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...

The Rabbit Grass Patch

In the beginning of the 6th grade, I was a bit of a loner. That all changed later on in the year, but that's another story.

Rashaad Sampson used to pick on me out in the school yard. I would find a quiet spot in the back corner of the playground when I retired from the Bars and would sit on a very soft patch of grass I called Rabbit Grass, since it felt to me like a bunny's back. Eventually I made a friend though, and Megan McKinley would sit under the same tree with me.

Kristen Osterthalen had written a play that the class would be performing later on that year. Inspired by her and my own desire to write, Megan and I decided to write a play of our own. We would sit in the back of the playground on that patch of Rabbit Grass and write. We would talk for the entire recess about what we wanted to write into our play.

Rashaad found us back there one day and asked what we were doing. Neither of us wanted to answer, so we ignored him for a while. Eventually he was the reason Megan and I developed our own version of sign language. We had hand signals for everything. We even created our own written language thanks to a class assignment that blossomed for us. For years I could read and write fluently in that private language. Though I would struggle with a couple of the letters now, I still have most of the memorized.

Rashaad started picking handfuls of my Rabbit Grass and throwing them at us. He was tired of being ignored. He chanted at us about what big nerds we were to have our own language. He teased us until we couldn't ignore him anymore. Back then I never stood up for myself (some things never change) so Megan did. As I sat there picking my precious grass out of my long hair, Megan stood up and told Rashaad off. She told him that he needed to leave us alone, we weren't bothering him, and surely a kid of 5'10 in the 6th grade had better things to do with his time, like pick apples without a ladder.

What Rashaad didn't know was that secretly I had a crush on him. I had long since forgotten about Mike from the 5th grade after playing Blind Man's Bluff with him. I was far more crushed than I let on.

When I got home from school that day I started to tell my Mom all about how Rashaad had thrown grass at me. I was so upset that I started to cry and couldn't get the word "grass" to come out of my mouth through the sobs.

" Rashaad was so mean to me! He.... (sob) was thr... (sob) thr... throwing .... (sob) Grass at me!"

My mother started to laugh at me, to which I cried harder. It wasn't funny at all! He had really hurt my very delicate feelings! Still, she saw humor in there somewhere. Her next remark really blew me away.

"Don't worry, Honey... when he gets to know you better, he'll throw rocks!"

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.)

Purpose

I was awe struck as I walked into my little appartment last night. I had just climbed out of the shower and was going to settle into bed to read for a while before drifting off to strange and erratic dreams when I heard a noise below. The cats were settling in to bed. The lights outside filtered through the wooden slats covering the window, eluminating the room with a pleasant, faint glow. I couldn't help but to smile, remembering fondly the wonderful memories I've already made in that room with my own friends and lovely little pets.

I climbed down from the loft to fetch myself a bottle of water. I walked through my very own living room and saw the computer on the desk still open to a project for work. I had managed to feel highly successful yesterday in the mid-year meeting and was ready to attack my job with a new sense of purpose and determination. My smile grew for reasons I couldn't yet share. Oliver jumped down from his carpeted tree and nuzzled my bare leg.


I've been in some hard spots, and I've had a really hard time trying to find my place in this world. Even now it's a daily struggle for me, but I know where I'm meant to be. I know what I want to do for my career, and getting there has been a challenge, it's one I'm eager to face every day when I wake up. I look forward to going in to work. Even now that path isn't guaranteed, but I know that I'm well on my way and I have a support system greater than any I've ever known. And yet, as I walked through the appartment last night, I realized something that maybe I had known all along and just hadn't realized.

I have my home. It's the first time I've felt like I belonged somewhere and had my own place in my entire life. I belong here. This is my sanity, my safety, and my savior. My career has just begun and I have great plans for my direction, but I have everything in my life that I've ever really searched for - stability, self-sufficiency and confidence.

This was an eye opening walk through my own place. I found something in the past year I guess I never really lost - my inspiration and my soul. They've just been waiting for me to realize that all I had to do was reach out for them, held captive in the recesses of my own mind. If not for people like my boss, friends and co-workers who have stood by me in this most difficult time, I may never have taken this walk to the kitchen on this warm and humid night in my house coat and slippers and seen the magic of my own home around me. I wouldn't have that glorious appartment. I wouldn't have my two cats, warm and friendly, loving and giving. I wouldn't be where I am in this world, with dreams, desires and determination to not only succeed, but to conquer.

