Revenge on Miller

I told a story once on my blog about how I got revenge on a kid for giving another girl a ring on Valentines day. I was in the 5th grade at the time. At the end of that story, I stated that I never sought revenge again. I would have to admit here and now that I blocked out this moment in time from my memory when I made that statement and would like to retract it now. I did seek revenge once more, and it's something I've regretted every day I take a breath.

After the Miller Miles, after I spent my time in Phoenix with Jodie and her family (story not yet written but will be next), after I went home, life returned to normal. I had nothing in my room. I had one change of clothes, I was forced to take medications I knew I didn't need. I went back to school as usual and was told every day that if I didn't come home after school, I would end up being put into Juvenile Detention. It was about the only threat they could make that still scared me. They had found my weakness.

I was so angry at Byron for having abandoned us on the side of the road. I had trusted him with my life and he just left us there. He made sure he was ok by going to his father, but in the end, the rest of us had nowhere to go. It was pure luck that I happened to know someone in the area and had a place I could go to. Without the kind people I knew in my childhood, I would have ended up on the streets, or worse. He never even pretended to care. When he got back to school and I ran into him in the hallway one day, he didn't even say he was sorry. Nothing. He didn't even smile at me. He ignored me like he didn't even know who I was.

I was outraged.

Byron got another girlfriend soon after the school year started. She had at one time been a close friend to me, but thanks to Byron sharing false stories with her, she never spoke to me again. I grew more and more angry. He spread rumors about me in every class I had through people he barely knew. Pretty soon, my head was about to burst. One day I was running across the street to catch the bus before it took off and Byron happened to be driving by. Instead of ignoring me or staying at the speed limit and in his own lane, Byron swerved directly at me and sped up. I ran harder as I watched him through the windshield shifting gears in his car. He lowered his chin and looked at me with a stare of pure evil. I stopped dead in my tracks and spun on my heels. I got out of the way of his car barely in time, and the drivers side rear view mirror clipped the back of my arm. The force spun me around completely.

The bus went on, oblivious to what had just happened in their blind spot. The driver of a truck pulled over to check on me.

"Are you OK?" The voice sounded familiar. "You need to call the cops." I looked up to discover Steve, my childhood crush, sitting behind the wheel of the truck.

"No, I'm fine." He smiled that old familiar smile.

"Hop in, I'll give you a ride." It was a well kept secret on my part that my parents wouldn't let me get a ride home with anyone, especially anyone my age. It had something to do with my mother having a wild ride in the back of a pick up as a teenager and thinking she was going to die. While all of my friends were carpooling to school or driving themselves, I was still stuck riding the bus since I wasn't allowed to do either. Still, I had missed the bus because of Byron and I didn't want to end up in Juvenile Detention because of it, so I climbed into Steve's truck.

It was a big, broad old 1963 Chevy pick up truck in a rust and off-white color. The rust wasn't actually paint though, but Steve couldn't have been more proud of that thing. He had even changed the transmission himself the month before, he said. I hadn't seen him in a while and there was a lot of catching up to do. We talked the whole way to my house. Before I knew what we were doing, he pulled up into my driveway.

I jumped out, still chattering away like a chipmunk. I told him all about my adventure over the summer and why it was Byron had tried to run me over. Steve was going 90 to nothing right along with me when my mother walked out of the house.

"Young lady, get in the house right now." Whenever she called me Young Lady, I knew I was in trouble. I trudged towards the door with her holding it open. She shewed Steve off like a fly, something I'd never seen her do to Steve before. He had always been a welcome addition to the family. "What have I told you about taking rides from people," she said, loud enough for Steve to hear.

Steve found me a couple of days later. There were a few things he still wanted to get straight about Byron. He wanted as many details as I was willing to give him, and I didn't spare anything. He agreed that Jason was disgusting and Bryon "wasn't a man" for not taking better care of his sister. He was so disgusted in the end that he told me under no uncertain terms that he and his 'friends' would take care of Byron. He said I wouldn't have to worry about Byron trying to hit me with his car ever again.

My parents went out for dinner one night and Steve came by to pick me up. Before I knew it, we had pulled into the driveway of one of his friends. We jumped out of the truck and Steve told me to get into the back of a small 4 door car. I did as instructed.

A big guy by the name of Martin Davis got into the drivers seat, and his brother Hub, even bigger, got into the back with me. Both of them looked as big as linebackers on a pro football team. Both wore snakeskin boots and ball caps. Both looked like guys I wouldn't want to run into wandering down a dark alley.

We made another stop on our way out to Clearfield. One more guy climbed into the back seat, nearly as big as Hub Davis. I was squashed up against the door and felt like a mafia squealer being taken for a ride. Something in the world wasn't right. I wasn't scared, but yet I was. Tension was heavy in the air. Nobody said a word.

When we pulled up in front of Stephanie's old house, I knew life was about to get really complicated. The last time I had seen the place was early in the morning the day we started the long drive to Arizona. The guy next to Hub got out and went to knock on the door. I watched out of the tinted window as much to my amazement, Byron emerged from the house. The guy put his arm around Byron and started walking him towards the car, both laughing and smiling the whole way. They acted like old buddies. Astounded, embarrassed and finally worried, I tried to slide down into the floorboards of the car. Hub pulled me back up.

"No you don't," he said. "You have no reason to hide. You're here to see this."

I sat back up, and Hub told me to squeeze over a bit. There was nowhere for me to go, but I tried. I ended up sitting on my hip, my butt up against the door. Hub scooted over next to me. The door opened and the strange guy with Byron grabbed him by the back of the neck. He pushed his head down towards the car door, and at first Byron had a pleasant smile on his face.

Byron's face went from a smile to an astonished look of fear. He looked at Hub and then at me. His face melted, his eyes popped and he started muttering 'no, no, no' to nobody in particular. He tried to back out, but the force behind him was too great. Hub reached forward and grabbed Byron's shirt. As he pulled Byron into the car, the guy behind him pushed. Byron ended up sprawled over Hub's lap, looking me in the eyes. The fear behind them was unmistakable. I was more than certain that it was the same look I had in my eyes when he nearly hit me with his car.

The stranger got back into the car, lifting Byron's legs enough to fit under them. He slammed the door shut behind him and Martin drove calmly away from the run down little house. Nobody came outside to see what was going on. Nobody stopped us. Nobody questioned us. I prayed they would.

"Is this him," Hub asked Steve.

"Yeah, that's him."

"You sure?" His deep voice was masterful and deadly. It sent shivers to my soul.

"Yeah." Steve turned around in his seat to get a good look. "That's him."

"I don't even know you," Byron wailed.

"Shut up," Martin said from the drivers seat.

"Yeah, you ain't here to talk," Hub finished.

The stranger spoke then. "Byron, we believe you owe this young lady an apology," he said sternly, but with a slight smile.

"Sorry," Byron said out of obvious fear.

"That's not good enough," he said. Suddenly things went from bad to ugly. The stranger, the person Byron seemed to know when they met at the door, suddenly swung wildly at Byron's face. His fist landed squarely on Byron's jaw and he instantly pulled back and swung again. I screamed and turned my face towards the window, closing my eyes. Hub grabbed my head and turned it back towards Byron's face.

"You're going to watch this," he said to me.

"I'm sorry!" Byron screamed out, his voice reaching octaves I didn't know were possible. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm SORRY!" He began to cry deep, sobbing tears. His sobs began to get in the way of his words. The swings came again and again, more brutal with every swing.

Martin kept driving and turned calmly into a back alleyway. Steve turned in his seat and began swinging then too. I used to beat Steve up in a fun way at school when we were just 12 years old. I couldn't picture him ever hurting anyone. He was always so sweet. Suddenly he was a monster.

