Billie Holiday and her dog, Mister — Happy birthday, Lady Day, born April 7th, 1915, in Philadelphia.
“No it’s not,” I said and squeezed her hand.
“Yes, it is and I’m ready.”
“I’m not,” I said and brushed her hair away from her forehead.
Even at her very old age, her eyes were still crystal clear and a beautiful shade of blue. They really were piercing and I had not looked into them for too many years to count.
She had been my 5th and 6th grade teacher over 30 years ago and even then, I remembered her as old. I was 10 years old when I first met her. She was old-fashioned, kind and strict. The thought of talking back to her never entered your mind. You learned in her classes. You sat up straight. You said “Yes ma’am” and you turned your homework in on time.
When you received an “A+” you knew you had earned it. The same with a “C-.” Each and every piece was returned with her markings from her red pencil. You knew by her comments that it had been thoroughly read and critiqued.
She missed nothing.
She was my salvation when the math teacher I had decided she hated me and began her 2-year cycle of bullying me and another girl.
It was Mrs. Aronson who stepped in when she could. It was Mrs. Aronson who spoke-up and tried to stop it. It was Mrs Aronson who would tell me not to listen.
It was Mrs. Aronson who convinced me to write.
When she asked me to stay after class one afternoon, I gulped and nodded while I held my breath. I couldn’t think about what I had done wrong and tried to ignore the giggles of my classmates as they chanted “Susan’s in trouble! Susan’s in trouble!”
One look from her and they shut-up and scurried out the door.
I slowly walked up to her desk and waited until she looked up at me. She smiled and asked me to sit down. She was holding my paper in her hand. I racked my brain trying to remember what I had written and why I was in trouble.
I sat down and waited. Each second felt like a week while I watched her read it again. I could see some red marks on it. I was suddenly convinced that it was so bad, she was going to kick me out of her class. The fact that she couldn’t do that was beside the point. I had finally crossed some unknown line that kids aren’t supposed to cross.
I had written something that was bad and it was going to get me into trouble.
She turned and looked at me as she handed me my paper. I took it in my hand. The paper shook. I looked down and read her notes on it.
They were praising it. She commented on what she liked, along with her corrections on my grammar and sentence structure.
She had given me an “A+” and I thought it was a joke.
I looked up at her. She was smiling.
“Where did you learn to do this?” she asked.
“Do what?”
“Tell stories. Is this story true?”
“Yes!” I said. “This really is what happened on our vacation and my brother Jeff really did throw-up all over me in the back seat of the station wagon. My Dad was driving…”
“It’s OK, I believe you,” she said and chuckled. “I read your story and it’s wonderful.”
I nodded my head. I no longer felt as if I was going to vomit.
“You still need to work on your grammar, but that will come in time. But I want you to promise me something.”
“Anything,” I said. I loved her and always had.
“Promise me you’ll always write.”
“Who? Me?”
She laughed and put her hands on top of mine and pulled them towards her. “Yes, you,” she said and held them tight for a moment and then let go.
“Ummm….”
“No, you do NOT say ‘Ummmm.” That is not the proper way to speak. You either say “Yes” or “No.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Good. Now go home and I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said and began grading lessons. I got up and walked home, stunned.
Thirty years later, I saw her at a park. I recognized her immediately and felt a huge smile cross my face. She could barely walk and someone was holding her hand as they walked around the lake. I stopped and just watched her for a moment and then walked up to her.
The woman she was with turned around and smiled. She tapped Mrs. Aronson on the shoulder and she stopped walking. I held out my hand and told her who I was. We looked at each other for a moment. Her hair was still in a bun, she was wearing the same perfume and she had her gloves on because that was the proper way for a woman to dress when she was outside.
She was very frail , but she was walking around the lake anyway.
“You probably don’t remember me, but I wanted to tell you how much you helped me.”
The woman with her hugged me. She was her great-great granddaughter.
I could see she was reading my lips. She smiled and nodded and took my hands in hers. “Yes, I remember you. Your eyes haven’t changed. Are you still writing?”
Her question floored me. “No, I never really…”
“You must,” she said. “You promised me you would, didn’t you?” she said and raised her eyebrow.
I was suddenly back in her class.
“Yes ma’am, I did.”
“You are not the type of person to break promises,” she said.
That’s all she needed to say.
“I will start right away,” I said and looked down and kicked some dirt.
“You start tonight, you hear me?” she said.
I kept looking at my shoes.
“Yes ma’am,” I said.
