Calamity in America (28 page)

My mom left when I was eleven and I guess my father thought it was my fault that she left.  He must have thought so because he took it out on me.

He was pretty careful so the bruises would not show when I went to school, but sometimes they did show anyway.  On more than one occasion the teacher would take me aside and ask me if everything was OK at home.  I always said yes.  Better to be beat up once in awhile than go to a foster home or wherever I would have ended up.  I did not want to jump from the frying pan only to land in the fire.

That all changed not long after I turned fourteen.  One night, when my father was quite drunk, he came into my bedroom and this time it was not to beat me.  For one of the only times in my life I had a little luck and he passed out before he could really do anything to me. 

It was the last straw for me.  With him passed out on my bed I started to gather some clothes so I could run away, but then I stopped and went to sit down in the rocking chair in the living room to think.  I knew what would happen to me if I ran away.  It would very likely be much worse than if I stayed.  But I was done putting up with the beatings, and now this other was just way too much.  It was going to stop this night. 

So I just sat in the rocker until I made my decision and gathered a few things then went back into my bedroom.  I had a full-sized bed and I put a cheap plastic tarp down and got the passed-out drunk rolled onto his back and on top of that tarp.  Then I used the rope I found in the shed to securely tie him up, both his hands and feet, so he couldn’t move whenever he came to.

Next, I lay down on the couch and got a couple hours of sleep.  I was at peace now that my decision was made.  In the morning I got up and took a shower then had my breakfast.  That done, and with plenty of time before the school bus came to take me to school, I went in and woke up my father.

We had an old knife sharpener that was always in the junk drawer in the kitchen.  It had a wooden handle with a series of round steel wheels on one end that you just drew the knife blade against to sharpen it.  We had that sharpener for as long as I can remember and I had watched my mom use it and I had used it since she left.  This time I took the pointiest paring knife in the drawer and then I sharpened it very well.  I took it with me when I went to wake my father.

When I got him awake it took him a couple of minutes to realize he was tied up and on a tarp.  I was quiet and just stood above him holding the knife where he could see it.  He didn’t say anything because I had tied a gag in his mouth.  He sure was trying to make a lot of noise though.

I had plenty of time yet and I just let him squirm for awhile.  I was not worried about him getting loose because I was very careful when I tied him up. 

“We’re going to talk some.  I will talk and I will only ask you simple yes or no questions so you can just nod or shake your head.”

He was squirming around and his eyes were pretty big.  I decided the best thing to do first was to get his full attention, and at the same time, show him this was to be a serious conversation.  So I stuck the paring knife deep into his left leg, about half the blade length down.

That got him squirming even more, that’s for sure.  When he calmed down a little I thought it was time to talk.

“Have I got your attention now?”

His eyes were as big as pie plates it seemed like, but he did nod his head yes.

“Do you remember what you tried to do to me last night?”

He started squirming again.  I took the knife and held it over his other leg.

“Hey, I asked you a question.  Do I have to get your attention again?  Do you remember what you attempted to do to me last night?”

He nodded his head.  He actually looked sad now.  So what?  I was sad too.  I brought my free hand up and touched his repulsive neck.

“I can feel your pulse right here.  It seems like your heart is beating pretty fast.”

I then put the knife on his neck where I had my hand a moment ago.  I think his eyes got even bigger if that was possible.

“This is going to be the end.  You will never touch me again.  Never touch me at all.  Never.  Do you understand that?”

He nodded his head, but very slowly and carefully because the knife was still there touching his neck.

“I wish I could trust you but, obviously, I cannot.  But I’m done.  Last night was the last straw.  It may be stupid of me but I am going to give you one more chance. And only one chance.  There is not a court in this state that would convict me if I killed you.  And that is the truth.  You touch me one more time in any way and it will be the last thing you ever do in this world.  Do you fully understand that?”

He again, very carefully, nodded his head slightly.

“I wonder if you know that I am serious about this.  Maybe I will have to show you that I am actually what you might call, deadly serious.”

I took the knife and made a couple small cuts on his neck.  I was careful but at the same time I wanted him to know I was certainly serious.  His neck was bleeding but it was not squirting out so I must have been careful enough and at the same time serious enough.

Next, I used the knife again, but this time to cut the ropes that held his hands tied to the bed. 

“I am going to school now.  When I get home I hope you have turned over a new leaf.”

I left, washed up, and still had time to catch the bus.

It worked.  He never touched me again.  He even mostly quit drinking.  He never got sopping drunk again as far as I know anyway.  We never talked about that morning but he never touched me again either.

My father never had a real job the entire time I knew him.  He got a check every month from an insurance company for what he and my mom had said was disability.  He did not appear disabled, but the checks came every month anyway.  He did sometimes take odd jobs that paid cash but I don’t really think he liked to work at all.

After that morning’s talk he started taking more of those odd jobs.  And he also started fixing up the old trailer house.  Maybe he was trying to atone for what he had put me through, or maybe he just needed something to do now that he was not drinking anymore.  I don’t know and I don’t care.

My father and I never ‘got back together’.  After that morning he was always respectful with me and, sometime later, I was a little more respectful to him.  That was the extent of the father-daughter relationship we had.  I never forgave him and he never really tried to make it up to me; not that it was even possible for him to do so.  But we learned how to live with one another for several more years.

When I was old enough I got a driver’s license and then I got a job.  We had his old car and I drove that to and from work.  Sometimes, if he had one of the occasional jobs, one of us would give the other a ride to and from work.

All the money either of us made working went into the same checking account.  One day we went to the bank together and I was added to the account.  Yes, I did keep a stash of cash hidden at home.  It started small but I did add to it a small amount with every check that I received.

