At 14, My sister Amber and I moved in with my mother for the first time to escape the overbearing thumb of my father. Like most young teens, I wanted freedom. Unlike the rest of the young teen population, I actually acquired the freedom I desired when I moved in with The Mother, and my step father. They were poor, which was just one of the differences we encountered following the move. Mom was a waitress here and there most of the time , which is how she met Randy. The most hard working construction worker you would have ever met. Mom served him Cheeseburgers for 3 weeks straight before she told him he needed some color in his #life and to try something different. Which led to a date, then him inviting her to his place and after that she just never really left. They lived in a 2 car garage remodeled into a small home. My sister and I slept in the laundry room, with an open window into Mom and Randys bedroom. Amber and I shared a bunk bed until they decided they couldn't afford to rent it anymore, and I eventually moved to the tattered brown suede-ish couch in the dark, run down living room. The robins egg blue walls and the ceiling were yellowed from cigarette and pot smoke. Rosey pink satin curtains hung on the living room window, and country patterned, probably used to be white ones hung at the little garage window in the eating area above the bulky brown table and old metal folding chairs. In some areas, there was actually smoke resin drips. (I once in fact, wrote a 3 page #poem about this while on acid. Titled : My Walls are Caked with Resin.) This poor #lifestyle didn't sit well with my, by 2 years, younger sister, Amber. I think she made her final decision to leave, on the 6th month of our being there. It was a school night. It was very late. Mom, Randy, and his cousin Paul were partying hard that night. They had the paint splattered boom box blaring Hank Williams and were bitching about who knows what to each other. Amber had expressed her need for sleep. She had another tough day of seventh grade to cope with pretty early in the morning. They just chuckled and told her she was fine. I told her not to stress about it, to just close her eyes and go to sleep. Amber couldn't understand why it didn't bother me to the same extent. Decisively, she took it upon herself to end the party, by turning off the music. Paul shouted, " Hey! That's my nephews funeral song!" Mom blabbered "whyyyy, you little shit!" and gave her a push. Amber pushed her back, then tore off out the front door. I chased after her and found her hiding under the club house, the tears falling heavy like an avalanche of boulders, down her chubby little cheeks. That's where we stayed, until the police found us there with their flashlights, even before her eyes had dried. Who knows what they must've thought of us. Or what they'd been told for that matter. They walked us back up to the house, and finally, the party was over. Yep, I'm pretty sure that was precisely the night she was done with the mess we were living in. She soon returned to my fathers house in our snotty, rich, little home town located on Lake Erie. The small town of North East, Pa, was the perfect place to live if you were retired, or a grape farmer. Picturesque , quaint, well cared for, were all words you might use to describe our lovely little home town. Built on raised ground, you could see Freeport beaches portion of the lake from nearly every corner of town. And when grape harvest time came, the air was full of the sweet smelling Concord grapes. The excitement mounted in North East at this time, because following the harvest, was the wine festival. Where the 20 some local wineries with their rows of grapes for as far as the eye could see got to showcase their tantalizing wines. And the crafters with their home made goods, baskets and trinkets all for sale in the park. You knew everyone and everyone knew you. And the people were OH SO FRIENDLY. To your face. As a teenager, if you weren't honor roll or child prodigy, you were shit. And I do mean that. And if you were the towns definition of shit, your parents were expected to treat you like shit. If they didn't, it reflected even more poorly on them, than just the teens reputation of being worthless. My father had married my stepmother, Bridget, in 1986. I was 7. She came from a wealthy, well educated family and a respected name to boot as well. He had chosen wisely when he chose her. She was a good and devoted woman. She took my sister and I in and treated us nearly as well as if we were actually her own. Sadly though, we weren't. The town frowned a bit on this. As did her parents. Looking back and taking in the whole situation, I'm sure if they would've considered it and thought they could pull it off, they would've went into hiding for a while, changed our birth certificates, and acted like Bridget gave birth to us. Seriously, you did NOT want to be the black sheep in this town. I cannot express how conservative this place and these people were at this point in time. Bridget's families money took my father to Mercyhurst college. They could not change who Bridget chose as a spouse, so they went right to work to change the spouse she chose. He chose culinary arts for his degree. He traveled Europe learning, experiencing, cooking, (and beginning his infidelities. ) My father, Rich, had never had such opportunities before. Coming from a large unwealthy, uneducated family with 5 other children, his experiences had been limited to running amuck, drinking, hunting, and working on cars. Rich was getting his culture in. And was loving it. Back in Pa, Bridget was caring for us with her parents. Brushing our hair, keeping us from getting to hot and bothered outside. Sending us off to school in well tailored outfits from the specialty