A Teenager's Journey (3 page)

All I want is for someone to love me
, I thought, as I started to make my way back home.

A few yards farther on I found another place to sit and mull things over. I recalled better times, me sitting on Mom’s lap being comforted when I had a fever or banged my knee as a little child—I knew that she was capable of love.

But that was back then, before David left. David was older than me; he was born after Ross, my favorite brother, and before Scott. For as long as I could remember, David had taken the brunt of Mom’s venom. He lived in the basement. Often when Mom referred to him she called him “It.” Mom made him work till he dropped, and most of the time past that point. She beat him daily, kicked him, cut him, and starved him. More than once she locked him in the bathroom with a pail of cleaning solutions mixed together to make a toxic gas. She made him eat out of the dog dish under the kitchen table when the rest of the “family” ate in the dining room.

Then when he was thirteen or so, he disappeared. I thought at first that Mom had finally killed him; perhaps he’d failed to do something she’d told him to do. I was terrified. If she actually killed him, who else might she kill? It took me a while to learn that he was actually rescued and that the police had taken him away.

One thing I had known. I’d just felt it and it was as real as those apparitions in the basement that night: Mom needed a victim, and I’d be the next one. It hadn’t taken long for my feelings to turn into a frightening reality.

On the one hand, I hated her with every ounce of my body and wished her dead more times than I could count. On the other, I remembered the times I’d wanted her never to leave me, to protect me from all the bad things the world had shown me. In a way I felt sorry for her and wished that I could erase all the pain and embarrassment she must feel inside from the guilt of the horrors she’d committed. I often wondered whether, if I told her I was the reason that she was abusive, perhaps she would let it all go and return to being the “Mommy” I longed for.

I thought about the big dinners she would serve and the games of Tripoli we used to play in earlier years, and the comfort we’d all felt. Trying to make sense of it all was near impossible. When I was small she could comfort me as a mother, while at the same time committing acts against my brother that bordered on attempted murder. That much I understood. She was simply not in control of her actions or her thoughts. I believed that at times she had different personalities. Looking back at my childhood and all the times that I thought were good, those same times when David was going through hell, what was so strange was the realization that
she was the same person
. She could comfort me while beating him senseless.

I became convinced that she had lost her mind and was truly sick. In an odd sort of way that knowledge comforted me. The understanding gave me satisfaction, some sort of answer.

With a feeling of strength renewed, I stood up and continued on my way back home. Once I turned the corner onto Crestline Avenue, I saw the house—that dismal, dark, cold house. As I got closer and closer to the front steps I became ever more determined to find the perfect moment and place to take my life. My decision was made. I had no reason to postpone it any longer. I didn’t want to just struggle on and on, endlessly questioning myself. I just wanted it over with.

Confidently, I walked quietly up the steps and into the front room. Everyone was still asleep. I made it back in time, before anyone had even noticed that I was gone.

Once in my room, I walked over to the black desk and sat down. Through the window, I looked at Josh’s house across the street and knew that within a few short hours I would either be on my way to Salt Lake City or in the morgue. Perhaps at last I would be somewhere I would be loved. A place where I could find the answers to the questions I had asked myself so many times as I lay on my back talking to no one—perhaps now I would find out if there was a God or not. I looked forward to the answers. But I struggled with the question of the exact time and place. Where? When? Before everyone got in the car for the ride to Salt Lake City? Perhaps I could do it in the backyard. I had thought about doing it in the backyard for a while now. It seemed almost the right place. Or I could wait until I was in the car and we were all together.

But by now the removal men had pulled into the driveway and started to load what belongings we had already boxed up. Mom and Scott were packing the car. Once they were done, the neighbors came out one by one and said their good-byes. They all had kept silent about what they had seen and heard in our house. I watched them, and I shook my head sadly. I was more than disappointed—every one of them had known what was going on and yet not one had stood up to help us.

Had this been 2006 and not 1980, anyone in the neighborhood, any of the teachers or administrators, any adult who had known what was happening in that house, would have stood up and helped me and my brothers. We have come a long way in twenty-five years. No one with a heart can stand on the sidelines and allow the kind of horrible abuse that existed in that house for so many years. Today, anyone knowing of such horror, such evil, would be held accountable. They would find themselves having to answer for their silence.

Frank and Alice from next door came out and hugged each of us, then talked to Mom for a few minutes. I looked Frank and Alice in the face and sensed they genuinely felt guilty. Helen, the neighbor on the opposite side, came out, too, and said her good-byes. Even my older friend, Ben, who lived just down the street, hugged me and rubbed my hair as he often did to say good-bye. The last to show themselves were Josh and his family. They all came out and hugged each of us. Then Josh and I sat on the curb and talked about writing to each other. Josh had been my best friend all along. I was happy being around him and I’d enjoyed his friendship.

In a dead serious but gentle tone, I told Josh that I wouldn’t be able to write back.

“I am going to end this nightmare once and for all,” I said, as I patted the pocket that held my pistol.

Josh had seen Mom beat me and he’d seen Mom embarrass me more times than I could count. Even when I was running away from her, mortified with shame, and Josh was standing there watching in horror, he was always my friend. For years he had seen what I had gone through and tried not to make a big deal about it when I was so ashamed.

One of the more difficult and awkward situations I experienced was when Josh and I were freshmen in the same class at Westmore High School. It had to do with my smoking, which I had managed to keep hidden from Josh and his family for a couple of years. I was able to get away with smoking at school by keeping my cigarettes tucked into the top of my sock.

In the middle of class one day Josh turned to me and asked: “Did you drop these?”

“Yeah—thanks,” I replied, as he handed me the pack. It had somehow fallen to the floor as Josh sat down in front of me.