Yes, I am still me. I am that vibrant, energetic little girl I knew growing up. I'm that sassy, somewhat crazy redhead I knew in my teens. I'm that young, ambitious adult I knew in my early 20's who saw the world as nothing but a game to win. I'M BACK, and nothing can stop me this time.

My job has opened new doors to meeting new people and trying new things. I've become more empowered than ever before, and after so many years of searching and never knowning, I've found my niche. I've found where I belong.

I've finally found my purpose.

Life in the Jungle Part 2

(Part one can be found here)

I struggled to make ends meet. I worked hard and sacrificed every ounce of personal life in order to pay my bills and keep Oliver and myself fed, even if it was on Ramen Noodles. Much to the chagrin of some people around me, I would work 12 hour days 5 days a week when asked, never so much as a hint of hesitation in my voice. I would jump at the chance to see a better pay check, knowing that if I could make just a little more money, I could move up to Hot Dogs and frozen Pot Pies. On the biggest paycheck I ever got durring that time, I even bought a small pint of Ben and Jerrys Ice Cream, certainly a luxury in those days.


I missed having a bath tub and brushing my teeth over a sink. I missed having an air conditioner on the hot days and a heater on the cold days. I missed having a door knob on the inside of my door. I missed having carpet under my feet, new sheets, fluffy pillows, clean laundry and real food. All of the things I missed just drove me to work harder though. On my days off, I found myself at a loss for something to do. I would watch TV for a bit, write for a while, and stay walled up in the boat house all day long. I couldn't afford the gas to go anywhere. I didn't have any nice clothes anymore after being robbed. The one great thing about working at my job was the lack of choices over what to wear. I had a uniform I wore daily and I was ok with that. It took out the embarassment of having to wear the same jeans and T-shirt day in and day out for weeks at a time. I had a severe lack of options only 7 months ago.


I vowed the day I saw someone cry over how I brushed my teeth over the toilet that I would make some changes to my life, and the goal I had set before myself was my 30th birthday, December 11th of last year. I made that goal in Mid-October. Through a lot of hard work, determination, perseverance and the friends I made along the way, I not only reached my goal, but blew it out of the water.


I managed to get a promotion to being Supervisor at work. With that promotion and meager raise, I was able to start looking for a new place to live. I couldn't afford much more than I already paid, though. Still, on a strict budget and tight belt, I could afford a place of my own in a nicer neighborhood. Luckily I had worked very hard over the past few years to clean up my credit, or even that wouldn't have been possible.


By November 15th I had signed a lease on an apartment in one of the nicest areas in all of Los Angeles County, a little place called Belmont Shore. I went from living in South Central to living at the beach, so close I could smell the salt spray as I slept. I didn't officially move in until the end of November, but I finally had a nice home.


It was a tiny apartment, and I knew right off the bat I was going to have a hard time making ends meet each month. I knew the lack of funds would prevent me from having an eventful Christmas, and one thing after another came up causing me to delay the Christmas shopping I had planned to do using my one credit card. Life kept getting in the way, and work WAS life. I was putting in as many hours as I could get away with just in order to pay my bills.



I lived out of piles of boxes heaped in my new living room floor for weeks, hardly able to find a clean shirt or fresh pair of socks among the candles, cables and clutter tossed among the cardboard walls. I slept on a blanket tossed on the floor, but it was a carpeted floor and to some degree was more comfortable than the bed I had been borrowing - because it was MINE. Finally, a week after my 30th birthday I had managed to save enough money to buy a dresser at Ikea. I stayed up until 3:00 am putting it together. I unpacked before work the next day, working as hard as ever to get things in order.


Though I expected absolutely nothing for Christmas, Karma has always had a way of catching up to me, good or bad. I had focused so hard through the past 6 months to do better for myself that I had failed to realize that I was making friends along the way. All I could think of was providing a roof over my own head, taking better care of the Cat and never having to spit into a toilet again.


