The Bronson File

Eventually I was taken out of my High School and enrolled in the school for "troubled" kids because of my running away as a teenager. I was in the second semester of the 11th grade when this took place. My attendance was terrible, my grades were even worse. I had given up on school, friends, grades and everything in general other than taking care of myself. Some would say I was depressed - but in a secret reality, I was going through withdrawals.



I was put on ritalin against the Doctors orders at the age of four and a half. By the time I was fifteen, I knew that I didn't like how it made me feel. I stopped taking them all together. Mom started counting the pills every day, so I started flushing them down the toilet. I didn't know what withdrawals were, but I felt like wearing black every day. I went through terrible mood swings where I would lash out for no apparent reason. I would often get angry and scream at my parents for the smallest things. I never got away with that, though.



Convinced I was on drugs (when really I had taken myself off of drugs) my parents started taking me to shrinks on the military base. They prescribed Klonopin, Paxil, Prozac and a myriad of other mind and emotion numbing drugs. I refused to take those, too. I flushed them down the toilet every day, right along side the Ritalin.



One night I got into trouble for something. I don't even remember what it was. I was told to go down to my room while my parents discussed the punishment. Wanting desperately to show them exactly what the drugs would do to me if I ever actually took them, I took only one tablet of Klonopin. Even I didn't know what the effects would be. By the time I was to report upstairs for the punishment, my eyes were fully dialated. The suspicions only grew. They had me pegged as being a dope fiend and searched my bedroom that night for any illegal narcotics. The only things they found were the things they were trying to force me into taking. It worked just as I had wanted to. They got off of my case about drugs. They still wanted me to take my prescriptions just before bedtime so nobody saw my dialated eyes, but I still refused. I continued to flush them down each day, or grind them into dust and sprinkle them in the yard. There were a few happy birds flitting around for a while when I did that.



At the alternative school I started to run into people I hadn't seen in a few years. I had gone to school with some kids in Jr High that suddenly disappeared, much the way I did in the 11th grade. Of course I had few friends the entire time I lived in Utah, so I was used to spending my time alone. That suddenly changed at my new school. All of the Social Outcast kids banned together. We didn't pick on one another no matter what our ailments were. The kid with Coke Bottle glasses was treated with equal dignity as the girl with head gear (me) and the former Football player, kicked out of his school for trying Steroids. We were all equals, standing on equal turf. Nobody was better than anyone else. I was in heaven.



At Washington High, I was voted "Sweetest Girl" in the school, and my dear friend Trent Heckman was voted "Sweetest Guy" so our photo was taken for the year book. I had friends who talked to me in each class. I had teachers that would treat me like an equal instead of like a plague. I didn't realize for a long time what the core difference was between Washington and Bonneville, but when it dawned on me, it hit like a ton of bricks. We weren't Mormon.



We came from all walks of life. We were a collection of Catholics, Methodist, Protestant, Jewish, Muslim and a variety of other religions. The teachers were as well. We were Military kids, mostly - brought together in the middle of Ogden, Utah because of the simple reason that we were of a different religion.



I've always been a part of the Majority. To have suddenly been thrust into a Minority group because of the church my family went to (or rather, didn't go to) didn't make sense to me. I learned how to cope with it quickly enough though. I made friends all over my school and became one of the most popular kids there. Nobody made fun of me anymore, people asked me for help on English assignments, teachers praised me and my attendance became legendary.



I ended up making friends with a Bronson Babbit after a couple of months. I had known Bronson for a little while in the 7th grade, but like so many I knew, he suddenly disappeared. It turned out that they had moved, and later on was forced to go to Washington like all the rest. He had been a bit of a nerd boy when I knew him before, but I didn't even know who he was when he called out my name in the hallway one day.



"Amanda," he said, "is that you?"



"Yeah, do I know you?"



"It's me. Bronson."



"Bronson who?"



"Bronson Babbit. 7th grade."



He brushed his long hair out of his face, curled his upper lip into a snarling smile, and squinted slightly. Instantly I knew who he was, even with the eye liner and sweat band bracelets.