Steve and the stranger continued punching Byron until he couldn't do anything but curl up and cry. I felt bad for Byron. I wanted to help him, but there was nothing I could do. I cried right along side him. Finally Hub spoke up.

"That's enough," he said. For a moment I was relieved, but Hub wasn't done. "It's my turn."

Steve and the stranger stopped. Hub looked down at Byron and smiled and evil, wicked smile. I turned my head and covered my ears with my hands.

From there I've blocked out the memory. I only remember Martin pulling over and the door of the car swinging open. The stranger stood up and grabbed Byron by the feet. With one mighty tug, there was one less person in the car. Byron landed on his face and hands, but that wasn't the end of it. The stranger drug him across the ground by his feet. Finally, in the middle of a mud puddle, he released Byron's feet and they fell with a splash into the water. The stranger knelt down and spoke to Byron as calmly as a teacher giving a homework assignment.

"You'll never talk to her again. You'll never look at her again. If you go anywhere near her ever again, they will never find your body." He smiled. "Clear?"

"Yeah," Byron said.

"Same goes if you ever say a word about any of this to anyone."

The stranger got back into the car and I watched as Byron got to his feet and ran as hard as he could as Martin put the car in drive and we pulled slowly away.

The guys laughed the entire way back to my street. As I got out of the car and headed toward the house, I heard them laughing and talking about the entire incident. I had a serious night of rethinking the direction my life was taking that night. It wasn't my parents I needed to get away from, but rather the corruption, danger and insanity of everyone around me. I needed to get out of that life, and there was no way out but to get away from it all. That was when I decided I would be going back to Arizona and making a life for myself anywhere but Utah.

The cops came by the house a few days later. Fear gripped my guts.

"Manda," my mom said as I walked up to the house, "the police have some questions for you."

"Yes Sir?" I asked in my most polite manner. My heart was racing and I knew exactly what it was about.

"We had a strange complaint the other day. Do you know someone named Byron Miller?"

"Yes I do. Or, rather, I did."

"Do you know about what happened to him?" My mind raced. I knew a lot about Byron. I knew more about what happened to him than I wanted to, and I really wished it never happened in the first place. At that second, more than anything I wished I could turn back time and never tell Steve about anything.

"I know his Dad sent him home again from Arizona. Is that what you mean?"

"No, I'm talking about Friday night."

"Byron and I don't talk anymore. He even has a new girlfriend now. What happened to him?"

"He was beaten up pretty badly. He's got a few broken bones and needed some stitches. He's still in the hospital."

"Oh my gosh! Is he ok?!"

"He'll be fine." He looked closely at my eyes. "Do you know anything about it?"

"No! Oh no, I hope he's ok. Which hospital?"

"He's at Ogden Memorial. You're sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. We don't get along anymore, but I wouldn't want to ever hurt him." That part was the truth.

"Someone said he tried to hit you with his car the other day. Is that true?"

"Well, yeah, but I think he just didn't see me."

"Ok." He looked at me another moment. "Byron told us that you were there when it happened."

"He said that?!"

"Yeah. You're sure you don't know anything about it?"

"Positive, Sir. I hope you find the guys that did it to him though."

The officer then turned back to my mother, who stood just out of hearing range on the porch. He tipped his hat to her, bid her a good afternoon, and left.

"He tried to hit you with his car?" Mom looked concerned.

"Yeah, but it's no big deal."

"When was that?"

"It was the day Steve gave me a ride home. I missed the bus because of Byron and I didn't want to get in trouble so he gave me a ride."

"You didn't hurt Byron, did you?"

"NO!" I lied.

"Ok." She paused a moment. "Why didn't you tell me that was why Steve gave you a ride home?"

"Because you wouldn't have believed me."

"Probably not."

I've lived with the regret of that day every day of my life, each time it's brought back to my conscious thoughts. I wished I could have changed things. Byron had more than broken bones and stitches. He had internal bleeding and some major trauma to his core. He was in the hospital for two weeks. When he got out, he changed schools and I never saw him again.

I also never talked to Steve or any of his 'friends' ever again.

The story you just read was true, the names of people were changed in order to protect myself more than them. It's a chapter of my life I'm not proud of, and a story that only the people in the car that night ever knew until now. I swore to never tell anyone, and this story didn't exist even in my original book. I have managed to contact Steve again, and he's a completely different person. He left Utah and moved to Wyoming where he finally found the father figure he desperately needed. He finished off his teen years working on a horse ranch earning his keep and learning respect for all living things. He now drives a truck cross country.

The Miller Miles

The first time I ran away with Byron Miller, he snuck me into his Grandparents house without their knowledge.

Byron Miller went to the "Alternative" school with me. We met one day in our Math class, I think. He was a cowboy, and back then I had a weakness for wranglers and Stetson hats. He was adorable at 5'10 and 175lbs. His dark hair and eyes were a sharp contrast to his fair skin pigment. His ancestry was Scottish, and anyone who's ever known me would know I've had a weakness for the Scottish blood lines and pride my whole life. Even my last name (Blackwood) is a Scottish name, though it's not my actual last name at all.

So few of my friends had cars that when I discovered Byron had his own car, he suddenly became a God in my eyes. He had it all; Wranglers, a Stetson, Scottish blood, a license and a car. He was a dream come true! I flirted mercilessly.

For some odd reason, Byron liked me right off the bat. Perhaps it was because I showed an interest in him while he was still new to Washington High. He was scared, much as I was the first few days I spent there. The school had many suspected Gang members in it, and each looked scarier than the next, but what Byron didn't realize was that we were all equals. Even the gang members were respected and were respectful of others. They even made sure to pay attention in class, lest a teacher get upset with them. They treated everyone like family and were even protective of the kids that would have normally been picked on in any other school. We were the Misfit Toys.

Byron's car was a little 1989 Honda CRX. It was white with black details, and before then I never even noticed them before. After I saw Byron drive into the parking lot one day before school, I noticed them everywhere I went. I even ditched my wonderful English "Business Writing" class one day to sit out in his car, claiming I wasn't feeling well. A few of the kids tried to pressure me into driving it, but I'd never driven a car before. I put the key in and turned it. The car lurched forward and jerked to a stop just before smashing into a light pole. It died instantly. All the kids laughed at me. They chanted something about a stick shift, but I didn't get the joke. I just closed the doors, rolled up the windows and took a nap.

By the time Byron came outside after class, the battery to his car was dead. Since the car had died, I didn't realize I had to turn off the car all the way and pull the keys out. Once more I had to endure an onslaught of laughter. It was a different laughter than I had been used to at Bonneville, though. They weren't laughing at me to be mean, but rather because the whole thing was quite funny. One of the kids with a big truck pulled around to give Byron's battery a jump start, and Byron kissed me on the cheek sweetly, telling me that it was ok. I confessed to him what I had done and why the key was in place to begin with, and he smiled ear to ear.

"You don't know how to drive?"

"No," I said, ashamed of myself. I was 17 years old that past December and I wasn't allowed to learn how to drive due to my grades.

"I'll teach you," he said to me, kissing me on the cheek again. "But in return, you have to promise not to steal my car." The kids around us laughed again and I smiled broadly. Byron held my hand in his, and suddenly I went from being a friend of his to being his girlfriend. That was automatically what it meant when a boy held a girls hand in front of everyone like that.

I got in trouble for skipping that class when I got home that evening. I was yelled at and screamed at. I stood there and took it, never once shedding a tear, never once breaking down or giving in. They had taken away everything but the mattress on the floor - what more could they do to me?