“Good,” she said and chuckled. She put her hand under my chin and lifted my face to hers.
“I don’t have much time left and I always wondered about you and how you turned out. I’m glad I got to see that you turned out just fine,” she said.
“Yes I did,” I said.
“I’ll be gone soon. I’m ready.”
I wasn’t. I had just found her again. I still heard her voice telling me I was good enough, that I could write, that I must write no matter what, that I didn’t deserve to be bullied.
It has always been her voice in me that kept me going, through unbearable heartache and loss, through all the rejection.
It’s her voice I hear when I make a typo or write a sentence wrong.
I cringe and fix it because she believed in me and loved me and cared about me enough to push me and never accepted a reason why it couldn’t be done.
She saw the best in all of us and never accepted anything less.
And that’s what we gave her. Our best because we knew she was right. No matter where we went or what happened to any of us, she forced us to know we were good and worthy.
It’s her voice I hear that I can do it and I will do it.
She’s the reason I teach.
She’s the reason I write.
She’s the reason that teaching is a noble profession and no one can take that away from me.
She is who I write for.
“I don’t get this,” Eddie said. “You’re not making sense.”
I quickly counted to 3 before responding. I often had to do this with him. He was so blunt at times.
“OK Eddie, where did I lose you?” I asked. A few of the other student’s snickered and sighed. Eddie looked around quickly and then shook his head.
“No, it’s OK. I get it now,” he said and nodded his head.
No, he wasn’t understanding but as soon as he heard the others chuckle, he shut down. He looked like he was about to cry. I decided to ignore it for now and continue with the lesson.
He didn’t utter another sound the rest of the evening.
Afterwards, I asked him to stay for a moment. I again heard some snickering.
Eddie’s face turned red.
“Did I do something wrong again?” he asked.
“Nope, not at all. You’ve done lots of things right. I just want to talk with you for a moment,” I said.
Eddie was in his mid-30’s and the entire time I had known him, he always seemed to struggle with expressing himself. He seemed swallowed up in the class and unsure of himself. Subtle comments were lost on him. He had been incarcerated 6 months ago for burglary and didn’t seem to understand why he was here.
I pulled up a chair next to him after everyone had left. He would make quick eye contact with me and then look away.
“How are you getting along in here?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Is everyone treating you alright? Are you having any problems that I can help you with?” I asked. I leaned forward a bit and put my hand on top of his. He stared at it for a moment and then pulled his hand away.
“No, but I’m used to it,” he said and began to think very hard. “I keep doing things wrong, but I don’t know what they are. I just want to read my books, but they don’t let me.”
“Who is ‘they?’ I asked.
“The guys here. Don’t you understand anything?” he asked.
“Apparently not,’ I said and smiled. He looked at me for a few seconds and was once again in deep thought. Then he smiled back at me.
“Eddie, did you just think about whether or not to smile at me?”
His face turned red again and he nodded.
“You don’t know how to act, do you?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I know you’re supposed to smile at people when they smile at you.”
“That’s OK. You don’t have to worry about it with me. Just say what’s on your mind and it will be fine,” I said.
He struggled through the program but when he turned in his lessons, they were amazingly intelligent and articulate. I could tell that a great deal of thought was put into each and every lesson.
He learned to not say anything in class but to talk to me afterwards. I tried as best as possible to explain things to him so he could understand them.
He wasn’t dumb; he was very bright. He just lacked social skills.
One night, he sat down and said he was distressed. He was getting released the following week and was scared.
“Why are you scared? Don’t you have any place to go?” I asked. I hated this part of my job.
“Yes I do. I’m moving back in with my parents. They want me back.”
“Well that’s great! What are you upset about?”
He turned red again and began to fidget. “I won’t get to talk to you anymore.”
I felt a lump in my throat. He was right, but I had already figured out what to do.
I reached into my purse and grabbed a pen and a piece of paper. I wrote down an address and handed it to him.
He looked at it. “What’s this for?”
I ruffled his hair. “It’s a PO Box that you can use to write me. They will make sure I get it, so no matter where you go, I’ll get your letter.”
“Really?” he asked. He looked like a child who had just been given a huge bowl of ice cream.
“Yes, really,” I said.
He stood up and shook my hand. “OK Susan, maybe I will write you.”
“That would be nice,” I said. He left and I never saw him again.
Three days ago, I got a letter from him. He said he was doing alright and had found out he had Asperger’s and didn’t know it.