The very next time I ran away from home after being violently attacked by my mother in the parking lot of the school, I went to Bronson's house. That time I had decided to take my dog Cookie with me. She was such a lovely dog, I couldn't just leave her behind. My parents had threatened to get rid of her if I ran away again. I refused to let anything happen to her. I smuggled her on the city bus by sticking her inside a duffle bag and carrying her like I would a suitcase full of clothes. She never made a sound.



Bronson's family were kind to me. They lived in a small trailer in a Mobile Home court and were fine with me bringing Cookie with me. She got along with Bronson's mother very well and becamse a member of the family very quickly.



The family lived off of Hamburger Helper at almost every meal. They were all fairly heavy set, including Bronson, but their hearts were good and they took care of me. I was free to come and go as I pleased and continued going to school each day. My attendance remained steady, never missing a class.



Finally, and quite suddenly, Bronson's family had to move and I was forced to move on alone. Without anywhere else to go, I finally made the long trek home to my mother and father. I hated no having options.



Cookie was happy to see my mother, but I certainly wasn't. They had cleaned out my room, getting rid of everything I owned except for a mattress on the floor and the clothes I was wearing. I didn't even have a door on my bedroom anymore.



That started another jouney for me - one that would take me over a state border and over 600 miles from home... but that's another story. That's the story of Byron Miller, a story I've never told to another living soul. I'm not proud of it and I did a terrible thing, but I'm ready to tell the truth.



Stay tuned.

Living Italian

The second time I was considered to be a teen run away, I was actually placed in another home for two weeks by the Police for suspected child abuse.

My father had gotten very angry at me for not taking out the trash one day and found me sitting in the family room with my feet up on the coffee table watching the Simpson's, much as I'm doing right this very second. He tucked the toe of his boot under my knee and shoved hard. Some would say he had kicked me. At the time, I said he had kicked me. He honestly didn't. Then he picked me up off of the couch by my ponytail. He then threw me to the floor by it, not intending for me to land on the rock mantle of the fireplace, but indeed that is where I collapsed.

My knee was swollen the following day. I sat in my English class massaging it during the teachers lecture. The girl that sat next to me in class asked me what was wrong. I'd never talked to her before other than asking her once what the teacher had said about hyperbolas for my notes. For some odd reason I decided to tell her everything. I even embellished a bit to make the story more interesting. The next thing I knew, I was being rushed to Tirzah Tolman's house that day after school and the Police had taken a full report on everything.

It was only a week before my 17th birthday when all of this happened. Without planning, without warning, I was suddenly thrust into another home, all because I told the Police that I didn't want to leave home. They took it as a sign that I was afraid of my parents. When I told them my Father didn't hurt me, that I had been stupid and kicked a post the day before trying to show off my martial arts training, they didn't believe me. My leg had been fully extended before I made contact with the post and I felt a pain screaming through my leg, radiating out from my knee like thousands of needles covered in acid and fire. That night when my father pushed my legs off of the coffee table with the toe of his boot, he had no idea that I was already in severe pain. I had done it to myself. The Police thought I was singing the familiar tune of a tumble down the stairs when I told them all about it. I was looked at by them like a kid that had told a story of walking into a door handle with his eye.

Tirzah's family was amazing. She had two sisters that just adored me right off the bat. Both of her parents were teachers and were under the same impression as the Police. I decided just to not talk about what had happened. I was tired of people looking at me with sympathy like I was a pathetic child afraid of the world and all it had to offer. I finally just shut up about it all together and stopped trying to defend my family.

I was given a list of chores. The bathroom downstairs was my responsibility to clean twice a week from top to bottom and spot clean every day. I would sweep the floor in the kitchen on the even days, and on the odd days I would vacuum the living room. Tirzah and I traded off for these chores, while her two little sisters, still in grade school, had the simple chores of cleaning their rooms, clearing off the dinner table, and sweeping the front porch daily. Everyone in the family pitched in. We even gathered each night to read a passage of the Bible. For the first time in two years, I felt like I was a part of something, like I was a part of a family.