I bottled up my anger and frustration that night and let it all out when I saw Byron the next day. Even then I had very alternative ways of showing anger and frustration, though. Instead of crying or whining, I explained the situation in a matter-of-fact way. I even laughed at the cruelest of details, like the reason I wore the same clothes each day and why I chose to walk 4 miles each day in the snow and rain to reach a bus stop rather than catch the one by my house, because I wanted to get out of the house before my parents woke up. I told him about Tirzah Tolman and Steve; the two times I ran away from home. I laughed when I told him about my parents taking away everything I owned, thinking they could control me that way. What more could they take away from me? They would never control me, I wasn't the kind of person to be controlled by anyone, especially through acts of cruelty. Byron listened. He asked questions. When all was said and done, he asked what I would be leaving behind if I left.

"Only my dog." I didn't want to loose Cookie, but I knew that my mother loved her as much as I did. In the back of my mind, I knew she would never get rid of her just to punish me. Taking away everything I owned was one thing. Gambling with another living thing was something even my parent's wouldn't dare do. Would they?

"You're not going home tonight," he said. "You're coming home with me."

I protested, but only a little. After all, being the manipulative teen that I was, this was exactly what I wanted. Byron pulled me close and held on to me. I let him think I was in pain and that the hug was helping me, but in the reality of my mind and heart, I was once more getting exactly what I wanted. I found a place to stay other than with my parents. An evil grin spread across my face as I hugged him back gently with a weakening, sad grip.

He smuggled me into his Grandparents house and I stayed there the next several days. It wasn't easy coming and going. They didn't know I was there. I had virtually no freedom, but I was ok with that. Byron brought me food from the kitchen, and I lived the life of luxury, sleeping under a quilt and watching TV in the bedroom. I had soft pillows, there was a computer to play on and I could finally stretch out and touch something with the tips of my fingers no matter where I stood. The room didn't echo like my own did. What a wonderful feeling that was.

Three days went by before my parents showed up at the front door. Since Byron's grandparents didn't know I was there, I watched from the bedroom window as they knocked on the door. Byron's grandmother answered, told my parents that they didn't even know who I was, and watched them walk back down the steps to Mom's car. As they drove away I breathed a sigh of relief. Then I heard the footsteps coming down the hall.

I shimmied under the bed and grabbed my shoes to pull under with me. As I had predicted, they entered the room, looked around, turned off the television and walked back out. Unfortunately, they forgot to close the door behind them. I was trapped under the bed for the rest of the afternoon.

When Byron came back that evening, the look of panic on his face was as broad as a search light. He grabbed the door handle to his room and looked around wildly, obviously wanting to know what happened to me. His grandparents called him to the living room and I could tell he thought the world had just ended. They had surely found me.

They asked Byron who this Amanda girl was, because her parents had come looking for her. He told them that I was his girlfriend and that I hadn't been in school for a few days. He also embellished, and told them that he thought my dad beat me every night. He told them that he was worried about me, that maybe the reason I hadn't been in school was because my dad had beaten me so badly that I couldn't walk. His grandparents gasped in astonishment and told him that if he heard from me to please let them know. I slapped a hand over my mouth and sat there, stunned.

"Did you go in my room," he asked them both.

"Yes, why?"

"I just remember closing the door this morning before I left," he explained. "Did you need something?"

"We were just checking to see if maybe you had smuggled someone into your room. We didn't see anything so we just turned off the TV and left again. We didn't disturb anything else."

Byron came back to his room and closed the door. He sat down on the bed, trying to sort things out in his mind. I reached out and grabbed his ankle - probably not the smartest thing to do if we were trying to be quiet. He yelped.

"Byron? Are you ok?" His grandfather called out to him.

"Yeah," he said, obviously through a smile, "I just," he paused, searching, "stubbed my toe."

He jumped up from the bed and got on his hands and knees to peer under the bed at me.

"I'm so glad you're still here! I thought for sure when I saw the door open..."

"I've been here all day long," I told him. "I heard them coming down the hall and I just found a spot to hide. It was either under here or in the closet, and I thought they might look in the closet."

"That was smart."

"Yeah, but when they left the door open, I knew I'd be here for a while. I probably wont sleep much tonight. I've been sleeping almost all day. There was nothing else to do."

The next day we decided it would be best if I snuck out through the window and we both went to school. We would look around and ask friends throughout the day to see if any of them were willing to take me in for a while. About half way through the day, the Police showed up at the school. All the kids faces were pressed to the windows, wondering what was going on. They came straight into my classroom and asked the teacher which one I was. Then they had me get in the car with them and they took me directly to the Police Station where my parents picked me up. I was humiliated. I felt betrayed. I had trusted Byron to take care of me and yet I was being sent home.

I forgave him the next day.

There really wasn't much my parents could do to me, though they threatened even more. Physical pain only lasted so long. I was numb to it all. They said that they were going to pick me up from school each day and drop me off in the mornings. I scoffed.

"I'll get up before you and be gone. I'll skip my last class of the day and disappear. The only way you'll know where I am at any time is to be handcuffed to me all day." I kept a straight face, numb and devoid of emotion. I spoke calmly and rationally. It infuriated them. The threats and ideas continued, each one a weak attempt of gaining control over me and crushing my spirit. None of it worked.

That was the moment when I discovered that no person of the face of the Earth can force another to do their bidding. The human spirit is too strong for that. Even with a gun to our heads, we still have a choice.

"So what happened," Byron asked me. I told him everything, not skipping a single detail. I told him about the fresh bruises I expected to see in various places. I explained how they had planned to control my every move even more. I told him everything just as calmly as I had replied to my parents the night before. He hugged me tightly again and I knew I had him where I wanted him. He's surely find me a permanent place to stay now.

"Look," he said, "my Dad lives in Arizona. I wanted to go down there this summer to stay with him. I was going to drive. My little sister lives with her mom over in Clearfield right now. I was going to take her with me. Why don't we go now? We'll plan the whole thing out and I'll take you with us. School is almost out anyway, we'll only miss the last week."

And so it was planned. We would scrape together every cent we could between the three of us, eventually growing the group into four people. We piled up into Byron's two-seater car and we began the long journey to Arizona, three fugitives and a free spirit.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Go Away! (poem)

Just Go Away!!!


You’ve asked me for a date.
Go away.
You want more time with me.
Go away.
You’re too impatient to wait.
Go away.
Why cant you let me be?
Go away.

You’ve called me every day.
Go away.
You’ve given me so many things.
Go away.
I don’t know how else to say.
Go away.
I wont be one of your flings.
Go away.

Its not ok in my eyes.
Go away
Please don’t cheat on your wife.
Go away.
I once thought you so wise
Go away
I wont be your second life.
Go away.

I wont be how you break your vow
Go away
You’re not who I think of.
Go away.
There’s someone else in my life now
Go away.
I found someone I love.
Go away.

Do not come by my house anymore.
Go away.
Please don’t call me again.
Go away.
I will not be your dirty whore.
Go away.
I am something you'll never win.
Go away.

Amanda Blackwood
08/04/06

(This was written and dedicated to a stalker.)

Big Black Snake

The first snake I ever saw was in the middle of a dirt road tire track. He was black and slimy in my opinion, though I learned much later in life that it wasn't slimy at all. He sat there, sinister and shining in the sun, glinting as though it was encrusted with exquisite jewels.

In mid-pedal, I dumped my bike, jumped several feet backwards, and ran for home like it was chasing me. I could practically feel that forked tongue lapping at my heels as I ran. I stepped high, lifting my knees nearly to my chest. At some point, a blood curdling scream escaped from my mouth as I ran the half mile back to the house. By the time I got there, I had morphed that into screams of "Snake! Snake!"

