2: Early Teens
By the time I was in my teens, I was quite rebellious, I didn’t feel the need or understand the reasoning behind the household rules and regulations .
One of them being, to be home before 9 P.M.; having been grounded for disobeying on several occasions, I deemed it wiser to simply not come home at all. That way they couldn’t punish me. Talk about stupid, I took the cake!
The first time, I slept over at a friend’s house (a boy friend, not my boyfriend, just a friend that happened to be a boy). His father was there, and he even brought me a blanket and pillow as I slept on the floor with the other kids that were sleeping over. The thought never crossed my mind that my parents were going crazy with worry, they had no idea where I was. The only thing they knew was that their thirteen year old daughter never made it home that night and most of the neighborhood was out looking for me.
I woke up just as the sun was rising, and the lump in my stomach was beyond description. What was I going to do, I knew there was no way I could go back home without being grounded for a year or more, or worse yet, maybe forever. I knew my goose was cooked!
With the thinking of a thirteen year old, I hopped on my three-speed bike, cycled down to the train tracks and started walking out of town towards Farnham. I knew one of my school mates lived there, she lived right by the tracks, so it would be easy for me to find her house, I’d been there before for her birthday party.
It was early-afternoon when I arrived, I was famished and thirsty, not having had anything since the night before, but I didn’t dare ask for anything for fear that her Mom would put two and two together and figure that I was actually a run-away, a run-away with no idea of where she was going.
It was around 4 P.M. when my Mother showed up with one of my Aunts, I have absolutely no recollection of trip back home, none what-so-ever, a total blank.
The total blankness was something new, but it was to become the norm for the next year or so, actually for many years come to think of it.
It seems like I had this capability of wiping out a total series of events if they were somehow negative or caused me grief. When I refer to having put something in my “Icicle Box of Souvenirs” this is what I am referring to. That special place within, where pain and hurt are safely tucked away, where I don’t have to deal with them.
Speaking of events in my Icicle Box of Souvenirs, seems that when I was five years old I saved a girl from drowning, she and I were friends. I remember nothing about the event. But I have been told that we were down by the creek (which doesn’t surprise me) a place I was not permitted to go to, anyhow, she fell in, and had I not jumped in and pulled her out, she most likely would have drowned.
The neighbors deemed me as a hero, but my Mother felt differently, I was scolded and sent to my room for having disobeyed. Had my Mom not told me, I would to this day be unaware of it, I remember nothing of the event. Nothing!
Okay, back to the run-away kid, yup that was me.
Well I didn’t actually run away per say after that first time. But if I had gone beyond my curfew, I’d hide out in a field, or in our backyard or down by the railroad tracks, trying to figure how I was going to explain why I was late.
Once, it was something as silly as a boy kissing me, and I enjoyed it, he even gave me a nice necklace and asked if I would accept being his girlfriend. He was fun to be around, but I didn’t really want to be his girlfriend at that time. But I did enjoy the kiss.
Weird as it may sound, I felt that I couldn’t tell my Mother about it, I felt that she’d get her panties all in a bunch if she learned that I actually enjoyed that kiss. I also felt that if she found out that he’d given me a necklace, she’d feel that he wanted to have sex with me, and I’d get another one of those long boring lectures.
The only alternative was to come up with a lie, and a good lie takes time to fabricate.
As all good liars know, one must weigh the odds, run out each and every possible scenario as to not get trapped. At times it took many hours before I felt it had it down to a point of not getting caught in my own words.
The fact that I had spent hours creating some lame-ass excuse did nothing to help my case. It only meant that I had passed my curfew and my parents were sick with worry while I was out back hiding in the tall grass working on a great lie that was only going to get me deeper in trouble.
Eventually I got sent to boarding school ............... <Next>