I wouldn't say it really began raining gifts or anything, but a few surprises certainly had a way of making me feel that way. First there was my Uncle Roger. After many years of not hearing from him, he got in touch with me and we started communicating through emails, daily. He told me things about my family I never would have known without him. I now have a photo of my Grandmother and Grandfather on their wedding day I don't think I had ever seen before. As if that wasn't gift enough, suddenly I got a birthday card in the mail from this long lost Uncle, making me feel overjoyed that someone was thinking about me. My Uncle has since grown to be one of the many voices I look towards for an honest opinion and a kind word when I need them most.


People who knew me well knew that I didn't lock the doors to my car because of an odd distrust in society. I would have rather had a thief open the door and realize there's nothing worth stealing than leaving me with the cost of fixing a broken window only to come to the same conclusion. I never kept anything of value in my car whatsoever, so I didn't even worry about locking the trunk release inside the cab of the car most of the time. Someone who knew me very well took advantage of this. One day after work I went to throw my backpack in the trunk of my car only to suddenly be left gasping for air. Someone anonymous had placed a 20" LCD Flat screen 1080P HiDef TV in the trunk of my car with a pretty little gift receipt. I almost cried. In fact, I'm not ashamed to admit that I think I did cry on the way home.



A few days later, on the 21st of December, I was promoted at work AGAIN to being the Head Honcho on site. Suddenly I could loosen my belt a single notch and I knew without a doubt that I would be ok. I had worked hard, but I had gotten what I needed and wanted in order to survive. It couldn't have come at a better time. It still took a little time for that last raise to hit my checks, but I knew it was on its way. The promotion was exactly what I had wanted for Christmas. Thanks, Santa.


On the morning of December 23rd I was called to the main office at the end of my shift. The Office personnel had drawn numbers to select which baskets of food and treats they would take home to their families from the many gifts they had received. The three left over were given to me, the Maintenance guy and the head of Housekeeping. I chose the Belgium Chocolates, of course, though not for myself. I instantly had a plan for them.


That night, on the night of Christmas Eve, I went down to Lake Elsinore to spend the evening with a wonderful Dutch family that took me in completely. They were such wonderful people with huge American Bulldogs as lap-dogs. Even the dogs took me in. I felt instantly loved. They were so wonderful to invite me into their home on Christmas Eve and let me stay the night, since I didn't have any family around and didn't have to work until the afternoon on Christmas. I had decided to give up my Christmas night in order to let more of my employees enjoy the Holiday. Karma again. That night after we sat down to eat, Lou asked me if I wanted to open my gifts. Flabbergasted, I stuttered and sputtered, obviously not knowing what to say. I felt bad for only having brought the small box of Belgium Chocolates I was regifting.


I didn't know or care what this family had gotten for me - just to know they loved me that much sent me over the edge. It had been one of the hardest years I'd ever had to survive, and to come out on the other end like this didn't seem possible back in July. My entire life had changed in the matter of 5 months. Most of it I made happen, but certain things, like me sitting there with four dogs at my feet holding two brightly wrapped gifts of blue and gold in my lap, were completely a surprise and never were a part of the plan. Tears were brimming in my eyes.


At the urging of my small audience of Lou and Gabe with the four dogs, I opened the big one first. It was large enough to fit all the way across my lap and cover my legs entirely. I pulled the bright blue paper back to reveal a cardboard box underneath. I expected the gift to not be what I saw on the box until I noticed that the box was still sealed. It was a brand new Blu-Ray player, Wireless capable and played regular DVDs as well. I couldn’t contain it any longer. I didn’t let either Gabe or Lou see me, but I cried.


Remember I said there was a second gift? Lou and I had been walking through a Borders just a few days before Christmas, browsing. I wanted to show Lou the Art Book I used to have that went the way of the U-Haul back in July. I guess the excitement showed all over my face when I talked about one particular portrait in the book that I had fallen in love with as I was reading the book from cover to cover.



