[blueerica]

I haven't been posting in the thread lately. I suck, I know. I start writing for it, then something comes up. My life's been a little crazy lately, but when this topic came up, I wanted to post.

This is very long, and I'm apologizing in advance. I don't even know where to edit it down at.

(I'm just hoping this can fit in one post, to be honest)

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I’m not one for replacing items, especially, it seems, DVDs and CDs. I’m not a hundred percent sure why, but usually, it’s been something that was stolen, something ruined in some way, and I never try to hunt it down again. I must have gotten all I needed from it, it was it’s time to go, and I’d say goodbye silently, by not trying to regain what was once had.

For much of my childhood, I remembered my ex-step father being abusive to my mother. I remember being blamed for his smoking. As the years wore on, he became more controlling with me, and moved from being emotionally abusive to being physically abusive to me. We moved a few times, my mom had twins, and during my junior year of high school, they purchased a resort, of types, with a convenience store attached to the front. Things seemed promising, and I was commissioned to work in the store, usually while watching my sisters. The pay was virtually non-existent, I soon realized (despite promises of payment, my former step-dad decided to give himself advances in cocaine). So I applied for a job at a deli & convenience store, and I planned on still working at our store. I got the job, and wow! Money! Amazing! I could afford, things, I could do things.. I bought things I really wanted like CDs, and clothes. I was still managing to pull in around 20 hours a week at the family shop, and kept up with my school work enough to keep an A-B average (thanks insomnia, and the occasional pick-me-up from the school supplier!). I have to say that during that time in my life, music really saved it. It felt good, and I could lose myself in it.

Senior year came; mentally, I was as stretched out as can be. School, inevitably, got tougher, and I started picking up more hours at the other place, Ferguson’s. The fighting got worse. The ex-step would be gone for weeks on binges, only to return angry and violent. He was mad that I was spending so much time working for “fvcking Ferguson’s” and not working for him. Screaming and yelling every night he was home about it. He would grab me, shake me, and shove me against the counter. He used to like to break things and throw things, especially at people. There were a number of times I’d remember ducking a plate being thrown in my general direction (wow, I can infer from Python while writing about this??), only because he was f-ed up from the coke & didn’t like what was for dinner.

The very last fight I had with him, I remember coming home from Ferguson’s on a warm May night. I had just graduated from high school, and I got home late, carrying in stuff from my car, including my CD folder, to see him sitting there, half-drunk with an old friend of his, who was just as much of an alkie as he was, just as much of a drug user as he was, but far more passive. I came through the door, to his – I wish you could hear it, I don’t know if I can properly describe it – low, dark, grumble and mumble. His curses, his voice raised. He started yelling, and the friend got up and left. He took the CD folder out of my hands and slammed it on the ground; he grabbed my arms around my biceps and started shaking me, and pushing me toward the counter. I’d become so accustomed to that “move” that I managed to not get too hurt, except for a few bruises on my arm, and got myself out of his drunk grasp. Sh!t started flying, and finally he reached my CD case, which was already opened, threw it open onto the ground, and stomped on it. Between that and the screaming, I just about lost it. It was the last fvcking time he was going to do this, I told myself. I ran upstairs to the loft-style room I was now sharing with my toddler twin sisters. It was dark, and the ESF was shouting below. At that point, I really don’t remember much. The next thing I remember is my sister Brittany screeching at my leg, and I’m poised with a solid-glass statue, aiming at the man coming up the stairs. He stumbled backward and fell, and I looked at my sister, and knew that I had to get out. He never came back up the stairs.

I led my sister to her bed, and climbed in with her. I couldn’t even cry. I just felt nauseated, and shocked, and confused, and… lost. Things quieted downstairs. Once I knew the coast was clear, I went down and picked up the CD folder. He broke my Smashing Pumpkins CD, Siamese Dream, and Soundgarden, Superunknown. The rest seemed fine, but all I remember is just sobbing, as these were, perhaps, my two favorite CDs in the world. I went over to the phone in the hallway, sat down on the floor, stretching the twisted cord, and called my grandfather in Huntington Beach, California, which seemed about the furthest thing from Newaygo, Michigan. Beepa said he’d get me out as soon as possible. I put in my two weeks notice at Ferg’s, and on June 10th, I hopped on a plane to Los Angeles.

In my mind, I said goodbye to a lot of what was my life in Michigan. Each time I’d go to a music store, I’d look at various CDs – always passing those CDs by. In my mind, I couldn’t bring myself to buy those again. I’m really not sure why, but I’d pick them up each time for at least a year and a half, only to set them down again. When I hear certain songs on the radio, I’d imagine the bridge to the next song starting up, but it was never there.

Flash to May 6, 2005.

I’m at the Block at Orange with my two sisters, who had moved out a couple of years after I did, with our mom. We’re walking around, and what should I do but wander into Virgin. I’m already broke from this past weekend’s music purchases, but staring me down is one copy of Siamese Dream right as soon as I walk through the doors. I pick it up. Walk to the line. Settle with the cashier.

We were tired from a long day, so we went to the parking lot, hopped into the car, and I put in the CD. Even my sisters somehow knew the lesser-known songs from that CD. I nearly started crying. Somehow, it felt like some part of my life got resolved.

Next week, I’m picking up Superunknown. I should have done this a LONG time ago.