It was a long letter, filled with his thoughts, ideas and what he does everyday, what books he is reading and anything else that came to mind.
He signed it “Thank you Susan for being the first person to listen to me. Please write back and let me know you are OK.”
I wrote my letter back that night and mailed it the next morning.
Life is good. I have a new friend.
Care for those around you. We all need it.
I had never been asked that question before. I had never given it any thought at all. Ever.
I just figured you lived your life, did the best that you could and hoped people would think kindly of you if and when they thought of you.
I know my memories of people whom I had lost along the way became softer and kinder as time went by. Even the ones I didn’t care for no longer held my heart and mind hostage. I chose to remember the good about them, even if it was a stretch.
And some people can be a challenge to find anything good about them.
I took my glasses off and looked down at David. His question had stopped me dead in my tracks.
I rubbed the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes.
His question deserved an answer, which I didn’t have.
“I guess I want people to think kindly of me. Maybe as someone who made a positive difference in their lives in some small way,” I said. That was all I could think of.
“Well, no one is going to think well of me. That’s for sure,” he said.
I liked working with this group of men but sometimes it got intense and I would feel that I was walking on thin ice. So much potential meaning behind simple words.
It was easy to stumble and fall.
“How so?” I asked. Might as well cut to the chase. Something was brewing with him.
“You gonna start your pussy whining again?” asked Fernando. “Let it go, will ya? We’re all sick and tired of hearing about it.”
I raised my hand and gave Fernando a stern look. “Watch your language,” I snapped.
He looked away and leaned back in his chair. “Sorry ma’am. It won’t happen again,”
“This is a valid question,” I said. “Where you going with this David?”
“I’ve done a lot of bad stuff in my life and..”
“Stop right there. I don’t want to hear it,” I said.
David was incarcerated for at least 25 years for manslaughter. He had a long way to go before getting released.
“But what I did…”
“Seriously David, I don’t want to hear it. I want to know what you are going to do today and maybe tomorrow. How are you going to make things better around here?”
My question startled him.
Like so many people, he kept dwelling on the past and wouldn’t budge. Maybe because the present was a bad place to be and the future wasn’t looking much better.
“I don’t know.”
“Then figure it out and tell me next week. Until then, stop being such an Eeyore.”
This made him and the others laugh.
But his question resonated with me for a long time.
It still does today.
I finally decided that all I wanted on my death-bed was the knowledge that I mattered. That I had made a difference and that the world was a better place because I had lived.
How will you be remembered?
If you don’t like the answer to that question, then change now.
It’s never too late to make a new beginning.
“Did I just hear you correctly? Did you really just ask me for my approval?”
Posted: March 2, 2013 in jailTags: prostitution, self-worth
I was sure I hadn’t heard her right. Surely after all this time, hopefully she had learned something. Anything.
My voice was harsher and louder than I had intended. I looked down at her.
“Oh shit! Teach is pissed!” Suzanne said and looked up at me. She had a slight smile on her face.
I was amusing her. Suzanne was easily amused by others. I often admired that quality in her, but not right now.
Right now she needed to harness her talent for knowing when to shut-up.
“No, that’s not what I said…” Amber said. “I meant…what I wanted to say…I was asking you…”
I picked-up my pad of paper and slammed it down on the table.
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. The room was quiet. Even Suzanne had stopped talking.
After all this time, Amber still wasn’t understanding the whole point of the program.
I was failing her somehow.
I opened my eyes and looked at her for a long time. She couldn’t look at me. She was trying to fall through the floor and disappear.
“Amber, you just asked me if I liked what you were doing. You weren’t telling me about your progress because you are proud of yourself. You are telling me because you want my approval. You just asked me if thought it was a good idea…”
“That’s because I care what you think of me!” she said.
“Why?” I asked. “Who died and made me in charge of you?”
I heard Rita murmur “Amen” and chuckle. Suzanne started to say something, but the words never came out of her mouth because she saw the look I shot her.
Amber was young and had virtually no sense of worth or value. She looked to others for it.
She was easy for the pimp to turn out. As long as he approved, she would do what he asked. She was another “throw away” child who had ended up in my class because James had a soft-spot for first time felony offenders.
Amber sat up straighter. “I’m in charge of me!” she said and smiled.
The smile of a hooker. Empty, as insincere as you can get and the epitome of desperation and despair.
And people say it’s a victimless crime.
She was full of shit and we all knew it.
“Oh really? How’s that working out for you?” I said. “Did you forget where you are?” I said and stepped back. I folded my arms across my chest and waited.