“What makes this one so special”, Lou told me “is that it’s the exact one we were looking at in the store.” Lou had gone back that night and bought the book. It had been the only one on the shelf at that Borders, and the only one I had seen since I began looking for it in July. Lou had asked me that night if I wanted it and I answered that it cost too much and that I could wait. Well, Merry Christmas to me, here it was resting in my hands. I instantly turned to the page with that portrait I so loved, the Arnolfini Portrait by Jan Van Eyck.


The same man I tried so hard to escape from in Prague invited me over shortly after Christmas for dinner. It was a wonderful evening I was able to spend with a dear friend I've known since October of 2002. Bill's always been good to me, even when I least deserved it. He presented me with two gifts, both of which I cherish. The first was a fabulous book entitled "1001 Paintings To See Before You Die" that I began reading cover to cover that evening. The second gift was a watch to replace the one he gave me so many years ago. It was a gorgeous blue faced Seiko 100M watch with diamonds around the face. I nearly cried when I opened it. I wanted another watch since the one he had given to me was in the Uhaul, but never did I imagine something so beautiful. On the back was an inscription I still look at each time I take off my watch. It reminds me of how well he knows me and how much he has always cared for me.

"Always, B"

The greatest gift I got this past Christmas season wasn’t something I could hold in my hands though. It wasn’t the beautiful card that was so personal and sweet from Lou. It’s wasn’t the Blu-Ray player to go with the “mysterious” TV or the wonderful Christmas Dinner left over’s that an employee brought with him to work for me on Christmas night, though that was the first home cooked meal I'd had in months. It wasn't the beautiful watch with the dark blue face. It wasn’t the new apartment, though I admit it was just what I wanted. It wasn’t even the promotion. The greatest gift I was given this season was just this:


Christmas Eve, I sat there at a table with a warm and loving family; Stefan, Vicky, Lou and Gabe – four wonderful people. Under us sat the dogs; Spot, Mugsy, Tyson and Sasha. I was warm, loved, and accepted by a family who didn’t know much about me and didn’t care about that tiny detail. Before we picked up the first bite of food, I followed suit when the family bowed their heads to pray. Sitting between Vicky and Lou, I smiled. I hadn’t said a prayer over food with a family in far too long to remember. Right then, as I searched for the words to explain in a prayer just what I was feeling, I knew that no words were needed. The prayer was not ever in the words, but in the heart behind them. The greatest gift last Christmas Season was that family and the kindness and love they shared with me. The greatest gift of the year was having people who love me there to share in that moment. It was a long drive to Lake Elsinore for Christmas Eve, but it’s a drive I would make a million times over just to relive that night.



It was the greatest Christmas I had ever known.


I’m not big on prayer or waiting to see what happens after a prayer is uttered, but the final gift I will write about today is the gift that I give to each of you.



For in that moment of clarity and thought filled emotion, I thought about all of you out there who helped me to survive this past year. There are some of you I don’t see eye-to-eye with except maybe once a decade. There are those of you I can’t seem to disagree with at any point. There are people who love me and who hate me, who like and dislike me, and who have no reason to pay any attention to me whatsoever. Still, those are the people who helped me to survive.


I thought about the young mother cradling a new baby in her arms, wrapped up in the stolen quilt my Grandmother had made for me. I thought about the guy next door who warned me that the street sweepers were coming and I needed to move my car so I didn’t get a ticket. I thought about the families in South Central who watched over me, making sure I had food. I thought about the boss that believed in me, the friend who helped me move, the people I've loved and those who loved me. I thought about the man I once called a friend. I thought about my wonderful Uncle Roger, my Aunt Debbie who put us in touch, my brother, my son, my father and mother, and even those dogs under the table keeping my feet warm.


May you all have the clarity throughout the coming years that I had in that moment, sitting at that table with my head bowed, thinking about each of you and what you’ve meant to me and to others. I wish you nothing but prosperity and good will for the glorious future to come. May you shine as brightly as a star even on the worst of days and may you never loose hope. If ever you do, just think back to how much this one person’s life changed in the mere matter of five months. I may have lost everything back in April only to loose more in July, but it gave me the will to fight back and survive, an survive I did!


YOU are and were my inspiration. May you always have your inspiration like you’ve provided to those around you.