boutique called the Holly Shop in town. Eventually, He came home to Bridget, Amber and I bearing chocolates and gifts. He took a job at a prestigious restaurant in a nearby city. We were very happy for a little bit playing the roles we were expected to play. Not too long later, Dad, Bridget (and her parents)bought a cafe in town. The Harvest was THE place for the old and wealthy to grab meat salad croissants and fresh iced tea, the young to sip on sodas while eating giant freshly baked sweet rolls , and the too hip to sit at the coffee bar for hours debating current issues and drinking from Dads large selection of imported coffees or espresso. It was beautifully decorated with grape vines and cafe tables. Classic music or Enya filled the shop regularly. Amber and I were enlisted as free dishwashers, and later, waitresses paid only in tips. There, in The Harvest, began my tween years of revolt. I was sick of working for pennies while my friends were hanging out, going to movies and gossiping. The sickening smell of coffee and rolls got more offensive to me every day. The crab salad filled me with disgust. It wasn't long before being around my own father filled me with anger. My friends began to find other girls to fill my shoes, since I was never available for sleep overs and boy talk. I found new friends. They hung out in the park that I walked past every day to go to the cafe. Labeled "The Parkies". As my downward spiral with the Parkies commenced, the downward look I received from the townsfolk got worse. Along with my father treating me like shit. We went head to head on a daily basis, and NEVER saw eye to eye. ( as most dads and daughters at this stage in #life). Nothing I did was good enough. I heard a lot of things like, " why can't you play the piano like Lindsey?" Or simply, "you're getting too fat, you can't eat (whatever) anymore." As my relationship with the Parkies strengthened, they began to trust me, and confessed to selling my father pot. And drinking with him. (Anything more than an occasional glass of wine or a single mixed drink was unacceptable in our house, and specifically our town.). And worst of all, they told me he had been sleeping with the waitresses. My faith in the world around me was lost. My beliefs were shattered. I felt like my whole world was a complete hoax. And an apparition it really was. I was jaded. I threw all reservations to the wayside, and began doing whatever I wanted. I snuck out the window nightly to hang out with the Parkies and drink. I invited them into my home when I knew no adults would be there. Hid kids in closets and under beds when my parents paid unexpected visits home. I skipped school, and would erase messages from the school office. I remember dad once saying " you can only hurt someone who loves you so much, before they quit loving you all together." Perhaps he was only warning me, but I took it as he hated me. I did something (for the #life of me, I cannot remember what), but he called me into his office to ground me for it. "We need to talk." He said to me. "You bet we do." I replied cooly. His eyebrows raised in questioning surprise. I felt so smart at this moment. I had been holding it in for what felt like a #lifetime to a young girl! It exploded from my lips very matter of factly, "If you ground me, I will tell Bridget everything you've been doing!" At this point, he merely blinked twice, "like what?" I felt my plan falling apart at the seams before it even made it out of the gate. I tried to make my words sound stronger and braver than I was beginning to feel. "I know about the weed, and the beer, and the woman you've been sleeping with." I felt in control again as I said these last words. My father was a man whom had been through practically everything at some point in his #life. You would've thought he'd even raised a teenager before me. My last comment merely brought his lips to a curl as he leaned,while still sitting, over his desk and a little closer to me sitting opposite of him. His icy, crystal blue eyes, penetrating mine, daring me to speak, forcing me to blink, look away, and shift uncomfortably in the cold, hard and oversized wooden chair. He didn't even wince. "Where ever did you hear something like that?" He hissed through his smile. "I...I...can't say, but I know it's true." His smile creepily turned a bit more genuine, like this was beginning to entertain him, like a game between cat and mouse. "Prove it" he stated. I could give up that information, I thought, in order to prove it. I had checked what my resource had said, so I was sure it would be there..." You keep your weed in that computer keyboard over there." I stated as I pointed to it. "Show it to me." Said my father as he handed me the keyboard. I shook with fear and hope as I opened it. For some reason, I was not surprised to find it completely empty. Not a single flake of proof that absolutely anything had ever been in there. I was afraid to look up at him. I just kept staring in the vacant keyboard praying that the pot I once saw inside would magically reappear before my eyes. He broke the dead silence for me, " what did you find?" I could feel the heat in my cheeks as my face flushed and my eyes began to swell with tears. I had no plan B. I was the mouse in the chase, and I was in the claws of a big ferocious cat. I had a shrinking sensation wave over my body as I looked back up at him, and into his cold stare. The smile was gone, the chase was won. Replaced was a tired sadness. "You're grounded. Go home." I went home and began planning to leave the horrible, judgmental town I had called home since age 7. The place where no one was who they proclaimed to be. Where I had never really fit in. And where I knew I could never be who I really was. I'm fairly certain my father was