POOF!! GONE AGAIN!!!

POOF !! GONE AGAIN !!

Many people have asked me what I remember growing up. My answer has always been relatively simple: It was mostly just a blur.. one year fading into the next. Attempting to recall things, people, places and such has always been such a struggle. Where most people's lives have been marked by milestones consisting of birthdays, holidays, or other life events … my milestones were rushed moves in the dead of the night, never saying goodbye to anyone or leaving forwarding contact information. My milestones were tears shed, heart broken, loss, anger, fear and even hatred.

Schoolmates and neighbors only knew that one day we were there, the next we were gone. The nice single mom and her two daughters moved in, stayed just awhile and then just disappeared, vanished. That was my childhood.

As I grew older and actually began making friends it seemed that the moves became more frequent. By the time I was seven or eight we moved precisely at the end of every school year, just before summer. Then our mother would take us on a camping trip before separating my sister and I and sending us off to either summer camps or families of friends whom she worked with. By the time school was about begin we'd be all settled into another house, in another town far from the one we just left.

My sister, Nancy, and I rarely saw the woman we called 'Mom' … simply because she was barely ever around. We didn't really know where she would disappear to for weeks at a time, we just assumed that she was working or off with some man somewhere. We would get a phone call every morning to get up for school and there was always a list of chores waiting for us on the table when we got home from school. It was just the way thing were. We didn't question it, we just obeyed.

Because we rarely saw her, it was always a bad omen when she would actually be there when we came home. Her presence alone was enough to tell us that it was time to move again, that very night. No forewarning, nothing. If she was there, time was up. It was always in the spring, just after school let out for the year and always we left in the middle of the night, never knowing where we were going.

Of all of those seasons, there are but two which linger in my memory. They linger not because they were grand or wonderful, or even bittersweet. But because the events of those two consecutive seasons changed me from a fairly trusting young girl to a bitter youth with a gigantic chip on her shoulder, casting me into perpetual survival mode.

As the school year was coming to a close and I had just turned eleven I had the fancy idea that I really did not want to get sent away over the summer again. I had made some really good friends and we did lots of cool kid stuff together. It was the first time in what seemed like forever that I had actually felt as though I belonged somewhere.

One evening while finishing up our chores my sister, Nancy, very matter-of-factly, informed me that since she was thirteen that year she would not have to go away over the summer. Instead she would get to stay home and do babysitting for people in the neighborhood.

“Has Mom said whether or not I could stay home, too?” I anxiously asked. “Does that mean that we're not having to move again this year?”

Nancy just shrugged her shoulders and said that Mom intended on talking to me in the next day or so. I could barely contain my excitement at the prospect of not only not being sent away over the summer, but the chance of not having to move again.

The next morning I ditched school to wait for my mother to get home from work. I couldn't remember the last time that I was actually excited to have her come home. I paced anxiously staring at the door, willing her to walk in at any moment. But, when she did there was no 'good morning', no hugs hello, she was simply angry with me for just being there. I swallowed the lump in my throat as I looked up at her angry face.

“Catherine Janice! Why are you here and not at school?!” She practically screamed at me.

I buried my fear and stuttered, “Last night Nancy told me that she was going to stay home this summer and do babysitting jobs. I wanted to know if I could stay home this summer too.”

“Now isn't the time to talk about this, Cathy. I've been trying to get everything arranged and by the end of the week I will talk to you about this coming summer. For now, get to school. I need to get to sleep.”

And off she walked, dismissing me like a cast off bath towel. Completely deflated, I hung my head, grabbed my books and left for school. I heard no more about the subject until the very last day of school when I got home. My heart leapt to my throat in fear of having to move. I couldn't think of what else it would be, it fit her pattern. Fear, anger and dread gripped me as I moved to open the door. There sat my mother with a suitcase at her feet, her jaw was firmly set and her gaze stern.

“I guess that suitcase is for me.” I blurted out without regard to the malice in my voice.

“Get changed, Catherine, we're going for a ride.”

“Where?” I blurted out, knowing that she wouldn't tell me anyway.

The only words I can recall from that trip in the car were along the lines of – 'what a gentleman expects', and 'taught to act like a lady' – I had completely tuned out, numb to my core. I was eleven, for crying out loud!, not some rich debutante preparing for a coming out ball.

The truth was I didn't even care at that point. I had learned early on in my life that my life was whatever my mother wanted and no one was going to change that. So, at the ripe young age of eleven, I decided to bide my time and get away from that life as soon as I could.

While I had been busy licking my wounded pride I hadn't even noticed that we had left the middle class neighborhoods behind and were pulling into an upper crust ritzy circular drive complete with a three story brick house that looked as though it had been featured in one of those fancy magazines I'd seen at the dentist's office.

My first thought was that Mom had finally traded up and landed herself a top-notch boyfriend. That thought was quickly dashed when I saw the gentleman had her a big fat envelope and smile as she returned to the car to retrieve me.

“Come on, Catherine,” she commanded quietly as she guided me from the car, “ I will back in 3 weeks to get you. Be nice, don't be a problem.”

Giving me a quick peck on the cheek, she turned, got into the vehicle and drove away. Leaving me, very bewildered, standing on the tarmac with a suitcase at my feet. My young mind struggled to try to put the pieces together. I may have been only eleven but my trusting innocence had vanished by the time I was nine. I was not a fully innocent child, having had little 'explorations' with the boys at school, I knew about the birds and the bees, despite never going 'all the way'. I truly believed that my being left in the care of an older gentleman implied only that I would be taught certain proper etiquette, being schooled in the art of being 'lady like'. Never had the thought occurred to me that anything physical of any sort would be expected of me.

