All apologies for the false start before. As I said.. when we last left off, to speedily recap, I had just begun to betray J, my best friend, and James, my commitment phobic sometimes boyfriend by sleeping with S, J’s supposedly exclusive boyfriend.
You can read the
Throwback Thursday 1 here in its entirety if you choose.
Also, adding to the people I could potentially scar deeply with my reckless hookups I, myself, was on that list because every time I had S at place overnight, I was risking my practically perfect living situation.
The staff at 929 Mass Avenue, the agency that ran my awesome independent living program, had warned me repeatedly that if I screwed up here I would no longer have a place with them.
I was 18. No longer legally a headache they HAD to deal with. Before I was legally an adult, they HAD to place me no matter what I did. I knew this fact and manipulated it mercilessly. Up until my 18th birthday, anything that made me unhappy in any way, shape or form was reason to blow it and force the hand of the powers that be, which since I was 16 had been 929 Michelle and her various underlings and minions. (Is there a difference? I’m not sure)
So, I began a fling with S. It wasn’t at all good for me. S was not nice to me at all, except during sex. Outside of the bedroom, or whatever room we were currently intimate in, he insulted everything about me even as he exercised an inordinate amount of control over my thoughts and actions.
He dj’ed and sold pot, so he kept crazy night time hours. It wasn’t unusual for him to get to my place at 3 or 4 am. He would climb the fire escape then bang on my window to be let in.
I would let him in, cook him his favorite, a delicious steak and cheese, which he insisted on eating on disgusting raisin toast. Not that I am inherently against raisins, I just don’t like them in or near my steak and cheese.
After food, we’d usually have sex. I loved sleeping with him. We were highly compatible and also I craved him showing me affection and that was the only way he ever did.
So I’d get up in the middle of the the night to spend time with him even though I worked in a daycare and needed to leave the house for my 8 am shift at 7:15 am.
So no sleep, a demeaning, destructive relationship that was risking everything good and I was loving it.
While I was at work, S spent time with his actual girlfriend, my best friend, J. That hurt me more than I care to admit but what’s the point of a memoir if you can’t be painfully honest.
I agonized over their time together. I obsessed over what J had that I didn’t that had S choosing her for his girlfriend. He spent more time with me, money on me, and had more sex with me but I still wanted what I didn’t have.
It was making me miserable. The only time I was happy when we weren’t together was when I was with the kids in the daycare. I absolutely loved those little ones.
Drawing them out when they had separation anxiety, making them happy with stories and songs, teaching them things and seeing that they had learned. Sunshine Daycare was an oasis, an eye to the hurricane I had made of my life.
Till the day, I was in the role of mandated reporter.. that sucked hard.
Amaya, a caramel complected brown eyed toddler, smart and beautiful, and kind of my favorite at the time, showed up with big blisters on her tiny palms. Her normally happy confidence had been replaced with teary-eyed silent withdrawal.
I did my best to draw her out and comfort her with her favorite songs and stories but as soon as I had a chance I gently carried her to my supervisor’s office and closed the door.
Amaya kept carefully concealing her injuries with her sweater sleeves. I set her gently on Miss DaBoss’ s desk and as sensitively as I could, showed DaBoss what I had seen on Amaya ‘ s tiny palms.
DaBoss’ s professional, what can I do for you smile, disappeared instantly. She began pulling out forms and rapid- fire asking me questions.
More to come next Thursday… Thanks for reading.