My mother was waiting outside for me when I rounded the corner and leapt over the ditch in one tremendous bound. As I flew through the air, I suddenly realized that there could be any number of snakes in the grass I was about to land in. Just the week before my mother told me about a snake she had run over with the lawn mower over by the wood shed. My feet landed and I sprang straight back into the air, throwing my body wildly over as much ground as I could cover with each leap. I looked like a cross between a gazelle and a baboon, I'm sure. I was a rather lanky 7 year old.

By the time my mother convinced me to walk back down the road with her to retrieve my bike, I had stopped shaking and the sun had stopped shining. The stars began to peek their heads in the darkening horizon. The crickets chirped, telling of the coming evening. I walked slowly, not wanting to face that snake any more at that time than I had the first time I came nose to nose with it. A rabbit bounced across the path in front of us. The birds flitted from tree to tree and the cows grazed in a near by pasture, occasionally calling to one another. Arkansas in the spring was the most beautiful place I had ever seen.

The snake was long gone by the time we got to where my bike rested in the middle of a small mud puddle. I still laugh at myself and how afraid I was of that little snake. I remained terrified of snakes for many years until one day I was face to face with a pet snake belonging to a boy I liked. So completely bent on impressing this boy, I reached out and gingerly took the snake from his hands. I wrapped it around my neck and over my shoulders the way I had seen him do. Then I smiled my most winning, fetching smile for an awkward girl of 12 years old. I was still terrified, but I was too stupid to show it.

At times I have moments of that same type of stupidity. My judgement lapses and when fear tells me NOT to do something, I challenge myself to do it anyway. I've learned a few tricks for doing this, such as convincing myself that when I reach the number 1 counting backwards from 10 I will attack whatever it is I'm afraid of. I've used this method for saying things that needed to be said and I was afraid of saying. I've used this to pick up snakes, hold spiders and tarantulas, ride glass elevators and climb into a VERY tall roller coaster.

This past weekend I tried to do something along these lines and I failed. I'll try it again the next time the opportunity presents itself - and I'll do it by remembering the big black snake. It's the first time I've failed at this method... and I won't let it happen again.

The Wreck

"... and here we are, going round in circles, wondering if the lie will be discovered. I’ve told some big ones, but never really on this grand of a scale. And to what end? Actually, strangely enough, it covers her tail end in several different directions. She’s a crazy one. Perhaps someday she’ll let more people in on the secret, but for now it’s only me. For now she won’t even tell her own family. For now, nobody knows. Nobody but herself, me, and the driver of the small pick up truck that crashed into us..."

Exerpt from my book three days before Heathers death.

Lost in Prague

For many, many years I had a terrible sense of direction. I would get lost walking from my house to the bus stop. It didn't help that the house was situated at an odd angle on the corner of a 5 way intersection. I wouldn't know my North from the West if my life had depended on it. I knew how to get home and how to get to school, but for all else, I depended on others around me. In the middle of the night, in a foreign country where English was barely spoken, I had a rude wake-up-call at 23 years old and to this day I have a hard time realizing how lucky I am to be alive.

Bill and I had gone to Germany for Stefan and Barbara's wedding. It was the first time I had been back to Germany since we moved away in 1982. I hadn't remembered anything about the beautiful Country in which I was born except for the briefest of flashes during that moment I found myself reminiscing over my life with my grandfather while stuck in that layer between death and life. Even then it was too limited to really know anything about where I had been born. All I could tell anyone was that I was born in Kaiserslautern.

I had dreamed of going back to Germany for many years. For my 16th birthday my parents bought a VHS tape about tourism in Germany and took me to the only German restaurant in Ogden. It was a birthday worth remembering. So when I found out that there was a chance to go see where I was born, I jumped at it, eager to see the world.

We flew into New York City with the aspirations of seeing a Broadway show with some other people who were also headed to the wedding over seas. I couldn't believe it - this trip was going to give me two of my greatest dreams! Next to Germany, my other top item on my 'bucket list' was to go to a Broadway show!

Unfortunately things happen and my dreams of seeing the show were dashed upon the rocks like a ship lost in a storm. With Richard and Gloria, things often "came up" at the last minute, so that trip we never made it to Broadway. We had a quiet dinner in a restaurant with a 2 hour wait for a table. All I kept thinking was that we could have spent that 2 hours at Broadway, Damn the meal. The next day we were boarding a flight to Germany though, so I didn't let it dampen my spirits.

We flew into Frankfurt on a 14 hour flight with me stuck in a broken seat that wouldn't recline. Gloria's snide condescension drove me up the proverbial wall. I'd never truly liked her very much anyway, but I had always been good at being 'pleasant' to her in social situations. I grabbed out my ear buds and popped them in when the movie started with the intention of drowning her out. My in-flight head set didn't work right for the movie though, and by the time we got there I was so bored with word search puzzles that I never wanted to see another for as long as I lived and it was all I could do to restrain myself from knocking Gloria unconscious - but we were THERE. We had made it to Germany!

My nerves were a bit frayed at this point from lack of sleep and the occasional condescending blast from Gloria. Society cant pin that many people into a cramped space with screaming kids and falling hat boxes without expecting those who know one another to be cranky with one another. We're constricted by social graces to be kind to strangers, but with people we know, we can be our cranky selves. By the time we loaded up in the rented diesel station wagon, the four of us were snapping like bears in the salmon run. We were each out for blood and we knew it.

Even the ever-patient Richard grew testy. I was ready to claw Gloria's eyes out with just one more snide comment about how I was too young to know about this or that, or that I didn't know about a particular social grace because I didn't "grow up with money" as she put it. I couldn't help but think to myself that she most likely didn't either. Due to the way she spoke to those around her, I guessed that I had more class, dignity and grace in my little finger nail than she possessed in her entire body. There were certain things I'd never understand according to her because she was a nurse and I wasn't. There was something about Gloria that I truly despised. Later on I discovered what the underlying reason was for her condescension and knew that I was justified in my dislike of the woman. I'll save that story for another day.

Gloria had been rude each time she thought even for a second that it couldn't be overheard by the men. I wasn't the type of person to complain, so when some of her remarks were overheard inside the car, Bill started to realize there was something going on. He knew me well and could tell when I didn't like someone, but he didn't say anything to me about it. He thought it was all in my mind, most likely. She proved that it wasn't all in my mind, Gloria really did NOT like me. She made that trip almost unbearable for me, but vindicated me at the same time.

We drove from Frankfurt through East Germany and straight in to Prague, only getting lost once or twice on the way. We got there late at night and settled in to a Bed and Breakfast where we would be staying for the next few days. Before even 10 minutes passed, we were settled into bed for the night, exhausted from the long journey. Each of us felt as though we either had a plane or a car growing out of our buts.

The next day we found ourselves wandering Prague. We visited the famous sights, took tours of castles far removed from the city and purchased typical "tourist" items like watercolor paintings of the famous clock tower. We watched the fire eaters and sword jugglers on the Charles bridge, we peered in awe at the blue glass in the shop windows along every street. The church was stunning. Prague was one of the most beautiful cities I'd ever seen in my life. By the time we stopped into the bar for a quick meal though, we were starving and tensions were high once more.

We drank fresh Pilsner beer, marveling at the massive difference between that and what we get in the States. With the beer, lips became loose and we all began to have words. Gloria had pushed me to the limit, and when Bill said something to me, I took in a negative way. Honestly I don't even remember what he said, but tempers were flared and I was more frustrated than I let on.