as ready to be rid of me at that time, as I was to be rid of him. Like he said, " you can only hurt someone who loves you so much, before they they quit loving you all together." I was hurt. He was hurt. And we could both see it would only get worse, before it ever got better. I should warn you, the events that followed Ambers departure from The Mothers, are not for those with a weak heart or stomach. The following is the chapter of the loss of my childlike innocence. A chapter which should be found in no persons true story. I would cry in the tiny bathroom, because I was scared. My mother was drunk, either because she was happy or sad. Sometimes, it was hard to decipher which was which since they both led to her being angry drunk by the end of the night. And on a school night, the nights didn't end until 1 or 2 in the morning. Once the other drunk people finally made their way out of our "garage house", her focus turned to me or her husband, Randy. Or the 5 or so cats that also shared our domain. My mother was an animal lover. She would take in any stray she found. and always considered it a blessing when they bred and had babies. She'd feed the dogs meat with their dog food. And since they lived in basically a dog castle outdoors with an extra large pen, she would put hot water in with their kibble in the winter to help the stay warm. The 3 dogs were released daily to run in the field behind the house. She would talk to them like children when she was sober. And like best friends, she would cry to them and share her secrets when drunk. The cats were constantly having kittens that would take over our small domain. They were adorable, though at times, it seemed like they were made of nothing but teeth and claws. While sleeping on the worn couch in the living room, I was often awoken by a speeding train of little kitty's. Boom!!! A thump of four paws on my forehead, then pouncing down my body and propelled off my feet. Following suit immediately would be 16 more claw filled paws. It was hard to be mad at them though. They were just too stinking cute. Those animals she kept, were occasionally my saving grace, when I needed someone to listen without judging or sharing my secrets. Or, when I was scared and lonely. That's the funny difference between people and pets. They will love you totally unconditionally. No matter what you tell them, they unintentionally keep their promise to never tell a soul. As time progressed, The fights between our homestead often ended in violence. I started to fist fight with The Mother on occasion. I recall one time, where the fight began involved all three of us. And in the morning, she had a black eye, and only I remembered what had happened. After Rachel left, things really just got more raw. The drinking got worse. The parties lasted longer and happened even more frequently. The radio blasted all night, every night. Mom and Randy's friends were always there. Grown men would make sexual advances on me daily. The Mother was proud of me for being so appealing. And would reprimand me for being rude if I told them to get lost. She once sent a man in the bathroom while I was showering to get ready for school. He asked if he could "peek" at me naked. I said "absolutely not". He then told me I had permission to "peek" at him. Mom thought it was hilarious. After a while, my best friend Candy and I just took advantage of situation. We learned how to best deal with drunk people. And how to get what we wanted out of them. If we didn't like them, we slyly belittled them. And they quit coming around. It wasn't long before The Mother and Randy quit coming around. Mom got a job at the bar in walking distance. And they would all sit there all night. So the garage house was ours for the taking. In a teenager sort-of manner, we began to play house. We would clean, decorate, entertain guests. On one particular occasion, I was home alone, when a friend of theirs burst in the door. I had known this man for years, and had always felt pretty comfortable around him. On this day, there was something "off" about him. There was a sketchy look in his eyes. And his movements were strange. I was sitting in a recliner when he entered. He eyes fixed intently on me as he slowly shortened the distance between us. He asked me where my parents were. "They're at the bar." Then he commented " so you're alone". Obviously. "Is anyone coming over anytime soon?" (That question sent up the red flags all over. ) I wasn't expecting anyone all night. But, my intuition warned me not to tell him that. "Yes, Bart, I am expecting a friend any time now..." He was practically standing on top of me. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. I had to literally jump over the arm of the chair to bypass Bart to get to the door. It was a kid from school who to my knowledge, had no idea where I lived! I didn't even breath as I grabbed the kids hand and raced him into his car where i told him to JUST DRIVE. This happening is marked in my mind as the first time I believed there must be a God. I found out later, Bart had actually been at the bar drinking with my parents, when The Mother sent him to the house to visit with me. So, I can only assume his intention was to rape me. When I told her what had happened, she laughed..."that Bart has always had a crush on you..." Randy wasn't so much into drinking, as he was into drugs. Not to say he didn't like to drink. But after one too many irate Wild Turkey nights, pretty much everyone forbid him from drinking his drink of choice. But really though, he preferred drugs. Cocaine, Mary Jane, crack, pills. Anything he could get his hands on. And he could get his hands on large quantities of everything. He sold what he couldn't do. Which also brought the low quality of #life traffic. Now, in