He was obviously mad at me. He had commented several times how he hated the way my mom smoked and smelled of cigarettes. Having handed me the pack, he simply turned away and ignored me for the rest of the class.

I felt both embarrassed and relieved. I was sad that he’d found out I was smoking by some simple accident rather than me talking to him about it. But I was relieved that I’d only dropped the cigarettes and nothing else.

As I casually slipped them back into the top of my sock I leaned toward my other leg to check that I hadn’t also dropped what was hidden there. I was relieved to discover the couple of joints and the small bag of cocaine I had stowed there.

I knew if Josh had ever found out I was doing drugs he would have written me off and never talked to me again.
Thank God
, I thought as I sat back in my chair and continued to ignore the teacher and everything else that was going on around me.

As we sat there on the curb outside the house in those few moments before I would leave and never see him again, Josh turned and looked at me. His face told me that he understood. He reached out and put his arm around my shoulder. I held back my tears. I was feeling the loss of a true friendship, and I knew he felt the same. But now I was being instructed to get in the backseat of our new car. Once Mom was in, we backed out of the driveway and turned down Crestline Avenue for the last time. I sat up and watched Josh out the back window as he waved good-bye. Once the car turned off the street Josh, Ben, and all the others were out of sight.

As I turned back into my seat I looked at Mom, and she glanced back at me.
If you only knew what you’ve done to me,
I said to myself as she turned back to her driving. I placed my hand over my pocket, felt the pistol, leaned back, and closed my eyes.

All I need now is the perfect place and time,
I thought to myself as I drifted off.

I felt in my heart that soon enough I would be where I’d wanted to be all along: a place where I would be safe and warm, a place where I was loved, a place called heaven, a place I could really call home.

2

T
HE
A
NGEL

There was nothing that impressed me as a teenager. I found little pleasure or happiness in anything I experienced. But then I saw the angel, and I was deeply touched. I found myself questioning my decision to take my own life. There was just such a peace about the face of the angel that I was no longer sure about my decision, or about anything else.

W
E WERE LEAVING THE
Daly City area. I watched the landmarks pass by as we drove farther and farther out of California. When we crossed the Golden Gate Bridge for the last time, I recalled the fun we’d had as boys marveling at its height and size. That was long before Mom had changed into the person I now feared. And I thought of my friend who had found the courage to jump from the very edifice we were now crossing.

Once we reached the Oakland side, we were on the open road and well on the way to the Promised Land of Salt Lake City, Utah. We had been traveling for several hours and I was drifting in and out of sleep. Scott was driving. Just outside the California-Nevada border, we stopped at a small-town hotel casino. My younger brother Keith and I wanted to stretch our legs. We got out of the car and started to walk around, looking at the huge signs surrounding the casino.

“Richard, get back in the car—
now!
” Mom yelled across the parking lot. Halfway back to the car, I noticed that Keith hadn’t turned around to walk back with me. Then I saw him—Keith, Scott, and Mom were making their way toward the building. I watched as they went inside.

Back in the car, I felt that familiar feeling—separated, singled out.

Whatever! It won’t be long now,
I said to myself.

As I sat there enjoying the morning sunlight, they returned with a few souvenirs from the casino and some drinks for each of them. Mom brought nothing for me.

Once we were back on the road I kept myself occupied by daydreaming, again, about the time and place I would select to take my life. The hours passed. We made one stop after another to stretch our legs, and I became engrossed with the countryside: We were entering the Nevada Desert. What seemed like hundreds of miles of blacktop highway kept the ride quiet and I slept for most of the drive. I heard Mom talking to Scott and Keith. They would stop at the salt flats and Dinosaur Land, she said, where the kids could see real dinosaur bones just as they had been excavated.

One of the few photos I have of Mom was taken at Dinosaur Land. I’m not sure who took it, or why I ever held on to it. It was a good reminder of just who she was, certainly. I always thought it appropriate that one of the few photos I have of her shows her with gigantic, vicious carnivores towering above her.

Scott walked on ahead around the outside of the park, while Mom followed, holding Keith’s hand. She would occasionally stop, then catch up with Scott. It never concerned her that I was often out of her sight. Whenever I had the chance, which was most of the time, I would set off in the opposite direction from Mom and “her boys.” Whenever I saw them together, I felt excluded. Mom was very careful to make sure that I knew there were two parts to her family: “her boys,” and me.

As the distance between us lengthened, I passed the entrance to what seemed like a small enclosure. Off to the left were some bat caves. Before anyone could notice, I slipped into the crowd and joined the short tour in the caves.

We went deeper and deeper into the caves. It was getting darker and damper all the time. When we were right inside, far enough in to embrace the darkness completely, we were all asked to be as silent as possible and to listen and watch for the animals flying around the roof. Before long, I could see and hear the bats. Some hung on the ceiling, silent. I was amazed at the numbers of them, and at the dampness in the cave. The dark and the damp felt familiar.

As I walked out of the cave and back to the exit of the enclosure, I was struck by the scenery. The desert was dotted for what seemed like miles around with small islands of trees and plants. I leaned against the wooden fence and surveyed the vast landscape.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she said.

I knew the voice, and I loathed the tone; I didn’t look back to check that it was Mom, I knew it was. I straightened up from the fence, hung my head, and awaited her instructions.

“Get back there, behind Keith!” she commanded.

As I skirted her and Scott, then fell in behind Keith, I could see the stuffed animal he was carrying. She must have taken them inside the park and spent some “quality time” with her boys.

As we walked back toward the parking lot, I told Keith about the bat cave I had found. Within a moment he had informed Mom of it, and without hesitating she turned around and made directly for the cave entrance. As she purchased the tickets for the tour, I knew she would exclude me. Sure enough, she handed Scott and Keith their tickets and told me to wait by the fence where I had been when she found me.