I remembered this story as I was walking back from the supermarket today. I was fidgeting with my ring and muttering a song to myself. then BOOM! I remembered how when I was 15 I would walk home from school. I would grab a brand new leaf from a tree, and tuck it into my ring and chant 8 times. He will leave me alone. He will leave me alone.... I know this was not a very effective way to manage my stress. But,.. It gave me the tiniest bit of hope. I could wish very very hard, and maybe if the universe loved me extra that day.... My step-dad would not be home. This particular story is a little bit different in that, he was home. He was also very angry that I was home from school 35 minutes late. Now all silliness aside, I have to say, this is a pretty damn funny story now that I am older. I was not so much, when it happened. I had gotten jumped on my way home from school that day. It was a very inventive technique. Two kids walked up to me and got in my face, and pushed me around. Then when I turned around to run the other way, KABOOM! A bicycle hits me in the face. I took the main support bar (between the seat and the handlebars) across my lips. Fortunately, a large portion of my life was getting swung at, hit, and thrown around. I had learned to flinch like a champion. In my home you got two for NOT flinching. I launched backwards at the last second and managed to save my teeth, but busted open my lip, and when I went down to the ground. I got stomped on. Literally. STOMPED on.
Now, this was a bag full of suck. Getting the crap beat out of you by kids that have no reason to do so other than if they don't, someone will do it to them is harsh.. But what made it worse was that when I walked into the door, tears streaming silently down my face, blood dripping down my chin and onto my shirt. I shit you not, I had blood bubbles in my nose... and SLAP! my step-dad charges me and connects with my face at full force. My teeth rattled, my lip exploded all the way open and I bit my fucking tongue so bad I could not breath right for an hour.
There is no redeeming part to this story. It just sucks, and sucks some more. Imagine living it and having to look people in the face.
My step-dad began to scream at me while he choked me in the corner, front door not even yet closed. Telling me that I had let my friend Glenn hit me in the face so that I could stay after school and hang out longer. It takes 15 minutes to walk home. I was 35 minutes late. I got the shit kicked out of me, and was told that I FAKED it, so I could hang out my with friend who frankly was nearly as bad off as myself. He did not get beaten, but just as bad, his parents abused his mind. They made him their slave. Egg and mayonnaise sandwiches at all times all days. This is no joke, or exaggeration. His job once he got home was to clean the house, wash the Camaro (And do NOT forget the fenders you stupid faggot!) and cook fried egg sandwiches slathered in mayo to his mother, father and sister. I will have to move this tale over to another section at another time, on another day.
So that was my story of why I hoped that magic would one day save me. Now I realize long after the fact that even if I had been able to change events with magic. I would still suffer the same amount, I would still have as much joy. No matter the path or the goal, We will always have things to compare our pleasures against. And our suffering. Rambling comes to an end......here.
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