soapboxdiner

1991

Once upon a time, way back in May 1991, I became a woman. Heh. Don't I wish. But something did happen way back in in May 1991. Some of you who remember when SBD was The Bot might remember the story. If you do, please bear with me.

Early one morning in early May of that year, my mother found my boyfriend lying naked in my bed beside me. He was my first love, my Sean. Off and on for two years (mostly when he managed to keep himself out of county lock-up), he was the only one - IT - with a big I and a big T. He'd finally managed to be disowned by his family and had no place to stay.

It is cold here in the winter months, and I couldn't fathom my first love - with all the teenaged starry-eyed fairy taled altruism implied - alone and cold on a park bench. I let him into my bedroom window every night, for three months, up until that last morning whence we were found.

My mother surveyed the room and eyed his boxers next to my Vicki's on the floor and quietly came into the room. As she sat upon the foot of the bed, she told Sean a story,

"I sincerely hope that you love my daughter. When lust fades away, then love is the only thing that will keep you together. And lust fades quicker than you might think. Now get your clothes on, both of you, because neither one of you are welcome in this house again."

That morning I grabbed a toothbrush and my clothes, and walked down to the 7-11 bus stop with Sean. My first act as a homeless (I mean independent) woman was to brush my teeth in an empty parking lot. In a way, I was happy, because Sean and I could be together all the time now. We could get our own place and things would work out fine. Insert more altruism and blind stupid faith here.

I asked Sean, "where are we going first?" to which he answered, "You are going to school. I'm going to visit some people who owe me money. I'll call you over at your friend's this afternoon."

That afternoon came and went, as did the next month, with nary a word from Sean. He was gone, and to this day I never saw him again. Three days after the Blessed Discovery of Our Love, I'd finally found someplace to live. You probably don't want to know what I did in that little meantime. However, it is important to note that things I did, by the simple, lawful and legal act of being caused my friend to be expelled from her own abode. More on that later.

And so, that is how I got my first apartment and my first roommate, and then within a week, my second roommate as well. The only thing left for me to do was find myself a new job. You see, previous to this, I'd been working for my mother as a receptionist and cashier at a car dealership. Don't we all know that when your mother disowns you for being a slut who sleeps with first true loves - whose darker-skinned ethnicity is revelant only to prejudiced mothers and racist step fathers - you can pretty much be assured that your job for that mother has ended?

And job hunt I did with a vengence and passion unparalleled in modern times. Within two weeks, I had three of them. Two on weekday afternoons and one on the weekend.

Anyway, cutting to the chase, out of guilt I persuaded my 28-year-old roommate to allow my now-equally-homeless friend to move in. She agreed on the same conditions I myself had agreed to, namely paying an equal share of all the bills and keeping the house work up. As I had vouched for my friend, I was responsible for seeing to her lot in the event that she did not pay.

And for two months, she didn't, and I did my best to support her with the earnings from my three jobs. My life became getting up in the morning and walking to school some four miles away, getting out of school and walking to either one job or the next, and home again around midnight. Rinse and repeat. I'd walk into the apartment exhausted, only to find my two roommates sitting at the spades table under a ceiling of cigarette smoke, perfumed by cheap malt beer, with strange men. And I would shower and play on the good nights.

But as you can imagine, living such as that is not really living, and the pressures got to me quickly. As I was eating from the Keg of Slim Fast for my once daily nourishment, washing my clothing in the bathtub, my friend who had guilted me into allowing her to move in was partying. As I was paying her rent, she was borrowing clothing and stereos and ruining them.

Soon, I contracted my last bout of strep throat that laid me out for three weeks with fevers, hallucinations, and racking fits of coughing that left me hypoxic and wishing for death. Roommates left me on the death bed for the sake of good parties, without so much as heeding my hoarse plees for a loan of $3 for some cough syrup and reminders that the first of the month was looming.

I recovered. I was so hopelessly behind in school, I dropped out a month before graduation. A week later, I woke to sheets soaked in blood. And down the toilet, a small bloody lump that was Sean's love child was flushed away.

But as I said, I was a starry-eyed and head-strong young woman of 18. Sean called one day, probably to see if all had smoothed out, to which I shared my story. With anger and indignation cloaking the heart-crushing hurt of his abandonment, I told him everything. EVERYTHING. And he never called again.

But I recovered and with my new-found time free from the troubles of school and boyfriends, I commenced the partying in earnest. Every night was a different set of strangers seated at the gaming table. Every night was a different man I stared into the eyes and fucked so good he'd call my name and worship me. By God, if caring could not ensure committment, sex was going to.

But it got old as the summer progressed. Uncaring roommates stealing, lying, accusing. Men whose names and faces I don't remember using me as I used them but for wholy different reasons. At last, I forgave my mother, and in a sense, she forgave me. I left that apartment and made up for my months of what clearly was insanity.

I moved back home, but kept two of the jobs. I went back to school for the remaining 1.5 credits I needed to graduate, and I that I did. It wasn't at the 3.8 GPA that it had started at, but I suppose 3.5 isn't bad. I've often wondered how someone who could be so successful at books could be so unsmart at life.

But that is a time I am thankful for. It was my first lesson in understanding family will be there for you long after love interests (at least in my experience. May you have better experiences.) and most of the time, much longer than people who call themselves friends.

I am thankful that I survived it. It taught me a lot. Perhaps or not the lessons I needed, but I don't suppose lessons are multiple choice affairs. On the other hand, I guess they are; you just don't always realize it at the time.

8:30 am - 11.28.02
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