demands, and her depression, Ms. Blanche hardly remembered she was even pregnant. If it weren’t for her back hurting and her round belly, she would have completely forgotten it. The pregnancy seemed to pass by so fast with Erron, Ms. Blanche recalled.

On the night Ms. Blanche went into labor with Erron, it was her wonderful and loving husband, Mr. Dumas, who induced it.

She’d been cleaning all day, was pregnant and almost due. Ms. Blanche was exhausted and had just sat down for mere moments before Dumas walked through the door.

Mr. Dumas, that devilish swine, put on his white gloves and commenced his daily test. Mr. Dumas went into the kitchen, where Ms. Blanche was sitting. The first place he checked was the top of the fridge. Damn! Ms. Blanche thought; it was the one spot she had missed. She left it for last because she needed to use a step stool to clean it.

Mr. Dumas dragged his finger across the top and was disgusted—not only with the little dust but with Ms. Blanche’s laziness. He whipped around and scowled. What is this, you lazy cow! You missed this! What have you been doing all day? Ms. Blanche threw Mr. Dumas a washcloth and said, You’re up. Wipe it yourself. Mr. Dumas’s face flared red. He kicked the chair Ms. Blanche was sitting on hard enough to move her. Ms. Blanche believed he intended to kick her directly. Mr. Dumas threw the towel at Ms. Blanche’s face and stormed out of the kitchen. The unexpected kick to Ms. Blanche’s chair scared her into labor. It was a good thing that Scout was already asleep after his dinner and sleeping medication. Ms. Blanche said to me, I drove myself to the hospital and delivered Erron by myself. He came pretty quickly after I arrived at the hospital. I wasn’t in labor for long. Ms. Blanche’s water broke in the car. Ms. Blanche believes the hospital called Mr. Dumas to let him know she’d given birth. Mr. Dumas arrived at the hospital, but Ms. Blanche sent him away. She told the nurses, Dumas is not allowed in my room. I don’t want to see him. Ms. Blanche then said No man will kick me in a low tone. Ms. Blanche was done with Mr. Dumas. That stunt was the last straw. She left the hospital with Erron and her parents.

Ms. Blanche filed for divorce and moved back in with her parents. She couldn’t afford to live on her own with two small children. Ms. Blanche is afraid to live alone and was unsure if she’s fully capable of being a single mother. Ms. Blanche’s father assured her that she would not have to live alone. Her father enclosed the three-car driveway at his home and turned it into an apartment for her and the boys. Ms. Blanche’s father wasted no time in having the apartment constructed. Her father made the apartment completely inclusive with a full bathroom and a functioning kitchen. It was a good, small, cozy place for her and the boys to start their new lives. Her cleaning was going to be minimal compared to what she’d been used to. After its completion, Ms. Blanche tearfully thanked her father. Things still weren’t easy for her. Ms. Blanche did lose dead weight in leaving Mr. Dumas but was gifted with a newborn. Scout’s disabilities took up a lot of her time, and she’s stretched very thin. Scout only had a limited amount of space for his mischief inside the apartment. Ms. Blanche’s father fenced in the backyard so Scout could be outside but also be confined to a visible area. This really became the best place for her, with the current place of her life. Ms. Blanche lived in that apartment for several years.

A house a few doors down went on the market. Ms. Blanche’s father gifted her the house and made a buy-now cash-offer deal on the other house for sale.

Ms. Blanche’s parents adored the boys and gave them the love and attention they never gave their mother. It’s a good thing they did because Mr. Dumas was a self-absorbed prick who was busy with his effort to become a top insurance salesman. Mr. Dumas’s focus was more on the luxurious, exclusive, all-inclusive paid trips that his company gave to its top three salesmen. Mr. Dumas attended elite parties, entertained fast women, and enjoyed rubbing elbows with anyone who had deep pockets. He had no time for a family, much less visit his children.

Mr. Dumas was more concerned with material possessions and the fast life. He’d honor his legal, court-ordered, unrealistic monthly duty and sent the child-support check.

There is so much more to raising children than the absurd monetary donation that a court sets.

Erron suffers from waiting anxiety because of his father. He would wait hours for his father to show up, and he rarely did. I saw Erron wait for the mail person. That shit was painful