Life in the Jungle Part 1

here are certain things in this modern age that we take for granted. For the majority of people, these would be things like friendship and family. Though I'm certainly guilty of both of those, there are some things that my eyes were opened to as recently as last November. I never realized certain things were luxury items. Only a little more than a hundred years ago people lived with far worse conditions than what I lived with just before Thanksgiving of last year. Though it seems so trivial in so many aspects, how did people survive without indoor plumbing? It certainly had to be uncomfortable, but it was a way of life back then and something they were used to, not something out of the ordinary as it would be today.


On October 6th f last year, I moved in to a place on the spur of the moment. I needed somewhere to go and a friend of mine was able to help me out. His family had a room I could take, and were more than willing to help me out in any way they could. There were a few minor things that most people would likely have a heart attack over, but for me I saw it as a challenge, and something I could claim as my own. Realistically I moved for my cat. I needed a place where I could keep him with me always, and they were ok with me having a pet. With my extremely limited funds and them not asking for a deposit, it was a match made in heaven.

It was an interesting place, and when I first moved in I saw it as an adventure. I have always had a hard time turning down an adventure. Sure, there was no bath tub, and the bathroom was separate from my room so I had to get dressed to go outside and down the alley to my bathroom, but it was MY bathroom and I loved it. My feet were in the shower if I was sitting on the toilet, and my only door on my bathroom was a dolphin printed shower curtain, but it was all mine and nobody else ever used it that I was aware of. I could put all my shampoo and conditioner and smelly, girly stuff in there without worry that someone else would move it, use it or take it.

My room was tiny and I didn’t have anything when I moved in after I was robbed just last July of my U-haul while I slept. I didn’t have a bed or much of anything else even then, but what I had when I moved in to my new place in South Central Los Angeles, otherwise known as The Jungle, was even less. The people of the main house, my landlords, treated me as they would a family member down on their luck. They loaned me a bed WITH bedding, a TV, cable box, microwave and even a fridge. I couldn’t believe my luck for the peanuts I would have to pay monthly. It was so very much for so little asked of me.

Simple rules like “no parties” only endeared the place to me even more. In my first few days there the weather was nice. I would often sit in the hammock by the pool and read, or shoot a few games on the pool table. Late at night when I had phone calls I would sit on the steps to the Jacuzzi back by the Persimmon and Lime trees just over by the diving board for the pool. I had a swim suit or two. I had plans to put the pool to good use, and just didn’t get around to it before the weather turned cool. The lady of the house loved plants, so the yard was wall-to-wall beautiful green. It was my own tropical oasis on the other side of my little iron fortress. My cat, Oliver would trill at me when he saw me coming. It was always a pleasant homecoming.

When it was nice weather out, showers were an absolute pleasure. I would take the thick, oversized zebra stripe bathrobe I purchased for $2.99 at Goodwill to the outdoor bathroom with me. There I would close my dolphin-printed plastic door, strip down while avoiding the prospect of facing the shower curtain that divided me from the outside world due to the blank spaces in it, and step into the shower. The water would take a moment to warm up, but when it did it stayed fairly warm for a while unless someone was washing dishes or clothes in the main house. There were times when the shift from too hot went to ice within seconds, and I’m sure the neighbors heard me squealing a time or two. By the time I got out my robe was half wet and the floor even behind the toilet was drenched, but I had a little pink towel they let me borrow to dry my hair with. I would hang it by the doorway when I was done and wander back with my arms loaded down, wearing that zebra striped robe and fuzzy slippers. I would walk down the alley by the side of the house, ducking if someone was in the kitchen or one of the two bedroom windows I would pass on the way back to my room.

When the weather was warm, I would often sleep with my door open and the screen closed, since I didn’t have any windows for ventilation. As the weather changed though, that changed too. I couldn’t stand the cold. The only blankets I had were the ones loaned to me, with the ivy printed sheets and matching comforter, rather old and thin. There was no heater and no air conditioner in my room, so when the weather changed I often got the worst of it. Still, I didn’t complain. It was Ollie and me all the way. If I wanted things to change, I would have to do that myself.