Without warning, I snapped. I walked out of the bar leaving the three of them sitting there. Gloria huffed behind me, complained about my being so immature because of my age, and sighed in complete impatience and ignorance.

Bill thought I would be right back. My own stubborn pride refused to allow me. I stayed outside for a few minutes, but Bill came out and I couldn't handle a discussion right then. He strode out with purpose and told me that he wanted to talk to me. He didn't sound happy and I really didn't want to start screaming at him in the middle of the crowded street. I walked away into the crowd and didn't look back.

If I were to guess, I would estimate the time was around 5 in the evening. I was hungry and angry, a dangerous combination for a redhead. Had anyone messed with me right then, they would have had the fight of a lifetime on their hands. I didn't stop walking. I walked past familiar shop windows, my face steaming. I practically sped across the Charles Bridge, striding with purpose past the stunt performers and street dancers. I blazed past the musicians with open guitar cases. When I passed the station, I dug into my pockets. I had no money so I couldn't take the train anywhere - I just kept walking. By the time the sun went down, I strongly wished I hadn't left my jacket at the table. It had been hours since I walked away from the table and my hunger was getting the better of me. I told myself to remember the Saltine crackers, and I just kept walking.

Dark, shady cars filled with dark, shady faces slowed down to look at me. Taxi's offered me a ride, but with no currency there wasn't much I could do. I ignored the young men making eyes at me. When the three men carrying hand guns down the middle of the road with the large, scary guy carrying an assault rifle walked past me, I refused to make eye contact. Prague turned out to be a little frightening at night.

I tried to tell myself that I was going the right direction, but I wasn't really sure. Some of the streets I wandered down started to look familiar, like I had seen them once or twice before. I walked past the Prague clock tower at least three times. I walked back across the Charles bridge no less than three times, too.

The smiling faces of the flame throwers became the grimacing mugs of tattooed fire eaters as the sun set. The sword jugglers became the night's assassins, out for my blood. The shops with the lovely blue glasses were suddenly dark and empty recesses filled with sinister shadows. Around every turn I found something waiting to swallow me into this strange world.

When finally I found the main street leading out of Prague, it was nearing 11 at night. I was all alone on the streets of a foreign country where I didn't even speak the polite words like please and thank you in the native tongue. Even if someone were to attack me, I couldn't beg for my life properly. Not that I would do something like that. I couldn't cry out for help. I didn't know the streets, so I couldn't even run away. I had no allies. I was stranded and alone in the dark night of a dangerous land.

In the year 2003 the Czech Republic had some of the highest crime rates for several of the surrounding nations. When the sun goes down in Prague, girls get kidnapped and sold as sex slaves. I couldn't believe as I wandered the frightening streets of Prague at midnight that I had once again put myself into that position.

I was certain that by now Bill had gotten Gloria and Richard to agree to look for me. I was lost, cold, alone and frightened. I was hungry and tired. But I knew that since I was finally on the main road, it was only another 2 hour walk back to the Bed and Breakfast just outside of town. I could see a possible shortcut in front of me to cut about an hour off of my travel. The scariest part would be having to walk parallel to the railroad tracks, trying to avoid eye contact with the street bums. I was no stranger to that tactic, so I decided to go for it.

The industrial section of Prague spewed black smoke into the air, making the dark night even darker, enveloping the stars in a thick soot that settled on everthing around me. Flames spat into the air from the chimneys, allowing brief glimpses of my surroundings. I stumbled once and fell on my hands and knees. When I stood up to dust myself off, I looked to see what it was I had stumbled over. There behind me was a leg poking out from under a blanket. It was cold to the touch, like ice. The blanket wasn't wrapped around the body at all, but rather just tossed on top. I wondered if the body was even alive. The chimney vomited more flames and black soot, and under one corner of the blanket I saw the face.

His eyes were dark, hollow shells. He stared off into nothing, vacantly resting on a pile of broken wood and shattered bricks. Even staring straight into his face I couldn't tell if he was alive or not, but I strongly assumed he wasn't.

I bolted. I ran for all I was worth, tearing up the ground beneath me with each foot fall. I clinched my teeth together to avoid screaming. Bones were littered here and there; I couldn't help but wonder if they were human or not. The chimney kept belching out black, ominous clouds over bright flashes of evil flames. The world had never seemed so dark.

I shivered, partially from cold but mostly from fear. I stumbled my way down the tracks. Dogs howled and barked in the distance and I suddenly had flashes in my mind of running from a pack of German Shepherds as they tracked me down and ate me for trespassing. I splashed through an open sewer and up the side of the embankment, scrambling and clawing at the hill side for something to pull myself up. The dogs sounded closer with every second. I grappled my way over the chain link fence and fell in a heap on the other side.

An hour later, I realized I was damn lucky I made it all the way back.

Bill was rightfully angry at me when he found me at 3:30 in the morning snuggled up in bed after a hot shower, sound asleep, I don't remember what was said or for how long he said it, but looking back on that frightening night, I'm sure I deserved every moment of it. What I had done was incredibly impulsive and ridiculously dangerous. I don't know exactly what I was thinking that day, if I was thinking at all.

I had been so scared and cold that night wandering around in a strange city thousands of miles from home that I didn't care how long he yelled at me, I was just happy to be back.

Until now I never told a soul about the train yard of Prague. Not even Bill.

 

.

Shack in the Woods

WARNING - THIS STORY IS NOT
FOR THE WEAK OF STOMACH.


By far I think some of the most unusual friends I had in my youth were brothers, Steve and Dan Stakely. For years I had an incurable crush on Steve, who was my age and grade. I was always boy-crazy, but my mother was convinced I would someday marry this crush. Steve and Dan’s mother was convinced equally that Dan would one day marry his crush as well. His crush just happened to me me. It made for many interesting stories involving the bus ride to and from school. At the time, I wasn’t being a very good role model, but I also didn’t realize that Dan looked up to me as much as he did.

I was a rather poor student at the time one particular adventure took place. Well, I wasn’t exactly a bad student. I was actually quite a good student, when I was at school. I had started skipping classes the year before, and eventually it elevated to entire weeks the next year. At this point, it was just a day here, a day there. I suppose I must have been about sixteen at the time, or almost that age. Dan was most likely somewhere around the age of fourteen.

In the beginning, Dan and I would just decide not get on the bus in the mornings. Instead, we would walk down to the park and meet at one particular place. From there we would decide on where to go and what to do. Sometimes we walked to Sheplers and filled out job applications. Other days we would go browsing through Media Play or Walmart. Nobody ever said anything to us about not being in school. He and I had quite a few adventures, but none so memorable as the day we decided to stay at the park on a snowy, cold, frozen day and tried to find some shelter.

Dan and I had explored the woods behind the Cinedome at the park many times. We knew the trees and the paths through them almost as well as we know our own back yards. We headed up the winding sewage creek towards the top of the hill. We climbed and scrambles our way up the muddy embankment past where the sewage pipe submerged from the sheer mud cliff. We emerged in a clearing and could see nothing around but trees, a wrecked, stripped, and rusted old mail van, and a tiny old wooden shack off in the distance.

For a moment, we lingered in the old van, neither of us wanting to do what was coming next. At this point, it was already clear to me that Dan thought I was the toughest girl he had ever known, and had taken liberty to tell me as much on several occasions. To one person, I stood out in a crowd. I was finally important to someone. I didn’t want that to change in his eyes, or my own. I’m not entirely sure if it was ego or pure stupidity that made me do what came next, but one thing that will never change is that I did something I had thought I would never do.

