Saturday, May 28, 2011

Free... Free At Last!


So… it’s over.  
Finally.
Last night I went to my 17 year old niece’s graduation.  
I was a stranger surrounded by family members.  
My sister and her husband were having a party for Brianna 
that I wasn’t invited to.  
My mother started telling me about a trip the whole family is going on, to scatter my Grandmother’s ashes.
That was a little awkward.
Halfway through the story she realized her faux pas that the "whole family" was doing something this important – the whole family 
except me. 
Oops! No one invited me.
I sat in the bleachers behind my family who were surrounded by their friends.  
Friends they didn’t introduce me to.  
I was ignored by other family members – with not so much as a head nod in my direction to acknowledge my existence.  
I sat there on the bleachers, staring at this shrinking woman who gave birth to me, a woman I know and yet don’t know at all, and I wondered, 
Why am I still here?  
Brianna is graduating and going to college.  Taylor has dropped out of school at 16.  The kids are now adults by my standards.  
Why am I still here?  
These people don’t know me.  They don’t need me.  They don’t even care about me unless it serves them.  Why am I still here?

I did my final duties for Brianna and left these people behind me.

I’m done.  
I no longer have to bear the pain of my family so I can be a part of my sister and her children's lives.  
I’m free.  
I can walk away and leave the pain of my family behind me.  
I’m free!

Friday, May 27, 2011

Running Away (1)




The first time I ran away from home I was about 5 or 6 years old.  I can’t remember exactly how old I was but I hadn’t started school yet.  I can remember what I was wearing that day, my favorite blue step-in, zip up the back, red & white trim shorts set.  I remember that it was chilly that morning and the ground was damp and cool on my bare feet.  It’s funny how you can remember the tiniest details of certain events in your life.
That morning my mother and I got into a disagreement over me not finishing a piece of soy-bacon she had fixed me for breakfast.  I was on a vegetarian diet back then and had my own special foods.  Since my mother is a hypochondriac, I really don’t know if I couldn’t eat meat because it made me sick, or if my mother projected that illness on me like she has done other times in my life.  I do remember that I was still sitting at the table with that cold piece of soy-bacon in front of me, long after everyone else had left the room.  My mother got tired of waiting for me to eat it on my own and tried to force it down my throat.  The bacon fell on the floor and she scooped it up again.  She was holding me by the hair and then she pried open my mouth and tried to force the bacon inside.  I could see hair and dirt from the floor stuck to the piece of bacon.  When she got it inside my mouth, I gagged violently and the bacon fell on the floor again.  Momma lost it.  She began hitting me and I fell on the floor.  She started kicking me and I scrambled down the short hallway, trying to get away.  She swung open the back door and kicked me in the backside, sending me sprawling out the door.  From the damp ground I heard her yell,
“I hate you!  Leave!  Get out of my sight!  I never want to see your face again!” and slammed the door shut.
I lay there, crying and crying.  She didn’t mean it.  After a few minutes my dog, Nugget, hesitantly came up, sniffing my face and slowly wagging her tail.  I hugged her to me – she was warm and it was chilly outside with nothing else on but my shorts.  I sat there with Nugget beside me, crying and staring at the house waiting for Momma to come back. 
Time has no real measure when you’re that young.  It seemed like I sat there a long time waiting, but the door never opened back up.  Momma never came back and said she was sorry.  I started thinking that if maybe she saw me really leaving, she would come out and get me. 
Nugget and I started up the driveway, stopping often and looking back.  Nothing.  Still crying, I started walking up the dirt road, stopping every so often and sitting on the bank, looking back – crying – waiting.  Still nothing.  When I made it to the main (dirt) road we sat there a long time.  I didn’t know what to do.  I had finally stopped crying.  Momma was serious; she didn’t want to ever see me again.  So, Nugget and I decided to find somewhere to go. 
At first I walked aimlessly down the road.   It was early morning and there wasn’t any traffic.  After awhile we came to another dirt road and since it looked interesting, we walked down it.  We passed a yard full of children running and playing.  One of the little girls saw me and came running over. 
“What’s your name?” she asked.  “What’s your dog’s name? Can I pet her?”
I answered her questions, smiling shyly.  “My name’s Terry,” she said.  “Where do you live?  Where are you going?”
I pointed behind me and told her, “I live down there.  My momma got mad and told me to never come back.”
Her eyes widened with curiosity.  “Where are you going?” she asked again.
“I don’t know,” I told her.  “I’m just going to walk down this road.”
“Okay, bye!” she said, waving as she ran back to play.  "You have a nice dog," she yelled over her shoulder.
I waved goodbye and Nugget and I continued to walk.  Eventually we came out to a paved road.  Left was as good as right, so we turned left.  It was harder to walk on the side of the paved road with bare feet, so I walked along the edge of the woods.  Soon a car passed by and slammed on the brakes. 
“Hey,” the man shouted out the window, “what are you doing? Come here,” he yelled.  It scared me so instead of doing as I was told, I ran into the woods with Nugget.  We hid in the woods, watching the car on the road.  The man sat there for a few minutes and then slowly drove away.
We waited a little while and then cautiously came back out to the road.  That had been scary.  After that, when I heard a car approaching, Nugget and I would run into the woods and hide until the car passed.
We continued making our way down the long, mostly deserted paved road, occasionally jumping into the woods for cover.  It began drizzling rain and I was getting chilly again.  I heard another car approaching and Nugget and I dove into the woods.  When the car drove past I recognized it.  It was Momma!  I was so excited.  I jumped out of the woods waving my arms and calling her name.  She must have seen me in the rearview mirror because the car stopped.  I waited a second for her to back up but when she didn't, I ran happily up to the car. 
“Get in,” momma said from the open window.  My happiness was immediately put in check by the tone of her voice.
I opened the back door, called Nugget into the car and climbed in beside her.  Momma turned the car around and drove home.  Not a word was uttered the entire way.  When we pulled in the driveway Momma parked the car, got out, and went in the house.  Nugget and I sat in the car for a few minutes, not quite sure what we should do.
After a few minutes we got out and I went inside, quietly looking around.  Momma was in her bedroom with the door shut.  I went to my room and Momma didn’t speak to me again that day.