In the mornings I was met with a new challenge. I was too broke to buy food, so all the food I had was dry-storage items like Ramen noodles from the dollar store. They fed me for quite a while. Certain people got rather sick of hearing how I ate Ramen all the time and started to chide me for it. I made so many promises to eat better, but until recently I wasn’t able to. I continued with my dry storage items, eating only what I could afford and never straying outside of my budget of $40 a month on food, barely more than a dollar a day. Ramen fit that budget perfectly, since at the dollar store they’re usually 4 for $1.00 or there about. Breakfast tended to be one Dollar Store granola bar in the morning. Brushing my teeth was yet another adventure.

You may have noticed that I didn’t mention how the sink in my bathroom was positioned. There’s a very good reason for that actually. I didn’t have one. That sounds odd, but until you are in the situation of not having a sink, you’ll never understand fully what this was like for me. Washing my face had to be in the shower, so I didn’t do it three times a day anymore. Washing my hands was the same way. I would have to hide behind the shower curtain and reach around it if I wanted to wash my hands without getting drenched. Often I was soaked head to toe afterwards anyway. But how does one fill their mouth to rinse after brushing without a sink? Once done rinsing the mouth, where does the spit go? Down the shower drain? I've had a few interesting stories about toothbrushes, but nothing like I was about to encounter.

I bought a case of water at the Dollar Store. The water where I live is so bad it’s a necessity anyway. I would grab a bottle of water in the mornings and take it with me to the bathroom. There I would grab my tooth brush from it’s place laying on top of my bath towel and hold it out over the toilet. I would pour some water from my bottle onto the tooth brush, letting the excess fall into the commode. Then I would apply the tooth paste and brush the way any normal person would – except I would be on my knees in front of the toilet. One day a friend came over and was chatting with me when I said I had to go brush my teeth. Thinking nothing of it because it had become almost routine to me and rather comical in my mind, I saw nothing wrong with my morning ritual. When I finished brushing and spit into the toilet, rinsed with my bottled water and spit again, it seemed almost natural in a very unnatural way. It wasn’t until I looked up and saw the tears standing in my friends eyes that I realized just how far I had fallen from regular society. Here I was on my knees in front of a toilet in the back yard of a total strangers house brushing my teeth, feeling like this was ok, or even half way normal. What had become of me?

As so many of you know, life hasn’t always been easy for me. I’ve had my fair share of struggles, and I keep on fighting. I was too embarrassed to share this story with anyone for quite a while, but I write in order to share my stories. It's time I share this one. I had hoped to move again before my 30th birthday on December 11th. I wanted an indoor bathroom with a sink. At this point a tub wasn’t even a priority, though in the past it always had been. It would have been nice, but just so long as I had a sink I’d be happy. I just had to somehow save up for a deposit on a place before then. With winter coming quickly, finding a warm place to sleep and a indoor shower was a major priority.

It wasn't forever, but it was my life only 6 months ago. It wasn't the end, but it was far from the beginning. Even now, I continue to grow and learn, being humbled more and more each time I think I’m untouchable.

If you think this can’t happen to you, think again. It can happen to any of us. Good or bad, high or low, young or old, we all hit hard times in our lives. There are some people out there in far worse shape than I was. I at least had a roof over my head and my lovely Oliver. I still had people who loved and cared for me. In that respect, even then I had it all.

Things did get better, but it all started with me.

TO BE CONTINUED....
(Click here for Part 2)

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.

Childhood Pranks

My mind has been just reeling in excitement and energy because of a few conversations I had yesterday and today. Suddenly memories have been sparked within me that have caused me to do something I've not done in a very long time - take notes.

Yesterday I started a notebook of the stories I want to tell, things I've been reminded of, and things I think all of you, my friends and readers, would appreciate. I write them down with two or three words that will remind me of the entire story later on. More likely than not, these will end up being the titles to the blogs. So far, and this is no exaggeration, I have three and a half pages of JUST TITLES, just since yesterday!

One of my favorite memories was a moment of cruelty in my youth. Though I feel bad about it now, I will admit that I still laugh each time I tell this story. My brother doesn't laugh quite so much, though... It still brings back sour memories for him - literally.