I watched her struggle with trying to figure out what to say. All she knew to do was to repeat back what she had been taught to say. “Yes, you’re very attractive.” “No, that feels great.” “Whatever you want is fine with me.”
This list was endless and nauseating.
“No, I know where I am…”
“Then take a moment and tell me what YOU think and not what you think I want to hear.”
She blinked several times and looked around. She gave pleading looks to each and every woman in the class to help her. They all shook their heads and looked away.
She was on her own and no one was going to help her.
“I’m not sure what you want me to say,” she said. A slight panic was settling in.
“I want you to tell me what you think about yourself. Honestly what you think.”
She flashed her hooker smile at me. “I think I’m great!”
“Liar,” I said.
Back and forth we went. Every answer that she gave me, I called her out on it if I didn’t believe her.
When our time was up, I dismissed the class. Amber was still trying to figure out what to say that would get me off her back. She was frustrated and angry with me. The other women had kept quiet the entire time.
She was back the next week and we continued.
“I think…” she said and then burst into tears.
Finally.
I waited.
She wiped her eyes and bit her lower lip. She started to stand-up and then collapsed back in her chair and put her head in her hands and sobbed.
We all waited. Lucy started to get up to comfort her and I motioned for her to sit back down and be quiet. She did.
Amber took a deep breath and looked up at me.
“I think I am lower than pond scum and nothing more than a worthless piece of shit. I don’t have any value at all except my looks. That’s what I think about me. Happy now?”
“Yes,” I said and smiled. “Thank you for being honest.”
“You’re welcome,” she said.
And then she laughed. Her words were out of the mouths of babes and when she heard herself say them and fly out of her mouth, they took with them the power they had over her.
For the first time in her life, she had been honest and no one yelled at her or hit her or told her she was wrong.
“I am partial to worthless pieces of shit,” I said.
“Welcome to the club,” Suzanne said.
Amber jumped up, ran over to me and gave me a bear hug. I held her tight and let her laughter turn to tears and then back to laughter.
“Amber, I am going to give you some homework. I want you to spend the next week writing down what you think about anything and everything. It doesn’t matter what as long as you are honest with what YOU think. That’s the assignment.”
The next week she gave me 10 pages. She beamed as she handed it to me.
“I didn’t know I had all these ideas and opinions that were my own,” she said.
“I did,” I said.
“Yeah, but I don’t care what you think.”
“Excellent,” I said.
What happens when you physically accost someone in front of a cop.
Posted: February 18, 2013 in Pets, UncategorizedTags: pets, rescued animals
It was so hot. Unbearably hot. August in Phoenix is not where you want to be without an air conditioner. We had just pulled into the parking lot and I was rushing towards the office building to get out of the heat. We had been in the Datsun pickup for over 2 hours with no air.
I was guzzling the water from the bottle and rushing ahead of my boyfriend. It was the summer between my Junior and Senior year in High School and we had taken off for a week to visit his Mom.
When I turned to look back at him, a movement caught my eye. I thought I might be getting a bit delusional from the heat. I wiped the sweat away from my eyes, squinted and looked again.
There was something moving around in a parked car.
I walked over and looked in.
It was a dog.
Locked in a car with the windows up.
The temperature outside was 115 degrees.
What I had seen was him struggling to get up. He had stuck his paw up and placed it on the glass. He didn’t have the strength to keep it there and he had fallen back onto the back seat.
I gasped and tried to open the car door. It was locked. I ran around the car and tried all the doors. None of them opened.
I began to panic.
The dog was not moving.
I spun around and looked for something to break the glass. I saw a large rock near the bushes and ran over to it. I picked it up and ran back to the car.
My boyfriend was staring at me.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
I said nothing and took the rock and smashed the window. I had to try 3 times before it shattered. By then my boyfriend had come over. He pulled me back.
“What the HELL do you think you’re doing?” he screamed.
“I have to get the dog out of here,” I said as I pushed him away. I opened the car door, grabbed the dog and pulled him out. He was barely breathing.
He stood there with his mouth open and looked at the glass on the ground. I ran over to some shade and laid the dog down. I didn’t know what to do so I started fanning him.
There was foam all over his mouth.
“We have to get out of here before someone sees,” he said as he came up behind me and grabbed me by the arm.
“Shut-up and bring me the water from the truck!” I yelled. I took my water bottle and poured it over the dog. I washed his muzzle. “Come on baby, please keep breathing,” I sobbed as I rubbed his fur. I ran my hands over his face and put my mouth to his and breathed in. I didn’t know what I was doing. His head flopped back. I pulled it back to me and tried again.
“WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE” he screamed.
He was worthless. I ran over to the truck and grabbed the water and poured it on the dog. I pushed on his chest and kept breathing into him.
His eyes fluttered.
He wasn’t dead but he had passed out.
“You put your mouth on him? That’s fucking gross! I’m never kissing you again,” he said.
I looked up. “You got that right,” I said and kept fanning him and talking to him. I sat down and cradled him in my lap and stroked his face. He was coming around.
I didn’t see the cop car arrive. I heard a woman screaming about her car being vandalized. Someone must have seen what I had done and called the cops.
I didn’t care. They could have called the entire force and I wouldn’t have stopped.
“Miss, you mind telling me what you’re doing?” the cop asked.
I looked up. I thought it was obvious but I guess not.
“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY CAR?” a woman screamed.
I looked down at the dog and leaned over. I put my nose against his. He licked me. He wagged his tail for a moment and then closed his eyes again.
“I broke the window to get the dog out,” I said.
The cop walked over and kneeled in front of me. He looked at the dog and stroked his face. I looked up at him and then back down at the dog. He was breathing but not very well.
“We need to get him to a vet,” I said and began crying.
“I didn’t have anything to do with it. I swear! We were just walking and suddenly she is breaking the glass,” the soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend said.
The cop stood up and turned to the woman. “This is your car?” he asked. I laid the dog down and stood up. I was very interested in her answer. I looked back at him and then back at the woman. I began to walk towards her.
“You left your dog in the car in THIS heat?” I screamed.
“YOU RUINED MY CAR YOU CRAZY BITCH!” she yelled.
Suddenly I was lunging towards her. I was aiming for her eyes. I shoved her back. The next thing I knew, someone had grabbed me by the waist and picked me up. One moment my feet were on the ground and the next moment they weren’t. I was suspended in mid-air for a moment.
The cop had picked me up. He carried me away from her. He opened up the back door to his car. He put me back on the ground and told me to sit down and be quiet. I nodded.
“I promise I won’t go near her, but can I sit with the dog?” I asked.
“No. You stay here. I’ll take care of the dog,” he said.
He radioed for animal services and told them it was an emergency. He walked over to the woman and advised her to be quiet and he would take a full report. He then walked over to the dog, picked it up and gave him to me to hold.
Not once had the woman shown any concern towards her dog.
My soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend walked over towards me. I ignored him and petted the dog.
I knew I was in trouble but I didn’t care. I sat while the cop talked to the woman. I couldn’t hear them and I didn’t want to.
“Miss, can you please step out of the vehicle?” the cop asked. I looked up and he was looking down at me. The woman was with him.
I held onto the dog and got out. The cop stayed between the woman and I. As I walked by, he put the woman in the back of his patrol car. She began to yell at him and he ignored her as he slammed the door closed.
“What happens now?” I asked.
“We’ll wait until they get here. How is he doing?” he asked and stroked the dogs face. He opened his eyes and his tail wagged again for a moment. I was glad he was a small dog.
“He’s OK but not very responsive,” I said. I felt nauseous from the heat and heartbreak.
A few minutes later, animal control arrived. They gently took the dog from me and promised me they would take good care of him. The woman in the patrol car was still yelling but the windows were rolled up.
“I hope you didn’t leave the air on for her,” I said.
He chuckled. “Yes I did, but I didn’t want to.”
I sighed and looked down at the ground. “I guess now you want all my information,” I said.
“Nope,” he said and walked away. He got in his patrol car and drove off.
This was not the first time nor the last that I rescued an animal.
To be continued.
“Yes, you’re my favorite bad boy. Pinkie swear.”
Posted: February 12, 2013 in DatingTags: bad boys, dating, older women
That made him smile. He was even more adorable when he smiled. He poured each of us another shot. We quickly clinked our glasses and drank them in one gulp.
I could feel the tequila beginning to warm me. We were sitting by a fireplace in the bar we had stopped at. It had turned chilly and I was starving.
I never knew riding on the back of a Harley could be so much fun and exhausting at the same time. I was beginning to thaw and I couldn’t keep the smile off my face.
Life was beginning to be fun again.
“So Susan, what are you doing with someone like me?” he asked as he brushed his long hair back.
He had gorgeous hair.
He had a gorgeous face.
He was an Adonis and he was mine for the weekend.
