[Story Index] [Discussion Thread] [The Asylum]
The World Around Me
By Escape Artist
2001-01-31
When I was around 5, life seemed so easy. Although I lived with an abusive father, an alcoholic mother and some of the lowest scum visiting constantly, life was reasonably good. I was neglected emotionally, but it didn’t matter. There was a brand new world, and I was learning about it for the first time. I explored the little bit of the neighborhood I was allowed to, rode a bike my father built during one of his sober spells, made friends with the teens that lived around me and generally had a good time. We later moved down the street (by that time I was 7 and getting curious about other things), and I started hanging out a lot more with the teens, being that I was closer to them and knew them pretty well as I had talked to them before.
Shortly after my 9th or 10th birthday, my mother bought me a console television from the local auction. Upon getting it home I was enamored with it. I had never had anything like this before in my life. My drunken father yelled at me to go to bed. After I pleaded with him for 15 more minutes, he decided he was going to give me a beating. Now when I was younger, he beat my mom badly. Very badly. I wasn’t about to just stand still. I ran around the house trying to avoid him and, for defense, grabbed a pipe that was lying against a wall. By then mom was too trashed to do anything, having indulged herself in a bottle of vodka. She just laid upstairs and screamed at us to shut up. My dad yanked the pipe away and punched me in the face, busting my temple open. I ran to Melanie’s house and later learned that my entire face was covered in blood from the wound. Melanie was an old friend of the family that lived across the alley from us. It wasn’t a good thing to look at. She was, to say the least, shocked to open the door at 9 p.m. to see a hysterical kid covered in blood. She got me cleaned up and called an ambulance. I was released from the hospital to a youth home while the Department of Social Services arranged to have me separated from my father.
I played pool there, watched movies and had a great time. It was an odd youth home, compared to stories I later heard. My mother and I moved to my grandmother’s house, and I still regret some of the things my mother did during our stay there. She was pretty unstable from all of this, not to mention a raging alcoholic and drunk constantly, moaning, screaming, etc. My grandmother never got any peace whatsoever, what with trying to manage my drunken mother and me. She occasionally sobered up, but during that time I occupied myself with exploring the new neighborhood and trying to make the best of a bad situation. My grandmother tried to keep me company while mom drank, but I was restless. I had a decent time there, having built a stereo system out of bits and pieces I found at garage sales, and I sat in my room or hung out with the kids that lived on either side of me when I got bored.
We eventually moved back to Detroit, and I once again made friends with everyone in the neighborhood. Our little group consisted of myself, Danny, his cousin Josh, Tina, Jennifer (Tina’s little sister), George (Tina’s bigger brother) and Raymond. We hung around the hood, Tina’s porch, Danny’s uncle’s garage (which he worked on cars out of) and Danny’s house. Not really much trouble to be had, as Danny was like a father and kept us all in check on serious matters, not to mention introduced me to many genres of music. Danny has to be one of the best influences I had in those days. Josh was as much of an opposite of Danny as could be. He drank, smoked weed, fucked around constantly and got into trouble. He was the one that introduced me to alcohol. I was 10 at the time, hanging around with him, when he got a neighborhood drunk to buy us some Canada House. He decided to share it with me, and thinking it was cool, I accepted. I wound up drunk off my ass. At that time, I rode a bike around (I detested walking, and they did quite a bit of it those days) and after fully half a bottle of the shit I was learning new ways to ride it. I’d also learned how to "ghost ride" a bike, which basically is as follows: Get the bike up to a reasonable speed, then jump off. I ghost rode the bike right into Raymond’s uncle. Luckily he took it well.
After that came smoking. A new guy was introduced to our little clique. His name I can’t remember, however. His mother was Melanie, and he’d moved back in with her. He was 18, and brought cigars one day. We decided to go down to the railroad tracks that were only two blocks away and smoke them there, as we all could get into trouble for smoking if we were seen by any of our parents. I think the guy’s name was David, but I’ll call him that anyway to minimize confusion. David gave Danny and me a cigar, and I think Tina may have had one as well, though it’s hard to remember. In any case, Danny objected (as was to be expected) and after my fervent refusal to give it back, he finally gave up, but with a warning: "Be careful man, or you’ll get addicted off that shit." One warning I damned well should have heeded. I got a huge head rush from smoking it, and had David buy me a pack of cigs with my meager allowance. Now, keep in mind that although Danny objected, he let me have my way. (He also started smoking shortly thereafter, along with Tina and me.)