I was rotten to him. For a year as children, he and I were very close. We lived at the end of a long dirt road with nothing and nobody around for a mile. When we moved to a more populated area, we made our own friends and moved on. That's when my mischevious side came out. I didn't exactly have a reason to cause him such grief, but I was certainly good at it.

The first time, all I did was put liquid soap in his toothbrush. I say "all I did was" because the story got better as time went.

He walked into the bathroom, picked up his toothbrush, put some toothpaste on the top, wet the toothpased top, and placed the toothbrush in his mouth. He began to scrub and then he froze. His face wrinkled up like an old mans as he stood looking in the mirror. He spat and sputtered and coughed and gagged and choked for a full 5 minutes before my mother came to see what was going on. I'll admit that I got a belt across my backside that night - fully deserved - but not until after both of my parents laughed so hard they had tears streaming down their faces. It was worth the spanking I got that week. I will fully agree that I deserved that one.

It was an ongoing prank from then on. We would do things to one another and not tell our parents. He tried to put soap in my tooth brush, but I rinsed out my brush before I ever put toothpaste near it. To this day I still do that. More often than not, it's completely instinctive.

My next trick was to not only put the soap in his toothbrush, but to take a thin layer on my finger and run it around the inside of his bathroom drinking cup. That way, if he discovered the soap in his toothbrush first, when he got done brushing and went to rinse, I still had him. That one worked, too. He gagged for a while, finally composed himself, and walked past my door glaring at me like he could have killed me easily in that instant.

He tried to set cups of water on the top of the door so they would fall on me when I opened the door. More often than not he ended up wiping up the water on the floor with a bath towel so Mom didn't find out. They nearly always missed me. Nearly.

My next stunt was to take wads of toilet paper and wet them in the sink. Then I would climb over the side of the tub and throw them straight up at the ceiling. They would stick there and linger, waiting for my brother to get in the shower. The steam from the warm shower would then heat the toilet paper wads, filling them with more moisture, and causing them to grow heavier. That's the way it worked in my mind, anyway. Unfortunately it didn't work, the wads never bombed him from above, and I moved on to the next project.

I had a few failures like that. I didn't realize that a person was supposed to remove the shampoo from the bottle before adding the "Nair" product or it would be too diluted to work. My brother still has a very full head of dark hair. The jar of dead bugs in his laundry basket didn't really work, either. The lid was on too tight to stink at all, and the only person who found it was my mother. She screamed at me for a while over that one.

The pranks went on for a while that way, back and forth, constantly trying to get one another. He would hide somewhere and scare me so bad I nearly peed my pants. I would get him back by putting salt in the sugar bowl for his cereal (and end up with it going into Dad's coffee). He would use a pink marker in Barbie's hair (I always hated pink), and I would hide his most prized comics or baseball cards. He would take all of my shoes and I would find another hiding spot for his porn collection.

One day I came home and heard everyone upstairs talking. It sounded like they were in the bathroom, but I hadn't put liquid soap in my brother's toothbrush for a week or more. I went upstairs, wondering what was going on.

"Manda, come here right now," my Mother's voice commanded. I knew I was in trouble, but for the life of me I couldn't figure out why. "Did you do that?"

She pointed at the ceiling over the shower. I had completely forgotten those dried up, crusty wads of previously wet toilet paper were up there. It had been more than a year since I had tossed those up, hoping to have them plop and splat on my brother's head durring a shower. I poked my head around the corner and smirked. My dad was standing there with a broom and it frightened me, thinking surely he would wallop me with it, but I couldn't help it. I broke into a grin and then a chuckle. My ever-so-stern father cracked too. He started to chuckle, my mom snorted, and I laughed so hard I hurt.

The crusty toilet paper had begun to mold slightly around the edges and nobody had noticed because my brother and I were the only two to use that bathroom. We were both fairly short back then. We didn't look up at the ceiling - why would we?

Dad stopped laughing and we followed suit. He handed me the broom.

"I want you to get every single piece down from that ceiling right now, Young Lady. I don't ever want to see this again."

It was a good two weeks before I pulled any other pranks on my brother. Just when he thought he was safe - the liquid soap was back.