The basement door slammed shut behind me as I raced down the stairs.  I was mad as hell.  I ran into the confines of my room and threw myself on the bed.  I absolutely hated it here. I was tired of the screaming and berating.  I had enough of the abuse.  One of these days someone was going to pay for all of the mistreatment I took.

      I wept for a while, taking breaks to punch my mattress and stab holes in my pillow with the knife I had hidden in my dresser drawer. I felt much better after my angry outburst, though a little tired. After I got over my initial anger, I reanalyzed my situation and realized that this was the best thing that could happen to me. Being grounded to my room meant that I didn’t have to do chores or get yelled at. I always try to face the sun.

      I have recently been told that we create our own suffering, by reading into things and analyzing what might be, but I am sure that the coldness I felt alone in my room on those days was real. Aside, from the fact that there was no heater down there, except for during the winter when I was given a small space heater. I would have to put at least ten blankets on my bed just to keep warm at night, and I still dreaded getting between the sheets, because it was like ice cycles. However, that is not the kind of coldness I am referring to. I could be standing in the corner, in the same room as everyone else, where the furnace did heat, and feel the coldness then too. It came from not feeling loved or being one of them.

      I sat in my room that day listening to the laughter of the rest of my family. They were having fun and seemed happy. I don’t recall much fun or happiness when I was around them. It was as if I took away their joy. I knew that everyone’s life would be better if I left. I did leave a couple of times, but they came looking for me a while later. I was given more chores to do. That is probably when they realized I was missing, when I wasn’t there to do the chores. My older sister would sing while she worked and put these kerchiefs on her head when she worked as if she were Cinderella. Wrong fairy tale I guess, because from what I can see right now the way this story is going there will be no happy ending, no Prince Charming, no Happily Ever After.

See? Look at that once again I am ruining things, I am giving away the ending of the story. Where was I? Oh, the laughter in the living room above me… It would make me really sad, but I could tell no one because no one would understand. I was forced to keep it inside myself.

      I hated going to school. I was forced to sit amongst a group of people who were supposedly there for the same reasons I was. I can believe that. I was there because my parents made me go, but the appropriate answer was to learn and grow as a human beings into a well rounded, and respected adult. People made it more difficult, because you got teased if you didn’t come from the right side of town, you had the wrong last name, or your pockets weren’t full enough. That was the same reason I hated going to church. Aside from the fact that I didn’t come from the right side of town, I had the wrong last name, and my pockets were always empty, I also did the unthinkable, I went to Public School. Oh, the shame! Have to tell you though the public school kids were far nicer and more accepting than any of those Christian school brats. Christ must not be very nice, since all of them kids were being “Christ like”.

      I dealt with those places much in the same way as I did with my home life. I observed everyone else’s behaviors, I kept quiet, and I remained cold. I had a few good friends. Some of them I have held onto until this very day. I don’t live near them or talk to them much, but I still feel a closeness to them, maybe deep down they were much like me. I don’t know… I just wanted to be me.

      Well, there was one day I wanted to try to walk in someone else’s shoes. I wanted to know what it felt like to be from the right side of town, have the right name, and a full pocket. I wanted to know what it felt like to have people love me and care about me. I was alone in the locker room and it was really late in the afternoon. I was walking out and there under the bench was a pair of puma’s. I believe they were puma’s. That is if my memory serves me correct. Anyways, who cares right? I walked past them because at first glance I was thinking just that someone forgot to lock up their things. Then at the door, I thought that there was no one around and since they weren’t locked up they were essentially giving permission to anyone to have them. So, I put them in my backpack and went to meet my dad at the front of the school where he was going to be picking me up. I didn’t wear the shoes right away. I gave them a cooling off period of two weeks. Then one sunny day I wore my new shoes out into the world. I wore them to school. Now most people when they think of junior high they think of hundreds of kids and there is no possible way of knowing everyone. Well, I come from a small town where everyone knows everyone and all of their business. The school is comprised of kids from Kindergarten to Seniors and there are less than 500 of us. So, yeah this poor little girl, in her expensive shoes totally stood out.  I was getting compliments from everyone. I knew I was caught but I didn’t care, I was noticed, I was getting a little respect,…shit, I was going to get my ass kicked.  Sooooo, worth it! If the kids didn’t do it, someone at home would anyways, so it didn’t matter.

      After that I just stuck to being me.