However, barely into the 2nd week in that big beautiful house I was politely informed just what my duties would be there for the remainder of my stay. The man was never mean, nor forceful with me in any way. As a matter of fact, he was actually kind and very gentle. And, in all honesty, I believe I quite enjoyed the attention, I relished being treated like a precious flower instead of the dirty little weed that my own mother thought of me. No. My anger was not against this man, whom never even mentioned his own name. My anger was toward my mother... for using me so poorly, for her expectations of me, for her apparent dislike for me.

My mother returned at the end of the 3rd week. They spoke briefly before he handed her another fat envelope and she whisked me away as though nothing had ever happened. No different than if she had just fetched me from summer camp. All I could manage was to glare at the woman.

“Don't you judge me, girl.” she chided “This little journey just bought you another school year with all those so-called friends you like so much.”

The remainder of the ride was mostly quiet. I merely stared out the window absorbed in a whirlwind of anger, sadness, shock and even a simmering hatred. I was a child lost in a forest of dark emotion, not knowing where to turn or what to do. So I sat there. Silent. Searching for the girl that was stolen so long ago.

When we pulled up to the house my mother pulled my arm before I could get out her cold, calculating dark eyes seemed to bore into me as she stated coolly, “I told your sister that you had been enrolled in a behavioral study at the hospital because of how you had been acting out lately. Nancy will not believe anything you tell her about this past three weeks. She's a good daughter, you need to be more like her.”

'Good daughter, my ass!' I thought as I bolted from the car and shot through the house to our bedroom. 'Good daughter!' The words swam in my mind. The only difference between Nancy and I was that she was sneaky, underhanded, and a liar. I, on the other hand, would be defiant right under their noses, admitting what I had done proudly, as though daring them to do something about it. If Nancy ever got even close to getting caught doing something against the rules she would swiftly and expertly deflect the blame to me.

The only bright thing that came out of that ordeal was that I could look forward to 6th grade without the constant fear of having to move unexpectedly. By the middle of the year I was actually beginning to enjoy my life, school was good and I had great friends. Best of all, mother had pretty much made herself scarce.

As the school year wound down it was time to choose classes for 7th grade. What an exciting time. It would be the end of grade school, onto middle school. I was so happy and so absorbed in the life I had been gifted throughout the year that I didn't even realize what the end of the school year usually meant in my family. My best friend, Peter, and I had spent nearly every moment together over the past few months so we had chosen all of our classes together. That way when we started at a new school we would at least still be together. With Peter I had felt safe, trust and genuine friendship.

We celebrated our victory of moving on up over a pizza on our way home from the last school meeting. Then we hugged, said our so-longs, and got on our respective buses to go home. He was expected at my house the following Monday to work on my Mom's car for the umpteenth time in the past couple of months.

My great mood was short-lived. As I walked up the street to my house I saw the car of my mother's friend. All I wanted to do was turn around and run away. But I didn't. My heart sank. She had been gone for most of the school year, so it only made sense that she would come back. I thought that certainly she would have seen what a wonderful year we had had and decide that this time she wanted to stay right here.

I was still justifying things in my mind when I walked through the door and had my hopes crushed. There, in the center of the living room, was the tell-tale sign, the suitcases. All packed and ready. I turned back to the door only to have the new boyfriend block me from exiting. Nancy stood as stalwart as ever, with a slight grin glued to her face.

“What's going on?” I asked.

Mom folded her arms in front of herself and spat out, “The school year is over, you girls are going to Vermont to live with your father. We leave after dark.”

Then, she strode from the room. I was shell-shocked. My father? I hadn't seen or heard from the man in years. Nancy had regular calls with him but she said he didn't want to talk to me because I was too little. 'Peter!' was the first thought that came to my mind.

“Mom!” I cried, running into the kitchen “Peter's tools are all in the trunk of your car, we have to get them to him before we leave.”

I was desperate for a way out, thinking that if I could just get to Peter that he would help me.

“He can come pick them up next week.” she stated flatly.

“No! That's not the right thing to do! He's worked on that junk car of yours off and on all year, the least you can do is return his tools!” I was livid, desperate.

“Fine!” she retorted, “We'll swing by his house on our way out. Now go get changed and gather anything else you think you're going to need.”

I flew up the stairs, grateful for the small win. Then I snuck into mom's room to try to call Peter. When I picked up the handset Mom was on the phone talking to a man that I assumed was my father.

“Mary,” he said, “I told you before, we will take Nancy but not Cathy.”

“No, Fran,” she answered tersely, “It's a package deal, you take them both or neither one.”

“Fine.” He stammered. “But Linda isn't going to like it,”

“I really don't care what that hussy likes. We will be there by daybreak tomorrow. Be ready.”

I placed the receiver back in it's cradle, went to my room and tried to focus enough to pack a few more things. I was more determined than ever that Peter was my only hope.

The rest happened extremely fast, though I felt as though everything was moving in slow motion. I remember clawing at that door and window, wailing my heart out, begging Peter to help me, not to let them take me.... but poor Peter, just looked as bewildered as I felt. He had no clue what was going on and I had no clue what lies my mother was telling him before she got back in the car and we drove away, leaving Boston behind.

Nancy held to me tightly, trying to soothe me with the loving sister routine. Cooing about how it was just us now and we would always have each other. I screamed, cried and wailed.... spouting my vile hatred for the lot of them until I was reduced to nothing but a running nose and pure exhaustion put me to sleep.

In the wee hours of the morning we drove down a remote dirt road somewhere in the backwoods of Vermont. A few miles later we pulled into a dirt driveway leading to a quaint log cabin backed into the woods. I was being delivered to a father I had not seen nor heard from in years, and who just a few hours earlier, had made it perfectly clear that he did not want me there. Then and there I made a silent vow to myself to never, ever trust family again. I would wear the chip on my shoulder like a badge for a very long time to come.