Dan and I picked our way across the snow dusted field, being sure to only step on the tufts of grass on alternating sides all the way up the path. With each tip toe step on the grass we tried to leave footprints indistinguishable from the grass itself. We continued this way until we reached the old wooden shack. One window looked into the building but was too high and too dirty to see into. I pulled my brand new gloves out of my pockets with frozen hands, and slipped my fingers into the leather extremities. My body heat had warmed the gloves as they snuggled deeply in my jacket pockets, and the warmth felt wonderful on my Popsicle fingertips. I clenched and unclenched my fist a couple of times in order to stretch the leather to my hand just so. When I was ready, I struck. The sixteen inch high, one foot wide pane of glass shattered.

Dan stood back in awe. His mouth hung slightly ajar, and his eyes were wide with surprise. I opened my fist inside the window and with a flat palm, pulled more of the glass out through the fresh opening. I picked the broken glass out of the back of my now serrated brand new leather glove and tossed it into a nearby bush. In my heart I knew that what I had just done went against everything I had ever been taught, but at that moment, it just didn’t matter to me. I wanted to hang on to that feeling of being important and needed. I suppose then that it was my ego getting the better of me. I wanted to remain someone who stood out in a crowd. I suppose that was the turning point. I’ve stood out now nearly every day since.

I drug an unearthed tree stump under the broken window and pulled the loose glass from the sill. Making sure I was properly covered everywhere first, I grabbed the rotten wood lining the window and shimmied into it up to my waist and looked around. The opening was so small that I would have to turn sideways to get my hips through. I was much skinnier in my youth, and looking back on this incident, I know now that I wouldn’t have been able to make this same move only a year later.

An old workbench lined the tiny wooden floored room to my left, it’s edge nearly under the window. All the way on the opposite wall on the right, an old glass-handled door remained closed. I couldn’t imagine what treasures lay just beyond that door, just beyond what I could see. Even the room I was in was filled with treasures. Old rusted tools with fifty years of dust or more were scattered across the workbench. An antique tin tool box sat on the wooden floor under me, it’s lid slightly warped to remain forever open. This was a child’s paradise, a teenager’s fantasy come true, and a history fanatic's paradise.

I tested the workbench with my left hand for stability and found it mostly trustworthy, so I slowly pulled my twisted hips through the opening and turned to my left in order to put one knee on the workbench as I pulled the other leg through the window. I felt like a gymnast performing for the circus, but somehow I made it all look graceful.

Once through and on my feet, I turned to help Dan climb inside. The wooden floor was elevated about a foot off the ground, so the window didn’t seem nearly as high from my vantage point. I peeked out and could still see the short boys blond locks poking out in every direction under his knit cap. He elevated himself on his toes, and his blue eyes came into view.

"Step up on the wood," I whispered to him. Hi hands gingerly reached for the windowsill, cautious as he should be with no gloves on.

"I’m already on it," he said with a bit of a sneer, thinking I was poking fun at his short stature. I couldn’t help but smile to myself. I pulled on his arms as he braced his feet against the wall of the shack. Somehow, he got turned around and ended up looking at the ceiling.

"Eww! What’s that," he asked, completely disgusted. I followed his gaze to the corner of the ceiling nearest the two of us. From a distance and in the natural dark, they looked like chicken drumsticks hanging on wire hooks from the ceiling. It seems like not only a weird thing to hang in a workshop or shed, but a rather gross thing to leave around anywhere until slightly molded and covered in cobwebs. I told Dan not to worry about it, as was my usual answer, and pulled him the rest of the way inside. I was never an extremely graceful person myself, but Dan’s entrance made me look like a prima ballerina. He was all arms and legs, getting tangled crazily. He landed on the floor in a pile.

As Dan looked around, I became curious about the drumsticks in the corner. I crawled cautiously onto the workbench, still not fully trusting the rotten wooden blanks. They held my weight though, and I inched closer to the dangling pieces.

I nearly screamed. I bit my tongue to avoid shouting out loud. Those weren’t just old chicken legs. They were bats that had been tied upside down from wires around their feet so long ago that the flesh was rotting off the bones. Part of the skull was protruding in the area of the mouth and the eyes were mere empty sockets of complete nightmare. They seemed to stare straight through me with complete nothingness. Just about the time I was going to jump down from the workbench and onto the floor, I saw one more hanging only inches above the window, It also happened to be only inches from my nose. The stench rolling off the rotted corpse gave away its location long before I saw it. I gulped and scrambled down from the table, not letting a syllable utter from my lips. Dan turned and looked at me.

"What’s the matter with you," he asked. "You’re white as a ghost. You feeling OK?" I didn’t say anything for a moment, but I guess the way his expression changed as he watched me that he could see the wheels turning in my head. An evil grin slowly spread across my face.
"I got us in here," I began. "Now it’s your turn." He looked puzzled at first. His eyes darted to the corner of the room and back to me again. Suddenly his face completely melted.
"No way!" he cried out. His shout echoed off the snow covered ground outside.

Much to his rejection at the thought, we searched around for something to help Dan to get what he still thought were chicken legs out of the old shack. The two of us finally decided a pair of pliers and some old wire cutters would do the trick, so I grabbed an old key chain flashlight out of my pocket and got back up on the workbench. Dan followed behind me, tools in hand.
Dan clutched the base of the mystery object with the pliers and something crunched under the pressure of his light grip. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the decaying smell something similar to that of road kill after it’s been in the sun a few days came wafting out, turning both our stomachs.
Dan couldn’t see the wire in order to cut it. I knew that would be the case, though I really resisted using my flashlight. Finally, I knew I couldn’t avoid it anymore. I tried to catch only the thin line of wire in it’s beam, but the bony toes were caught in the light. Dan made lurching noises, and for a moment, I thought he was going to burst. He rocked back on his heels and I just barely caught him before he fell off the table. Unfortunately, the light jarred in my hand when I reached for him and the dim illumination fell squarely on the now crushed head of the bat. Something like oatmeal oozed out around the pliers. Every bit of color drained from Dan’s face, and I’m sure mine was a mirror image.

Dan flung the last of the bats out the window as I stood back ’supervising’ his task. I’ve since blocked out everything in between, though glimpses of the process to get the to the opening still haunt me at times.

Dan and I met at the old shack nearly daily for a while that winter. We’d have to meet outside and I would have to help Dan in since he was too short, but it quickly became one of our favorite places.

The same day we had given flight back to the long dead bats for a few seconds, we’d explored beyond the door at the end of the workbench. The room beyond had once been a carriage house. Dirt floors had long since been cluttered with various things, but faint wheel marks could still be seen from a history long past. A pedal powered knife-sharpening wheel sat by where the double doors once opened outward. Antique brass headboards and foot boards leaned against the wall. Rusted spring-loaded animal traps hung from nails in the framework. Ancient chains covered in grit and grime dangled next to machetes on the ceiling. An old mule-pulled plow sat heavily on the ground next to the door inside. It was truly a treasure chest.

I knew Dan was as tired as I was of climbing through the tiny window opening, if not more so. My mind, ever-devious back then, came up with a plan one day.

"Hey Dan, why don’t you check out the side doors from the outside, see what they’re locked with. Maybe we can find a key and use that as our door from now on," I explained after finding an old she box full of keys under a floorboard in the small room. Delighted at the idea, he hurried out the window as fast as his fat, short body would allowed, and ran around the building to the other side of the doors. After explaining to me what the lock looked like, I began to make guesses as to which key would be the right one. I slid the keys one by one under the door, and one by one Dan tried them all and passed them back.