“Having fun. What are you doing with someone like me?” I asked and took a sip of my coffee.
He laughed. “I guess having fun.”
“Then we are agreed. This is just for fun, right?”
“Right,” he said but there was a hint of a question when he said it.
“What? You don’t believe me?” I leaned forward and rested my chin on my hand and looked at him.
My friend Nancy had introduced us. She had known him for a few years and when he walked into her store when I was there, we shook hands, chatted and then he left. Nancy began poking me on my arm as he walked out.
“What do you think?” she asked. She had that hopeful look on her face mixed with a mischievous grin.
“Him? He’s hot,” I said as I continued to look at the scarves she had on sale. I picked one out and handed it to her to ring it up. “I want this one,” I said.
“You are right. He is hot, but stay away from him,” she said as she rang up my purchase and put it in a shopping bag.
“Don’t even worry about it. I have no interest in dating anyone. Ever again. Never. Ever.”
“Oh, don’t say that Suz! You’ll find someone,” she said.
I sighed. Why do people always say that?
“Nancy, I love you but seriously, I don’t want anyone. I just got out of a loveless and sexless marriage that put me in financial ruin. The last thing I want to do is repeat that mistake again.”
“Well that’s good because guys like Christopher never settle down. He’s sweet but…”
“But what?” I asked. Now I was intrigued.
“He’s a bit wild. He’s also a bit younger than you, so…”
“So what? You think I’ve just shriveled up all of a sudden?” Now I was interested.
“No, not at all.”
I thought for a moment. “Just because I am no longer in my 30’s or even my 40’s doesn’t mean I’m dead!”
I had Nancy call Christopher and tell him to call me. He did immediately.
“You got a Harley?” I asked him one night on the phone.
“Yes.”
“I want a ride on it,” I said.
“Whatever you want,” he said.
And here we were, relaxing, eating and drinking after an afternoon riding through the hills and along the coast. I had no plans on when to get home and neither did he.
We had been going out for several weeks and each time I had fun and loved being able to close my front door at night and be alone.
No one to answer to.
No one to criticize me or leave a mess in the kitchen for me to clean up.
I could own the remote and watch whatever I wanted.
Why didn’t anyone ever tell me how much fun being single could be?
And now, sitting across from him and feeling the warmth of the fire warm me on the outside and the tequila on the inside, I felt happy.
I was content and not waiting for the other shoe to drop because it didn’t exist.
“Yes I know you said this was just for fun, but it doesn’t always work out that way,” he said. He then mimicked me by leaning forward and resting his chin on his hand.
We were nose-to-nose.
“Stop talking and pour me another shot, please,” I said and leaned back.
“I have to ask you something,” he said and leaned back. His voice had turned serious.
“Sure, what is it?”
“Where do you see this relationship going?”
I thought I heard him wrong. I asked him to repeat his question again and he did.
I had heard right.
“What relationship?” I asked. “Didn’t we agree this would only be for fun?” I could feel myself start to back pedal and looking at the front door.
He was a heart breaker to women. I knew that and I didn’t care. Mine was on the shelf and no one had access to it, not matter how handsome or charming they were.
“Don’t you want more than fun? I mean, isn’t that what most women want? I keep waiting for you to push for a commitment or start asking me about what I do when I’m not around and shit like that?”
I laughed. “Oh, you mean you expect me to act like a young, silly and jealous woman?”
“Yes I do!” he said.
“Well, welcome to the joy and wonder of dating an older woman. We are a well-kept secret and we would like it to stay that way. Otherwise, we would be too busy with all you younger men to get anything done.”
It ended up being the best few months of my life.
And yes, I do have a big, shit eating grin on my face while I write this.
That moment when you realize you have suddenly turned from adviser to prey is a bit indescribable. It’s a mixture of fear and panic with an increase in your senses and awareness.
You are suddenly completely in the moment and it is extremely uncomfortable because everything around you is screaming for your attention. What you smell, what you see and what you feel are overwhelming.
It is complete overload of your senses and you can’t stop it.
Your body automatically tenses up and begins to flee. It slams into your mind to override it and force you to run. Because the mind is being held hostage by your endocrine system and the adrenaline rushing through your body and your increased heart rate, you could run right into a wall or door.
It’s called panic and it’s why some people do stupid things when it hits.
The mind is struggling to analyze a solution and the body has started to run away and has told your mind to stop thinking and start running.
That was happening to me as I sat across from the two brothers I was working with. Jimmie was 13 and Stan was 16 and I suddenly knew what they were planning to do to me.