When my birthday came, every member in the family had gifts for me. Tirzah gave me a beautiful purse / backpack in black faux leather. I fell in love with it the second I saw it. Her sister Rebecca gave me a candle. It was a Cinnamon Apple candle to be more precise. To this day a Cinnamon Apple candle reminds me of that birthday and of Tirzah's family. I was there such a short time and truly grew to love every one of them.

The Police came by only a few days later and told me that they were sending me home. Their investigation had turned up no results. They told the Tolman family that I had "made everything up" and I needed to go home. They actually apologized to the Tolman's, telling them that it was a shame they had to put up with me for so long over something that I had clearly made up. Tirzah never spoke to me again - but for two weeks, I didn't just have a sister, but three sisters and a real family.

I often think about Tirzah and wonder where she is. I hope her sisters lived up to their brilliant potential. I wish Tirzah all the good things life has to offer. She was such a kind girl to take in a relative stranger when she thought I was in trouble. May she never loose that divine spark and the desire to help others. She, and her entire family, were wonderful.

First Date

I was a teen run away.

I started at 16 years old and never really stopped until a few years ago. Finally, after spending almost half of my life running from the monster under the bed, I got tired of it. I ended the pattern with a new approach to life in general. It was a gradual change, I suppose. Though to me it seems to have happened almost over night, almost like I simply... woke up.

The first time I ran away, I was only 15 years old. My parents were coming down on me really hard and accusing me of things I had never even thought of doing. I had been accused of being on drugs since I was 13 years old and didn't even know what marijuana looked like. By the time I was 15 all of my parents friends thought I was sleeping around with anyone and everyone. In reality, I was still a virgin. More than once my mother threatened to take me to the doctors to verify that fact, but my parents never followed through with that threat. I wish they had.

I stayed with a male friend of mine the first time I ran away. He lived just down the street and his mom was out of town for a couple of weeks. I stayed in his room and he slept on the couch during that time. I always thought that was very kind of him. I had a huge crush on him at the time, but that never became an issue. We never so much as held hands. I knew what people would say and think if it became common knowledge, so we did what we had to in order to prevent people from finding out. That was the moment I knew I could trust Steve with my life.

I was working at Wendy's in Roy, Utah at the time. It was easily 3 miles from Steve's house, and I walked to work every single day while I stayed with him. I would work my entire shift, then turn around and walk back down the hill toward my temporary home. For the first time in my life, I felt a taste of freedom and I loved it. I couldn't imagine life any other way, and from that moment on, that was all I wanted. I wanted to have a chance to go to work and go home, to take care of myself, come and go as I pleased and know that I never once had to sacrifice my morals in order to accomplish my day to day life.

One night while working the change window at the Wendy's drive thru, a guy from school came in to the restaurant. He knew that I looked familiar and asked which school I went to. Right off the bat I knew who he was. I was amazed he even looked my direction. The Libby's were popular kids in school, and I was scum in the bottom of the tank of small fish in the big school. When he asked for my phone number and invited me to go play miniature golf, I thought it must be a joke!

We had a glorious time that night. We played miniature golf for the first time in my life. We stayed out until around 9:30 at night and then went over to his cousins house, where we sat in a group of 5, watching a favorite Disney movie. I was tired from work though and ended up falling asleep on the couch, my head leaned back against a very soft pillow. When Andrew woke me up later on to drive me home, I was incredibly embarrassed that I had fallen asleep in the first place.

I kissed Andrew on the cheek and for some reason I expected a call from him the next day. The call didn't come that day or the next. Nor did it come the next week, and by the time I had gone back home to my parents, I had all but forgotten about Andrew. I could only think that perhaps he didn't have fun with me, or he simply didn't like me.

When school started back up, I passed Andrew in the hallway one day. I said hello, he looked in my direction and simply nodded. He didn't say hello, he didn't smile. He didn't even really seem to recognize me at all! I was crushed. I had actually had a lot of fun, and Andrew Libby was my first date.