all fairness, Randy was a good man. When he was bad, he was very, very bad. But more often than not, he was very, very good. I guess it's pretty complicated. Look at it this way...you...whoever you are, he would help, in whatever way you needed it. He didn't have an enemy. He never met a person who didn't call him friend. He took such good care of my mother, that we never had any idea how bad off she actually was. He was as patient and as caring as a saint. Like, legit care and patience. He would have stopped his car and waited for a two legged cat to slither across the road so not to hit it. Then would've still probably went back for it. Gathered it gingerly up in a blanket and took it home to mom, our friendly cat lady, to care for it. He was goofy. Like, bring tears to your eyes and pee a little goofy. I have a picture somewhere from a night when he and mom came home wasted. They must've made it to last call that night, because they were still ready to party when they got home. Some friends and I were at the house drinking and smoking when they walked in. Randy donned a great big chicken hat, and construction googles that were too dusty to see out of, so he had cleaned a little circle in each lens to see out of. What a sight! That was a good night. Amber was down for a visit when she, Candy and I walked him home from the bar one late evening. We had to cross an old wooden fence to get there. He was being his sloppy drunk silly side. Then the last tequila shots he took kicked in, and he fell at the fence. Nearly 300 pounds of Randy hit the ground. The 2 girls and I tried desperately to help him up. Abruptly, he looked up and realized we were there. "Are you angels?" he asked with the innocence of a toddler. We lost it. We got him up and home when he asked for food. The girls and I were making him pizza rolls when he passed out in the kitchen folding chair with his head on the table. We did what any other teenagers would've done, had their step-dad fell asleep at the kitchen table. ( I think?) we painted his nail red, and gave him a full maker over, pink lipstick and all. He woke up, started eating the pizza rolls we had placed before him. He looked at his nails, laughed, and said, "these pizza rolls are soo saucy, I have sauce all over my nails..." Oh mannn. That was the best. Until we got the report that he went to the job site without looking in the mirror or showering. That made it even better! He had actually picked off all the nail polish by the time he came home that day. He wasn't mad at that point. He chuckled and told us we had better watch where we pass out next time with a wink. I will never forget the first time I smoked pot. It was the summer following my sophomore year of HS. I smoked every day for the next 10 years. It was also the summer I lost my virginity to the same boy that got us high for the first time. In hindsight, we probably should've avoided that trouble maker, lol. I lost my virginity at 14 in a club house. Then of course, I was "in love". The same thing happened when my best friend gave her virginity to Trouble Makers best friend not long after. And, as you may have guessed, we were dumped by the pair shortly after. My BF Candy, actually lived right in front of our place. I originally met Candy one hot summer when I was up to visit my mother for a week. It was the first time ever we visited like that. We were 7. I was sitting on the picnic table with Amber, wondering what the heck we were going to do all week. Candy drove up on her dads riding lawn mower basking in sun and awesomeness. The club house was built by Candys dad and Randy. We named it the Rejects house, and started a Rejects club. I can't remember why we called it that. It probably had to do with some 80's movie Candy loved at the time. it grew, as did we. we changed the interior, and the name many times. it went from The Rejects, to the Hornets, to The Hippie House. we smoked our first cigarette there. All visitors had to sign the wall with puffy paint. The smell of B&Body works Sun ripened raspberry still reminds me of the candles we kept in there at all times. It was our place to go for companionship, girl talk, and sometimes quiet and solitude. We always knew when Candy was upset because we would see her blonde head run by the little kitchen window to the back yard, and up the steps to the club house. We lived in her parents garage. Technically. We shared a big circle driveway. Our fabulous clubhouse on stilts. The field. Parents. Clothes. Secrets. EVERYTHING! It was the best set up two best friends could ever have. 21 steps from her back door to my front door. And we were 21 days apart in age. Trouble Maker showed up again soon with his best friend. I was obsessed with TM. I would've done ANYTHING to please him. He knew it, and used it in every way he could against me. TM convinced my young mind and heart that the only way to show him how much I cared was to have sex with his best friend, in front of him. So there we were, on the sticky wooden floor of the club house, with TM sitting in a folding chair nearby, watching. I sobbed as my soul escaped my body. As I previously mentioned, this best friend was also the boy MY BF was "in love" with. So TM and his best friend used this information as leverage to keep me performing sexual acts for them in return for silence. They even brought their cousin over for some action. I recall them arguing over who got to use the last condom. It was a nightmare. I finally said I didn't care who they told. My position couldn't be any worse than it already was. I resolved to end the cycle by confessing to my BF and accepting isolation. And complete isolation was exactly what I received. She told her family, they told my family, and I was mentally battered by all on the property for weeks