I might not leave the room alive.
I wasn’t supposed to be alone with them in a room down the hall where no one could see or hear us.
At night.
With no phone.
I was supposed to have my friend Melissa with me.
I was supposed to have their parents with me.
I was supposed to be in a room next to the reception area and in full view of the entire staff.
I was supposed to have male protection at all times.
I had none of these things and I was a sitting duck.
Melissa had blown me off with no explanation. The parents had dropped the kids off because there had been a family emergency and weren’t attending the “Parenting Course” I was doing with them and their 2 sons.
The room we were usually in had been closed due to a water leak, so I was put in a small room at the end of the hall in an area that was closed off in the evening.
There were no staff around in the Community Center in this wing. No one was going to come by and check-in on me.
I had made an extremely grave and stupid error.
I was alone with two psychopaths who were now looking at me as prey. The conversation had suddenly turned sexual as they cast their eyes on me and smiled.
Stan moved closer and put his hand on my arm while Jimmie got up and closed the door.
The smiles never left their faces.
“Please leave the door open Jimmie,” I said. My voice was weak and high. I cleared my throat.
Stan tightened his grip on my arm.
“Nah, it’s OK Susan. We just want it to be quiet,” he said and sat down on the other side of me.
Jimmie reached over and put his hand on my other arm. I tried to pull it back. He held it harder.
My heart beat was so loud in my ears that I thought they could hear it. My mouth went dry and I wanted to cry. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes for a moment and then opened them again.
They saw the fear in me and their smiles grew wider.
This was what they wanted. Terror.
I couldn’t stop it. My mind was racing too fast and my body was trying to jump out of the chair and run.
I could not think for a moment. I sat quietly and shuddered as they stroked my arms up and down.
“You look nervous Susan. No need to be. We’re just talking here, right Jimmie?”
“Uh huh. Just talking. That’s all,” he said and moved closer to me.
I thought about my dogs that I couldn’t leave homeless. My parent’s faces flashed through my mind. They had already lost one child and I had to make sure they didn’t lose another one. They would not be able to survive it. I thought of my friends and family and how much they needed me.
But I thought hardest that it was not my day to die and my vow that I would never go through another beating ever again.
I smiled as best as I could and leaned back a bit and crossed my legs. I tried as hard as I could to not show my fear and tried to express my interest in them.
“I like how that feels,” I said to Stan as I looked at his hand running up and down on my arm. “Don’t stop doing that.”
He stopped and looked at me. For one moment his grip relaxed on my arm. I turned and smiled at Jimmie.
“That feels nice,” I said.
He stopped.
I was 15 feet from the door but would have to run past them to get to it. I would never make it.
“Maybe we could continue our conversation after I get my notepad from my purse,” I said and smiled.
They looked at each other. Stan nodded and leaned back against his chair. Jimmie did the same thing.
I got up and as slowly as I could, I walked towards my purse. I prayed he hadn’t locked the door. “I am so glad it’s just the 3 of us tonight,” I said. My heart was going to come out of my chest and I knew I was about to have a heart attack.
“Yeah, so are we,” said Jimmie and they both laughed.
I wondered why psychopaths always have the strangest laugh.
I reached into my purse. I was 3 feet from the door. I picked it up and turned around.
They were both staring at me. “OK, well somewhere in here I have my notes,” I said as I pretended to look through my purse and walk back towards them.
As soon as I was in front of the door, I grabbed the knob and turned the handle.
It wasn’t locked.
I walked through the door. Once I was out, I ran down the hall.
I blew through the doors at the end and ran over to the reception area where William was sitting.
He looked up at me and started to say something and then stopped.
“You OK Susan? You’re out of breath..”
“I’m fine. I just have to leave suddenly. I left those 2 kids in there, so you should go get them and bring them out here. Sorry, but I have to run,” I said. I looked behind me and they weren’t there.
I got in my car, locked my doors and got onto the freeway as quickly as possible. A few exits later, I drove to a gas station, parked my car and cried for 20 minutes.
When I got home, I called Melissa to find out what happened.
She never called me back but a week later she sent me a fax saying she was sorry but just didn’t feel like doing this anymore.
I read that fax several times. I grabbed my phone and called her. She didn’t answer so I left her a voice mail, letting her know that she had left me alone with 2 psychos and had endangered my life.
After 3 years of working together, I found out I was blown off because she wanted to be with a man she had met at work. Not only had she kicked me to the curb, she had done the same thing to her husband.