There's a strange unspoken rule still very much alive in the small town in which I lived. I wasn't a part of the religion, and I wasn't willing to convert. To many people (not all, but many) that was like having a swastika tattooed on my forehead. Andrew Libby found out somehow that I wasn't a member of the same religion, and because of that simple fact, was told not to speak to me again.

Steve remained my best friend for many years. When the world turned its back on me, he was my brother. When things went well for me, he was there to pat me on the back. There were times that Steve was more of a family to me than my own family was. I'll always love Steve for that.

Steve's little brother was another story though... Dan and I were involved in Breaking and Entering a private property. But that's another story.

Blind Mans Bluff

Mike and Travis were twins that had my heart from the day we met. I was in the 5th grade and the brothers had different classes. Mike was in my class while Travis was in the rival 5th grade room. It goes without saying that Mike had my undivided attention. When Mike asked me to 'go out' with him, it was still at the youthful age when kids didn't hold hands. We just called each other boyfriend and girlfriend.

I doted on Mike. He was a bit chunky and short while Travis was tall and lean, but they had identical faces and I adored them both. They were sweet and handsome, kind and genuine. They were also rather popular in class. Both were considered to be the class clowns.

When Valentines Day rolled around, Mike and I had been 'going out' for about two months. He didn't want anyone to know, including his own brother, because I wasn't one of the popular girls. He was afraid it would damage his reputation. I found out on Valentines Day that he also had a crush on another girl in our class.

When the class got done handing out all of the Valentines cards to each of the other students, we all got back in our seats for a fun activity. Mike stayed a little long at Summer Sparks desk, though - and my curiosity got the better of me. I watched as Mike pulled a little black velvet box out of his pocket and set it on her desk before walking away. The teacher asked all of us to take our seats, looking directly at Mike as he did.

Summer opened the little velvet box and her jaw fell open. I had to wait until recess to find out what was inside, but when I found out I was furious. Mike had given her a small silver ring made entirely of entwined hearts. I wanted to slap him across the face!

Patience took hold of me though. I knew I would get my revenge. I just had to wait and be patient.

The following week as we were walking to lunch, I asked Mike if he wanted to play Blind Man's Bluff. He asked what that was and I explained the game.

"You have to walk with your eyes closed and I will guide you by putting my hands on your shoulders and tell you what's coming up. Then you do the same to me. You go first."

"Ok," he said, blindly trusting me. He still didn't know I was aware of the ring he had left on Summer Sparks' desk. He closed his eyes and I stood beside him, my hands on his shoulders.

As we walked slowly to the lunch room, I guided him over rocks and pavement, grass and tree roots. Just as I could tell he was starting to relax and truly trust me, I did something despicable. I walked him straight into a brick wall, nose first.

Mike fell backward, landing like a lead weight, heaped on the ground. He fell with a thud, right on his bottom. His eyes popped open, flooded with tears. He reached both hands up to his face and held his now bleeding nose. For a split second, I felt badly about what I had done. Then the image of the velvet box entered my mind and suddenly remorse didn't exist. I felt justified.

"Oh," I exclaimed with false worry, "are you ok, Mike?" I clasped my hands over my mouth to cover the smile I felt working its way onto my face.

"Whadya do that for?" he asked, stunned. Suddenly I exploded. What good was my revenge if he didn't understand why I had sought it in the first place?

"Why'd you give Summer Sparks a silver ring with hearts all over it?"

Mike's jaw fell slack. He stared up at me, incredulous.

"Are you kidding me?"

"No. I saw the ring. Why did you give Summer a ring and just gave me the same paper Valentine you gave all the other girls in class?"

"My brother won that in a quarter machine. He's going out with Summer. I didn't give it to her, Travis asked me to drop it off at her desk! Travis gave it to her!"

Shame and remorse kicked in full force - and I never sought revenge against anyone ever again.

Big City Life

I used to feel so alone in the big city. All those gazillions of people and then me, on the outside. Because how do you meet a new person? I was very stumped by this for a number of years. And then I realized, you just say "Hi."

They may ignore you.
Or you may marry them.

And that possibility is worth that one word.