I went home and I packed. I packed way more than I needed to, yet, since I didn’t know where I was going or for how long, over-packing seemed quite normal.

I climbed backed into the van. This van was one of those big metal vans. Not a cute crossover, but a big van with weight. To shut the doors it took force.

The day before, when I was told I was going to be living with Bettie, my parents picked me up after my shift from my restaurant job. I said to a couple waitresses that were sitting there, “I may not be coming back. My parents are coming to pick me up.” I may had said I was moving away. It is unclear.

I climbed in the van and when I got home, I slammed the door, and I lost it.

This would be the first of two that I do not remember all what I said. After the second time, I told myself, I will never allow someone to have that kind of control over me again. I promised myself that and that remains true today. To lose yourself, is to lose yourself. It is that simple, and tragic in a way.

I remember calling my mom crazy, and I refused to go inside. I said some other things, they said things. My mind is blank to what thrashings were thrown back at each other after that moment. I never felt rage like that. I never felt like this out of body experience. It is awful. You do not feel like yourself, because you aren’t. They took me, and tried to make me someone who I was not. And I am not that person. I will not be unkind. I will never deliberately hurt someone.

They said if I left the property they would call the cops on me. They used that same threat when I was at the Bridge and at Sarah’s. That is why I had to come home. I was underage, and they threatened to call the cops on me at school, in front of my friends and be hauled away, whatever the fuck that means.

We had this big tree in our yard, and I leaned up against it and I slid down. I stared down the street and I cried, and I cried, and I cried.

The sky was gray, looming over, trees blowing, and leaves scattering in circles and then running down the street. I just sat there. I was trapped again. I was only seventeen and eighteen was many months ahead of me.

I sat there for a full two hours. The sky was turning purple into a navy, then into a deep ocean blue, and black. My butt was getting numb and I my cheeks cold to the touch. I had my hood up, but my hair was still blowing around. I stood up and walked in. I was starving but I could not eat.

I remember I was wearing this large oversized jacket. It had these interesting designs and colors on it. I was kind of your classic in more reserved alternative 90s kid. My hair was past my shoulders; wavy, curly down the sides. I wore jeans that were too big, Vans or Converse. I layered my shirts and wore a simple necklace, maybe a bracelet yarn tie. A white t-shirt under my green sweater that I got used, of course. I was a simple trying to find my way in life kid.

I walked straight to my room. I had to leave the door open. My parents came in and checked on me and I wrote to my friend. I said I was doing my homework, eventually got ready for bed and for my last day at school.

While my dad drove, I listened to my headphones on my CD Walkman, and about half way up my mom asked if I would like to stop and eat. I said, “No,” and we tracked on.

As we approached Brandon, which again, I had no idea where I was going, the first structure I saw was a church on a hill. The steeple quite tall. Then, a bar. As we entered Main Street, “Kitty Korner,” was a prominent fixture in Brandon. Later I would spend time as an employee at the “Kitty Korner” gas station where I was supposed to clean out dead fish in the fish tanks, probably just minnows. I never used the fish net scoop to clean out the dead fish, because it was gross. It smelled like fish, dead fish, swimming and splashing around in and around each other.

My parents said Bettie lived near Alexandria. Brandon was not near Alexandria. It was twenty some miles past Alexandria. Then, the house was seven miles out of the town of Brandon.

Later, when I could mail letters, although my mom instructed Bettie not to have me mail letters, but Bettie permitted it; it took ten minutes to walk to the mailbox, then ten minutes back. A twenty minutes round trip to mail a letter. I remember my Vans kicking up rocks, wearing my headphones, because I mean for God sakes this was a half mile to get to the mailbox. Then there was a road. I looked right, saw a house. I looked left, just a road of rocks. I imagined there were farms, but only saw sprawling land under and over dips and hills. Nothing. There was nothing. I was in the middle of nothing.

As we approached the black, nothingness, we parked and two children and a dog jumped into the van. Children grabbed my bags and hauled them inside. The dog, about 40lbs jumping about.

The dog after that night, never returned home. Bettie thought the coyotes may have gotten him. Jacab, the six-year old, was quite upset. My first day and week in Brandon, we mourned a dog that I just met. I think his name was Cocoa.

The house was an old farm house. The wind shook it. The screen door slammed behind. It was dimly lit. The heat turned on and a big radiator clanged.

They had all been eating dinner and their plates were swimming with fat and grease.

Jacob grabbed my bags and brought them upstairs. Rebecca, the ten year old, was mulling around. The dog was doing circles around my parents. My mom and Bettie walked into the other room.

I was walking around taking in this house. The living room was more like a hallway than a living room. One of those long and narrow rooms. The kitchen was big and boxy. The cupboards were painted country blue. There was a bathroom off the kitchen with a bathtub, and then a laundry room. The food was all spread out on the stove. Ham cut up and open. Mash potatoes soaked in butter. Baked beans from a can.

I came around the corner and Jacob was hanging upside down. My father was holding him up by one leg and the other dangled in the air. My father was swatting him on his butt.

My mom came from the living room and said, “Bobby put him down!” Jacob was crying, and he scampered away in the corner.

I looked for Bettie, but she was in the other room. Thank God. Rebecca’s eyes just round and stunned.

“What are you doing?” Mom asked.

“He wouldn’t stop kicking me. I kept telling him to cut it out and he wouldn’t,” Dad said.

“You can’t hit other people’s kids,” Mom said.

My dad mumbled and said something to the fact he should know better. My mom went over to Jacob and asked if he was alright. “I am going to tell my mom!” he said.  His face, red and slobbery from tears and yelling.

“Jacob you are Okay. It was just a misunderstanding,” Mom said.

I just stood there. I felt like I was hit, then hit again, and it just kept going.