following the brutal confession. At some point before confessing, yet after the loss of my soul, I convinced my step-father Randy, that I had never smoked pot before, and that I thought it would be safest for me to experiment it first with him. Manipulative, I know,..but anyhow... There I was again, in the clubhouse. Randy lit the joint. The thick, distinctive smell of marijuana filled the air. ( he always sold the best money could buy). This was not even remotely the first time I got high. But something was definitely different. I suddenly had tunnel vision. The club house seemed darker, the floor felt non existent. He was saying something about how "weed makes you horny". His words felt(?) fuzzy. And unreal. The next memory I have of that night, involved me laying in the bottom of the bunk bed, in just my panties. I could barely see Randy reaching through the window hole between our rooms and lifting my sheet. I was too stupid at that moment to know what he was doing, but something deep inside of my brain was screaming to tell him to stop. But I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. My minds voice quickly awoke and fought to be heard. Somehow I managed to squeak a "no" aloud. That was enough for my step father to recoil his arm like a snake back through the window. I spent the next week trying to convince myself it didn't actually happen, and that I had been hallucinating. But I still felt angry, betrayed, and taken advantage of. I didn't want to tell anyone, but felt the need to hurt him back. So I went to his stash spot and stole probably a half pound of his refer. When he noticed it was gone...things got pretty ugly. So things only climaxed when I made the confession about the sex triangle. It was a few months before my BF and I began to mend our friendship. And a couple years before she forgave me. That next year was filled with an over-abuse of drugs, alcohol and sex. I was doing poorly at school. I was getting in fights on the school grounds, and at parties. I fought guys, girls, whoever indicated the want to fight me. I once fought another kids coked-up mother. I threw her flip flops at her as she pulled out of our driveway, defeated. Not 2 hours later, 3 cars of teenagers pulled up. I had a handful of friends over. Thankfully. It became a battle. 2 males were beating the daylights out of me, while multiple other brutal fights commenced at the same time. Praise God no one was fatally injured and that weapons were not involved. Somehow, that event was a highlight of the summer to my circle of friends and I. We would retell The story for hours to come. That brush with danger should have been enough for me to learn a lesson. But it was not. It wasn't until my late 17th year, when I got in a vicious fight with a girl at school. I had a problem with minding my own business, combined with feeling popular and invincible. We started the 10 min long fight in the hallway by the lockers. She punched me square in the face when I "blacked out in anger". A few teachers and a police officer tried to break us up and got punched or kicked or both. When they finally had us pinned down, and reality awakened me from my black out, we were in very deep trouble. Juvenile jail and court was to follow. I was being charged with assault on a police officer, and persistent disorderly conduct. I only had to stay in Juve' Fri-Monday. But it was a great learning experience, and more rest than I had got in months. Due to the fact I had planned to go into the army after HS, the judge expunged the record and released me with a slap on the wrist and a restraining order. But I had finally learned a hard lesson and have avoided physical violence ever since. I had many more difficult #life lessons to learn before HS was complete. By this point, my real father had pretty much washed his hands of me and my delinquency. He was sorting out his own #life and dragging my little sister back home with him. He had been cheating around on my step mother with a number of waitresses from his restaurant, and secretly doing drugs and drinking. His perfect reputation in the town was crumbling. His facade revealed. He was leaving my step-mother, Bridget, and moving to another state. He insisted my little sister, Amber leave the stability of Bridget's home, and go with him. (During his absence due to infidelity and work, she had given up on school and dropped out.) It seemed as though #life was coming to a precipice. And then, a fresh face entered from stage left. A face that would remain in my #life for quite some time. And help me overcome the obstacles that encompassed me. There had been angels in the form of mankind, who had appeared miraculously time to time, that saved me from impending doom. And this face that arrived as a 16 yr old boy was nothing short of an angel, descending just in time to save me from my current path to an adulthood of prostitution , class A drugs and an eminent early death. His name was Justin. And he brought me the most honest and pure happiness that I had ever experienced in my #life at that point. His family had their own problems, but still offered stability and security. Justin and his family very generously shared these attributes with me. He encouraged me to do well in school. With his help and love, I cleaned up my act, and worked doubly hard to get the grades I needed to graduate. ...to be continued... Yes, we continued to experiment with drugs. We had many ups and downs in our 7 year relationship. We dated until we were no longer good for each other. But I will always be thankful to him for saving me. When The mother and Randy decided to run away and drive Semi-trucks, Justin's family took me in until we were able to get an apartment of our own. We took the best care of each other that we could at 19.