"I got an idea," Dan said to me, after the last key was safely back in its box. I heard him run back around he building and I met him at the window in the next room "Hand me that saw," he said, pointing to the workbench. I handed him the wood saw, not knowing exactly what he was going to do with it, and went back to the inside of the double doors as he tossed his jacket inside along the wall.

First, Dan tried to saw a bracing board in two, and when that didn’t work, decided to try the metal chain and lock that held it in place. Finally fed up with the resistance, Dan grabbed a rock, determined to smash the lock apart. All the noise he was making should have raised the dead bats from their shallow, snowy grave. Just about the time I was going to tell him to stop, to be quiet, I heard a strange voice.

"Hey Kid," a deep, growling voice yelled. "Get away from there!" Heavy footsteps outside warned me that whoever it was decided walking wasn’t getting the m to Dan quite fast enough. I heard Dan’s rock drop to the ground and I knew he was gone, running like a mad man through the woods. I was trapped inside.

There were apparently two men who had come to investigate. I could over hear them talking as they made their was around the inspection of the shed. I crawled, silent as a mouse, into the smaller room and hid under the corner of the work bench closest to the window.

"Aw, shit. Look at this, Chuck," the one who had yelled at Dan said. I didn’t need to look in order to know what he was talking about. The man was standing right over me, looking in through the window. I held my breath. "That damn kid broke the window."

"I s’pose we should nail it up before it snows again tonight," the other replied. "Let’s get a board and some nails." I heard the two start walking back the way they came and my spirits lifted. They were just about back to the double doors when I heard them pause.
"Wait," the one named Chuck paused. "What if the brat comes back?" he asked. "I better wait here while you get the stuff."

My body sprang into action before my mind had time to think. I jumped up, my head glancing off the table above me, and stood before the window. I knew without a doubt that they heard my head hit, and I didn’t have much time.

I lept into the air and twisted my body miraculously like an Olympic diver would ff a high dive and instead of diving into water, I sailed through the open window. Just before passing all the way through, I saw Dan’s only winter jacket on the floor by the wall where he had left it. It was too late. I could only pray he didn’t have any identification in it.

I landed on my hands and rolled roughly onto my back, catching a sharp stone right in the kidney. An old branch tore at my leg. I heard shouting behind me and didn’t take the time to catch my breath after the landing knocked it out of me. I pulled my feet under my sore butt and fled down through the woods, I imagine much the same way Dan had.

It wasn’t long before I caught up to Dan and passed him. My legs were much longer.

Neither of us skipped a single class in school for a month. Eventually Dan’s mother began asking where his jacket had gone. Not knowing what else to tell her, finally he just said that I had it and would get it for him. The retrieval of his jacket was the last time I ever went back up that hill in the woods, but that’s another story.

Ode to the Cinedome, Riverdale UT

When we first moved to Utah, I remember coming over the hill and hitting Riverdale road. Off to the right of the main road was a theater we instantly nicknamed the Dolly Parton theater. Cars were parked around its perimeter for a Sunday afternoon showing of Aladdin that November. Snow was visible on the mountains in the distance, and it was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen.


I was only 12 years old the first time I saw the Cinedome. I knew instantly that I would eventually see a movie there, and the following year Jurassic Park was released. We went as a family. It was the first time we had all seen a movie together in many years. I'll never forget seeing the teeth of T-Rex closing in around me on the curved screen. I jumped a little and grabbed my mothers arm as she sat next to me. I remember her smiling and almost chiding me a bit.


"Oh Honey, it's just a movie," she said. This came from the woman who knew Gremlins gave me nightmares for weeks when I was younger. I was tough for her though. I didn't let her know it scared me as much as it did. I tried to keep the incident with Frankenstein in mind whenever I was scared. I knew it was "just a movie" and kept my startled jumpiness to a minimum.


I always thought I would end up going to the Cinedome on a date, but sadly that never happened. My parents didn't like the idea of me dating really, and the only guy they ever approved of was 8 years older than me when I was 16 years old. To their credit, Eric had lied and told them he was only 5 years older than I was, the exact age difference between my Mom and Dad.

Eric wasn't much of a "going out" person. His idea of a good time was riding a bull named Yellow Dog and drinking Coors Light at home. Eric gave me my first full beer. It was horrible, but I drank it because I didn't want him to think I was just a little girl. I hated it.


There was a house over behind the Cinedome where a photographer lived. He used to do the portraits for all the High School seniors in the area. He had the most amazing lawn I think I had ever seen, but his view was of the back side of the Cinedome. I can't imagine he ever had any true love for the place.


Behind his house though was a hillside covered in lush trees that led down a sewage drain we all called "the creek" and straight to a park. I spent about 80% of my free time at the park, climbing the hill up behind the Cinedome and pretending to climb the bricks that jutted out from the joints of the building.


I remember once I had a couple of friends come over to 'hang out' with me, since we were getting to old to 'play' outside. I had been grounded for something; it seems like I rarely had any free time because I spent most of my time being grounded. Mom told them I couldn't come outside, but she said it was ok for me to tell them that myself. I went out and told them to meet me at the park, I would be there shortly.


"No," Trent said, "You'll get in trouble, won't you?"


"Who cares," was my response. "I'm always in trouble anyway. What does it matter anymore? I don't care. What else can they do to me at this point?"


"Are you sure," Doug asked.


"Yeah, I'm fine."


"Ok," they said in unison, sounding doubtful.


"See you later," I shouted loudly for my mother's benefit.


They headed straight for the park and I headed straight for the back door. They weren't 200 yards away when I caught up to them. We walked straight to the park.


We were sitting on a bench when I saw a familiar little blue Dodge car turn the corner. My mother had known instinctively where to look for me. I darted into the nearby woods and started to make my way up the creek. The boys were right behind me.


"Hey," my mother shouted. "Where's Manda?"


"I don't know," Trent said from the other side of the tree where I was hiding. "You said she couldn't come out."


"Don't you lie to me," she shouted back at him. He stood defiantly looking at her. I could feel the tension in the air. He knew we were in trouble. We had been found. Trent turned to look at Doug who stood a few feet away. Doug looked at Trent. Audible swallows of salivating mouths could be heard. They gulped in unison. Trent looked back at my mother. Finally, knowing she wasn't going to get anywhere with them, she pulled away and drove off around the corner.


The boys and I made a mad dash up the hill, running over the muddy bank as quickly as we could. We had planned on finding refuge inside the Cinedome. The boys both had money and were going to take me to a movie. I couldn't wait! We came over the top and burst through the foliage straight into my mothers waiting car. I knew I was in trouble.


I got into the passenger seat after facing her grinding teeth and icy glare. As we pulled away she let fly with one of her physical tantrums all over the top of my head. At one point she popped me in the nose and it began to spew blood profusely. She didn't even slow down. She just aimed at the top of my head and my stomach again. The boys, having seen this from the back view, called the cops as soon as they got home.


We got a visit from the cops that night. I had been grounded even more severely and was being forced to go to bed at 8:30 that night. I was dressed for bed and ready to hit the sack when the doorbell rang. My Dad answered the door and shouted down to me.

"Manda!" he called out. He sounded amused. "You have a visitor."

I walked the steps up to the front door, puzzled. Dad had NEVER let me have a visitor if I was in trouble before, and even if I wasn't in trouble I couldn't have visitors after dark - even at 16 years old. I peeked around the door and saw two uniformed Officers standing there.

"Young lady, are you ok?" One of them asked me. "You have a couple of concerned friends out there who were afraid you were in trouble."

"Tell them what you did," my Dad urged me.

"I snuck out of the house when I was grounded," I told them quietly.

"But you look ok."