I graduated from the local high school and the only thing that changed was me going from a part-time worker to a full-time worker.  I was working at a grocery store as a check out cashier.  There was no thought of going to college.  There was only going to work. 

But things never remain the same, and when Walmart opened a Super Center store somewhat close to the grocery store where I worked, it was only a matter time it seemed before my store closed for good and I was out of a job.  I did not have a lot of options.  On the news, they keep saying how great the economy is now, and how low the unemployment is becoming, but I sure don’t believe them.  Not one little bit.  There are virtually no jobs here in my town.

When the grocery store closed I applied at every place that I thought I might have a prayer of getting a job.  I even applied at car parts places.  Before my unemployment ran out I was hired at Walmart.  That is where I still work.

A little over a year ago my father had a heart attack and died.  There was enough money in our joint checking account to pay for his funeral.  I did the funeral as cheaply as I possibly could to save money. 

When his next disability check came in the mail I sent it back with a note saying that he was deceased.  Remarkably, it only took that one note and the checks stopped.  I guess the insurance company was way more on the ball than the government. 

Three months later I got a check from that same insurance company.  This time the check was in my name.  The letter attached to the ten thousand dollar check said it was my father’s death benefit.  I deposited the check and, so far, I have not spent any of that money. 

I know I will never see that much money all at one time again and I wish to spend it wisely, so for now it just sits in the bank earning the quarter percent interest that the miserly bank pays on all savings accounts.

Though I have not spent any of that ten thousand dollars I do think about it all the time.  Maybe I should say that I daydream about that money.  To me it was like winning the lottery or something similar.  It was money from out of the blue. 

So I often daydream about how I will spend it.  Sometimes it is spending it all on an ocean cruise where I will spend the time basking in the sun all day and spend every night dancing with all the wealthy, handsome, and eligible bachelors that make up most of the other passengers on that cruise.

Sometimes I daydream about spending the money on plane tickets to far away and exotic places in the world.  Places where I will meet Princes or wealthy young businessmen, or sometimes even certain movie stars whose names you don’t have to know.  Just rest assured that they are all very handsome and likely also very rich and always seem to find me irresistible.

Only occasionally is the daydream about that ten thousand dollars anywhere near being practical.  But sometimes it is about buying a nicer and newer model car.  Or sometimes it is about selling this place and using the money received from this house and the ten thousand and buying a nicer place in or closer to the city to live.  But instead, no matter what I daydream about, I end up doing nothing with the money and just leave it in the bank for a rainy day.

Chapter 2

I am a tall girl at five foot eleven inches.  I have very light brown hair that I have cut in a modified pageboy haircut.  Short enough to be fairly easy to take care of and long enough so I still look like a girl instead of a man. 

I have a very lean figure that I maintain by running.  By lean I guess you women will know I mean rather flat chested.  And that’s OK with me.  Big ones would just get in the way when I am running.  I always wear a sports bra anyway and that does not help how my figure looks either.  But I love to run and it only costs a pair of shoes occasionally.  I run everywhere.  I run just about everyday that I can. 

Lately I have also started to do a little weight training.  No I do not pay for a gym membership of course.  I have bought a few simple workout things at yard sales for really cheap.  With the increase in crime I figure a little extra muscle in the right places might just save my life at some point.  The spare bedroom in this old trailer is now my workout room.

I have no steady boyfriend.  OK I don’t have any boyfriend, steady or not.  Until just a couple weeks ago I did have an arrangement with a guy from work.  He is gay so it was not a boyfriend-girlfriend thing.  Like I said it was an arrangement instead.  He wanted a female friend to take places so people would not know he was gay.  I never told him it was blatantly obvious anyway.  But it served both of us to go out together.  It made us both appear ‘normal’. 

I got to go out and do something without having a regular boyfriend and he got the appearance of having a ‘normal’ relationship.  It was fine for about three or four months or so.  Then a guy tried to abduct me and I ended up giving that man a beating I guess you could say.  Anyway, that was last time my gay friend and I went out together.  He was very afraid of me after that.  Oh well, such is life.  It was fine while it lasted.

That foiled abduction had quite an effect on me, too.  It made me realize that I have to be responsible for my own safety.  No one else will do it.  That was blatantly apparent when that man pulled me off that sidewalk with other people around.  Those people either just did not see the attack or did not care.  Probably some of both. 

The attempted abduction also made me open my eyes.  I really mean open my eyes.  I realized that just like other people I just go through my day-to-day life without a thought to what is going on around me.  No wonder no one saw me get abducted because, like I was, people are oblivious to their surroundings and they are totally focused on themselves.  So now I have woken up.  I actively observe my surroundings all the time.  I do not want to be a victim again due to my lack observation. 

So when I went to a yard sale and saw they had a few knives for a cheap price, I bought a couple.  I made sure they were very sharp and now I always have at least one of the knives on me at all times.    

At home I do have three guns that used to belong to my father.  I have a lever action deer rifle and a pump action shotgun and a small 22 automatic rifle.  One day I took all of them to a local gun shop and had the man in there show me how to load and operate each of the guns. 

The man was young, maybe only a year or two older than me it appeared.  He had very dark hair and was tall, at least three inches taller than I am.  Though young he seemed very knowledgeable about my guns when he saw them.  He offered to buy all of them but I refused to sell them. 

I had some ammunition at home but (mainly to show my appreciation) I did buy more ammo for each of the guns.  The man said all of the guns were quite old but looked to be in fine shape and should be completely safe for me to shoot as much as I wanted.