I never heard from her again and I never went back to the Community Center. I cancelled the course and refunded the money.
I was done.
I learned to never to depend on another person. They come and go in your life. Some will stay but most will not.
At the end of the day, your only asset is yourself.
People either enhance your life or they steal from it. There doesn’t seem to be a middle ground as far as I have seen.
Six months later those 2 brothers were charged and convicted of rape.
Always trust your gut.
Do not trust anyone who tells you otherwise.
Vampires are real.
Posted: February 5, 2013 in Self-esteem, self-respectTags: drama queens, friendship, vampires
“No they’re not,” Josh said and laughed.
“Yes they are,” I said. “In fact, you’re dating one right now. She’s a Day Walker, so she is harder to spot. Plus she doesn’t sparkle in the sun.”
“Sparkle? What the hell are you talking about now?” he asked and dipped another buffalo wing in the bowl of sauce.
“Never mind about the sparkling. Bit of an inside joke,” I said.
Josh chewed on his food and thought for a moment. I waited. He had asked me for my advice. I at first refused. It’s usually a waste of time and energy to give anyone advice. They never listen.
But I made an exception for him. He has been a good friend for years and sincerely wanted my 2 cents. I had time to spare and since he was buying me lunch, I relented.
“You do know, don’t you, what a vampire is, right?” I asked.
“Yes of course I do but they aren’t real. That’s just fiction.”
“Are you sure? How do you know?” I asked. I was starting to have fun. “Just because you’ve never seen something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. Like Big Foot.”
“Oh, you believe in Big Foot now? What the hell have you been smoking?”
I leaned forward and tucked my legs underneath me. “Marlboro Lights. What I mean is, I don’t know if Big Foot exists but it’s fine with me either way. But I do know vampires exist. I’ve seen them, I’ve met them and I’ve even dated one or two of them before. They are the people who suck the life out of you and still want more. They are dead inside but still walk around. Some vote and procreate and drive. Makes life more difficult than it needs to be.”
“But why are you saying that about Karen? We’ve been dating for months and it’s been good…for the most part,” he said and took a huge bite out of his hamburger.
“Well, let’s see here. What was it she said to you the other day about the flowers you brought her?”
He cringed for half a second, but I saw it.
“She said she was tired of getting roses from me, but..”
“But what?” I asked.
“But I should have known that.”
“Oh, so now you’re supposed to be a mind reader? How about the time she asked you to be honest and when you were, she threw a tantrum, hung-up on you and wouldn’t talk to you for three days?”
“That was my fault because…” he said and stopped.
I dipped a buffalo wing in the sauce and waited.
“Then there was the time you took her to her favorite restaurant and she complained about the service the whole time. And let’s not forget when she said she didn’t like you talking to me. Remember that time? Huh?”
He nodded his head and looked down at his lap.
“In fact, I bet she will get very upset today when she finds out you and I had lunch.”
“No she won’t,” he said.
“Oh really? Why not?”
He looked out the window and then at me. “Because I’m not going to tell her.”
I stopped eating and looked at him. He was serious.
“Right there is your first clue that something isn’t right. Josh, you’re one of the most honest people I know! The fact that she doesn’t like your friends is the second clue. The other red flags are her slight and subtle criticisms about what you wear, where you work, what kind of car you drive…”
He raised up his hand.
“I just want her to be happy,” he said.
I threw the buffalo wing at him. It hit him on the chest and left a stain. He would now have to do some laundry that weekend.
He picked it up from his lap and tossed it on the table. He glared at me as he wiped his shirt with a napkin.
“Her happiness is not your problem. It’s her problem. That’s why she’s a vampire and you are a willing donor. She looks to others to make her happy. She feeds on them and is never happy. You ever known a vampire to sit back after a feeding and say they have had enough and light up a cigar and smile?”
A slight grin crossed over his face. “No, I can’t say that I have. I get your point.”
He thought he did, but he didn’t. He was on the wrong side of the equation. He was trying to make someone happy which is impossible to do. Plus vampires are only happy when they’ve sucked you dry and you die a slow and painful death. Watching all the good emotions leave and the negative ones show up is what they feed on.
And they never stop.
“Well, do what you want but I have to warn you of something,” I said.
“Oh, and what’s that?”
“If she ever pulls that pouting routine around me again, I will put a stake through her heart.”
“I believe you,” he said.
He made sure she and I never saw each other again.
He was at least smart on that point.
idisagreecompletely 
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