"Yeah, I'm ok. But I'm even more grounded now."

"You'd be worse than that if you were my kid," he answered. My father gathered a deep-down belly laugh at that. They said good night and closed the door. Nothing more came of the incident.

I never did end up going to the Cinedome with Trent or Doug, or indeed anyone but my own family that one time to see Jurassic Park. I always wanted to have that chance, but collectively since I moved away at 18 years old, I've only been back for a total of 2.5 months in the past 13 years.

Now the curtain closes for the Cinedome for the last time. They plan to tear it down soon. I know that I don't have as many memories there as so many other people, but the fact that it was one of the few constants in my life durring my time in Utah has always stood out like a beacon, reminding me that some things are solid enough to stick around forever.

It's unfortunate that it won't be around forever though. Then again, nothing really is.

Cinedome, you will be missed.

Florida Nightmare Part 3 - the final Chapter

This blog has been removed.

If you're interested in reading the original first hand account of the kidnapping, please check out the published book.  All proceeds from the book go toward helping to fight human trafficking.

Find the book here:
Detailed Pieces of a Shattered Dream

Thank you.

Manda "MacGyver"

When I was a kid, anytime I ever got sick I would spend my day on the couch watching old movies and MacGyver. I was always amazed at some of the things Angus MacGyver was able to do. He was the first person who made Science fun for me. It took me a long time to realize it was actually the actor Richard Dean Anderson following a script. Even then I didn't want to admit it - I had a crush on MacGuyver for his rugged good looks and natural charm. I didn't know who this Richard Dean Anderson guy was.


MacGyver taught me that there are always things around that can be used in unusual ways in order to accomplish a task at hand. I watched him plug a bullet ridden radiator by cracking an egg into it. The egg cooked and plugged the holes. I saw him carve plaster out of a wall in order to duplicate a hand print on a biometric device. Once, he lassoed a rat with thread in order to pull a small homemade chemical bomb into a wall space and blow it up when he and a female were kidnapped. He could also kick butt when he needed to - but his brilliance insured that those moments were rare. He was smart, funny, handsome and educational... though a lot of his stunts wouldn't have worked in real life. I didn't know that, and even if I had, I wouldn't have cared.


The first time I pulled a MacGyver-ism I was fairly young, around 8 years old. I didn't want my parents to know I was up late reading, so I would sneak down the hallway and steal thread from my Mom's sewing machine and a thumb tack from the cork board. I would push the thumb tack into the wall to hold up a drawing I had done just below the level of the light switch. Then I tied one end of the thread to the door handle and wrap a rubber band around it to hold it snugly in place. If the door handle turned, so did the knot in the string. Then I would bring the string down and under the thumb tack, pull it up toward the switch, and tie the other end into a loop over the switch itself. When the door handle turned, the knot would turn on the door handle, causing the string to grow taught and pull down on the switch. The light would turn off and I would be snug in bed the whole time. The thread was thin enough to not even be noticed as it hung from the door handle. The tack looked like it's only purpose on the wall was to hold a picture I had drawn. Everything looked normal, but everything had a purpose.


Mom got an alarm that had a high piercing scream when touched. It was an interesting device... it had a metal harness that, when attached to any other piece of metal, would act as a conductor for the alarm. If she placed that harness on a door handle, any slight touch to the other side of the door handle would cause the high pitched scream to wail. It was also a motion sensor, but luckily it only did one or the other, not both at once. One Christmas she wanted to keep me in my room so they could bring down the Christmas gifts. I didn't have a bathroom in my bedroom, and I had to pee pretty badly. I knew I needed to find a way out of my bedroom without setting off the alarm. It didn't take much thought.


I loosened the brown leather belt around my waist and looped it through itself. I placed the loop over the door handle, wrapped the leather around the loop several times, and then pulled on the end of the belt, sinching it around the handle. I turned with a twist, the door handle turned with it, and I pulled. The door swung silently open.


I went to the bathroom and went back to my room - and then changed my mind. I walked straight to the Christmas tree, scrawled a note on a napkin, and tucked it into the branches of the tree, fully visible. Only then did I go back to my room, take the belt off of the door handle, and go to bed. My parents couldn't figure out how I had done it.



When I got older I found ways of getting myself into more trouble than I could dream of. I was a rebel at heart. Each time something was taken away from me, I would repeat the offense and have something else taken away. I knew that eventually it would get to where there was nothing left to take away. I was eager to make it to that point because I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it - and I did.


I hid my contraband in cardboard boxes in the garage for a while, but they quickly started to smell like gas. It's hard to read a good book that smells like fuel, or eat chips and dip when they taste like a mixture between oil and petrol. I even had all of my clothes taken away from me except a nightgown, one pair of jeans and a shirt, a bra, a pair of underwear, one pair of socks, and my favorite pair of boots. I was told many times that if my jeans were ever found off of my body, they would be shredded into tiny little pieces. I just made sure that never happened. I hid my clothes when I changed into my nightgown.


My parents had a few vices they always stuck to. They didn't drink alcohol, they wouldn't cheat at board games, and they never snooped in Christmas presents. I took a cardboard box from the garage and wrapped it with Christmas paper. Then I wrote on a small card "Merry Christmas Mom and Dad" and attached it to the front of the box. In the back I taped pieces of wrapping paper in two loops, where the box could be opened and closed. Then I slid a pencil between the two paper loops, holding the box closed. Each night when I got home and changed into my nightgown, I would wash, dry, fold and store my clothes in that cardboard box - right along with several other pairs of jeans, socks, underwear, bras and shirts. The box was then placed on the tallest shelf in my closet with the tag facing out, the pencil facing the back of the closet. My stash was never discovered.


Then I ended up getting too much contraband. I needed somewhere else to hide it. Back to the cardboard boxes I went. I brought in two good sized boxes and set them up light nightstands next to the twin sized mattress I had on the floor. I put a lamp on top of one and my only electronic device, an alarm clock, on top of the other. I left them completely empty for a while, knowing my parents would be checking them for items. I tested this by placing a hair over the edges of the closed cardboard box flaps and sticking it in place with a drop of water on each end. For weeks, intermittently, when I came home the hair had been moved, informing me that they had looked inside the box and found nothing. When finally that hair stopped moving after a few months, I began to store items there. That was where I kept my makeup, hair dryer, skirts, high heel shoes, artwork, pencils and paper. Those things were never discovered.


The day I moved out, two days after I turned 18 years old, my Dad handed me a suitcase.


"I know you have stuff hidden, but I want to know where it is. I'm not moving until you're done packing. Whatever you can fit into this suitcase, you can take with you. The rest is ours."


My yearbooks went in first as a flat bottom. I started pulling items out of all of the hiding places in my room, including under the bottom drawer of my empty dresser, behind the empty book shelf, under the pulled up corner of the carpet and small cache spots out in the yard. By the time I was done I had a large pile of items I was going to have to leave behind. I could have filled up the suitcase twice. Not a word was said...


Years later, my MacGyver-isms saved my life. When I was kidnapped and locked up for twenty three and a half hours, my time in front of the television as a kid teamed with the ingenuity I used in my teen years were the only things that kept me from panicking at that moment. I knew because of Angus MacGyver that there was a way out of this, just as he always found a way out of his situations. I know that sounds silly, and somewhat stupid, but that is the case. Several ideas kept me focused and sharp, paying careful attention to my surroundings, and using the items within my reach to set up possible means of escape.


I did manage to escape, or I wouldn't be here today writing this blog. It's an amazing story and one I'm quite proud of. I just don't have the time the story would deserve in order to do it justice. Not today...

but eventually I did. Find chapter 1 here.