Well, here it is. The end of my stay in the luxurious digs of this high security juvenile detention centre. I’m told I can go home, wherever that may be. Actually, they are allowing me to choose which home I go to, mother’s or father’s, since I’ll be 16 soon, I get to make my pick. 1 year probation, with the probation officermeeting with me at my home on a monthly basis. Oh brother. What a drag.
She was a joke. The probation officer. I remember pale red hair, freckles and a large run in her pantyhose. All she could talk about was me being Native, how did I feel about that, what issues was it creating for me. And so on and so on. I had no answers for her. I think I saw her every month but I don’t remember her talking about anything else to me. After I left Dad’s house, I saw her once more in her office. She gave me a paper saying I was old enough and mature enough to hold down a part-time job, go to school and pay for my own apartment. What can I say? The woman was overworked and underpaid.
Am I jubilant? Excited? Anxious? Talking? No. I am exactly like I’ve been the whole time…all stuck inside myself. I chose to go to my father’s house. Why would I do that? Because I wasn’t done with my tear yet of course! I had shit to do, people to see and trouble to cause. I wasn’t about to go back to my mother’s house with all her rules and strict control, not to mention the frequent abuse, physical as well as mental. My last court appearance was not memorable. My mother was there, throwing up her hands at my “wild ways” and uncooperative demeanour. I only remember the sound of the judge after pronouncing me free, banging the gavel lightly but to me it sounded LOUD. I think I actually jumped, a little startled. Of course, that could be because that sound brought me to the moment. I have no idea how long I was there, what was said or even if I actually participated in any way.
I arrived at my father’s house in a most attention-getting way…cop car, with my escort getting out and holding the door open for me, telling me to “be good” as I walked away. I didn’t look back. Headed straight to the side door, opened it and walked in. Right to my room, which I shared with my stepsister. The only things I owned in that room were my records and my clothes. No pictures, decorations or anything else that would give a clue there was another person staying there. That night, I went out, leaving before anyone got home from work. My curfew was midnight and I made it back at 11:59 PM. Lights out. Sleep.
It must have been June, cause I had exams to do. And I did them, without going to a single class. Easy government tests. I passed them all with marks averaging in the 90’s. Huh. What a waste of time. What wasn’t a waste of time was all the partying I did. Just one big blur of nights out, drugs and rock n roll. I partied hardy without so much as a taking a breath. Got raped by two losers. Sought help from the local bikersto extract my revenge. Got my revenge. Told no one else for years and years.
Argued with the old man whenever we would be in the same room together. He yelled, I yelled. Sometimes he’d storm out the door and sometimes I would. By the time the next school year was about ready to start, I was gone from there, with a razzle-dazzle fight unrivaled in that household. Stuff of family legend. Even my older brother, the “bad boy”of the family was impressed at how far I had managed to push “dear old mild-mannered calm and friend to all Dad“. Dad yelled, ranted and raved, threw stuff at me, backhanded me and smashed a television to bits. I packed my clothes and my records and took the bus to the city. Here I come Mother! And you are not ready for me:)
What a let down. Seems Mom had issues of her own. Her spiral downward made mine seem like a walk in the park. I retrieved her from the hospital after her suicide attempt. Strange that they released her to a 16-year-old, but I guess it’s because she tore a chunk of the doctor’s hand off with her teeth. He showed it to me a dozen times! Mom was in a straight jacket when I got there and after I signed all the paperwork we took a cab home. A very silent cab ride home. Once home she was crying and carrying on about her then current husband cheating on her blah blah blah. I tuned her out and got ready to hit the road. My younger brothers and little sister were strangely quiet and subdued, like there had been a death in the family.
When I got home that night, all strung out on whatever it is I took, all hell had broken loose at Mom’s. Kids were crying, Mom was screaming and that loser husband of hers was bullying them all. I had not one lick of sense that night and jumped into that scene with everything I had. What happened after that is nothing short of a nightmare.
This damn idiot had locked us in an abandoned motel…us kids in one room and Mom in another. No idea how he got us there. Then, the freakin’ lunatic set fire to the place! I somehow managed to break a window, get the kids out and find Mom. I abandoned them ALL on the sidewalk and hit the road. I didn’t return for a week. Where did I go? What did I do?
Not a clue.
All I can remember is the morning after I got home. Woke up as usual, all groggy and in pain, except this time the pain was less than usual. Finally worked myself up to throw my legs out of the bed and hit the floor running like normal. Didn’t happen. I hit the floor like a sack of potatoes. My lower legs were swollen to a bigger size than my thighs. Imagine, swollen toothpicks. I must have made a lot of noise ’cause everyone came rushing in the room, talking loud and someone was crying for heaven’s sake. I think it was my little sister.
Next thing I know, I’m in the hospital, tubes everywhere and Mom giving me the evil eye. I feign sleep. A doctor comes in and asks her “Does your daughter do drugs?” to which she replied “Oh no, not my daughter! She wouldn’t dare!”
Jig is up…that cracked me up to the point of hysterical laughter. I couldn’t stop. The nurse injected something into one of the tubes. I felt much calmer but really, really out of it.
Wonder what that was? Like floating on a cloud it felt really good. Never felt that way before and I was really liking it.
Are you surprised that after my stint in juvvie I went all out coo coo? I know I am. What was it going to take to get through to me?
Find out next time, part 5.