Friday, May 6, 2011

Pictures I took

Blair
I took these photos at Allan's softball game the other day.
Unknown Boy

Thursday, May 5, 2011

Fun At Work


It all started when I saw a little Viola flower blooming in the lawn at work.  I knew she would be mowed down by an uncaring landscaper whose only intent was to keep our grass at work exactly ¾ inches tall.  So, I carefully lifted her from the grass and planted her in the flower pot with Ted’s tomato plant.  By the way, Ted is my boss.

For two days I enjoyed watching her grow and bloom in her new Miracle Grow home.  On the third day, Ted asked me why I had planted a flower in his tomato pot.  I explained the perilous situation Viola had been in and how I had saved her life.  However, Ted seemed fixated on Viola’s potential robbing of Thomasina’s (the tomato) vital nutrients.  I assured him that I would add extra nutrients to the soil and the two plants could live in harmony, side by side.  But alas, my words went unheeded.

The next day I walked by expecting to see Viola’s happy little face, and all I saw was Thomasina.  In horror, I realized what had happened.  Immediately, I sent an email to Ted:

From: Kelly Roberts
Sent: Tuesday, May 03, 2011 3:27 PM
To: Ted
Subject:
What did you do?

OMG!
You pulled up my little flower!!

From: Ted
Sent: Tuesday, May 03, 2011 3:30 PM
To: Kelly Roberts
Subject: RE: What did you do?

I killed that little tomato nutrient sucking sum bitch!

From: Kelly Roberts
Sent: Tuesday, May 03, 2011 3:37 PM
To: Ted 

You Evil Evil Little Man!!!!!



I looked everywhere, thinking that surely Ted was not so cruel and cold hearted that he could just tear a beautiful flower from the soil and discard her like a piece of trash.  Alas, I could not find her anywhere.  Sadly, I realized it was the end of Viola, and I reflected upon her beauty and visited briefly with her relatives who were scattered around the other flower beds.

The next morning I walked into my office and found this resting in my chair:
The evil culprit had taken the day off to celebrate his birthday – his life, rejoicing, while poor Viola lay in her shriveled and disheveled state.

I sent him an email stating the obvious:

From: Kelly Roberts
Sent: Tuesday, May 04, 2011 8:30 AM
To: Ted 

You are an Evil Evil Man!


Determined that we would remember Viola, and not let this injustice pass without notice, I gathered the troops.  Together Amy, Katina and I made a memorial for Our Dear Viola.


The next morning, Ted walked in the door to this:




Viola's Memorial


The open casket - Her Final Resting Place


Katina read the beautiful and touching Eulogy:
Our Dear Sweet Violet.  Your death at the hands of a corporate undertaker has prevented your full potential.  Your death has affected the lives of insomniacs, victims of migraines, and burn victims.  One more shall suffer from insomnia.  One more shall suffer from burns and migraines.  Although One thought she was a sucker of life, she was a healer of life.  If only ignorance had taken the time to know our Sweet Violet.  In honor of her memory, it is our duty to protect her family that will grow on this property so Viola Ordorata's memory shall live on.
It was a beautiful service.