Some time after that we ran around the hood as usual, but this time with cigs and booze in hand. Danny started drinking, along with the rest of us, but he kept it all controlled. One incident that arose from this was a fight between Josh and Raymond (who were both total drunks at the time). As far as I can remember, Josh was pissed about something Raymond had said, and decided to throw a can of salsa at Raymond. I don’t know why, but this was hilarious. Raymond just stood there, screaming his lungs out about his shirt being covered in salsa, while all of us (including Josh) laughed our asses off. Those were good times, and my life now pales in comparison to them. On a side note about Danny and me--he was the big brother that I lacked. He taught me how to ride a motorcycle, introduced me to new things (including tricks in the cars that his uncle worked on) and made life much easier for me. My parents still drank heavily then, and he made it bearable. For that, he has my everlasting respect and gratitude. I could write many stories about the experiences I had then, with him and the others, but I digress.
My grandmother had Alzheimer’s, and by the time I was 12 it had gotten to the point where it was a threat to her. By then, we had a car and were able to visit a lot more and check up on her. Now here’s the shitty part: One day mother was especially concerned about her condition and asked me if I would go over there and keep an eye on her. Being a little asshole, I refused. After a week of her not answering her telephone we went over to discover that she’d fallen. I still think that was my fault; if I hadn’t been a selfish brat she might be alive today. She had broken her pelvic bone and was put in a hospice since she was bedridden from it. Her Alzheimer’s was worse then ever, and with the injury she had I now realize that she probably wouldn’t have gotten out of there.
Anyway, one day she was pushing her wheelchair and fell again, shattering her hip. Her health went to hell after that. It’s funny how the smallest things can have a larger effect. I didn’t realize it then when I refused, and now it’s too late. In any case, she ended up having strokes and other problems that left her bedridden and brain damaged. The Alzheimer’s increased this effect. The pain that it caused to my mother I can’t comprehend (I gotta stop for a couple minutes, sorry), and when she was in the nursing home I was too lazy to visit half the time. I am still heartbroken that I chose not to visit. After all the good she did, and the love she had for my mother and myself, I couldn’t get off my sorry ass and pay my respects to the woman I owed my life to. My family grew up in unimaginable squalor, and SHE was the one who pulled us out of it...and I couldn’t take one hour out of my day to say hi. I still hate myself to this very minute that I could’ve been so heartless. I type this in tears at what I’ve done. I now know that I was unappreciative, and what I must have caused my mother when she asked me to go and I said I didn’t feel like it...I can’t even begin to guess. My utter goddamned LAZINESS is what probably caused her to die so soon. Had I been there to watch, she might be here now. My mother might have been spared the angst of watching her mother slowly perish, talking to her and knowing that her words might not even be received. It took 2 years, and I was at home when my mom arrived. When I went out to greet her, I knew my grandmother had finally given in and died. My mother looked reasonably normal, but I know it had to take a hell of a lot of strength to hold all her hurt in and put on a normal face. She was silent for most of the day.
At the funeral home it was a fucking disaster. My sister was enraged at being late, and was screaming her lungs out. My brothers decided that they weren’t even going to let my father (who by now was a good man and had more than made up for the things he had done) have the final honor of carrying the casket. My mother broke down and wailed. These bastards couldn’t even have some decency.
Now, two odd things happened shortly thereafter. One, the cut roses we had gotten had actually started budding, to the surprise of all. The second thing is a bit more vague. I was sitting in my room at about midnight reading a book, when I saw a floating purple orb. Sounds silly, but this was only a short time after she had died. It moved around the foot of my bed, as though it were observing me. A couple minutes later it faded away. I still believe that it was her. I can only hope that she’s forgiven me for what I have done. If not, may I burn in hell. God knows I probably deserve it.
My father started drinking again because of what the brothers had said at the funeral and I can’t say I blame him. He was hurt to the core, and alcohol was his only escape. He was ticketed numerous times for drunk driving, and then an ironic thing happened. After sobering up and going to work regularly, he was pulled over and arrested for not appearing in court for the tickets. Mom couldn’t get a job, and so we went into poverty yet again. By now, we were living in my grandmother’s house, and believe me, Dearborn is expensive to live in. Mom was forced to sell antiques to pay the bills, and life was hell for a while. Eventually things got better, Dad had been released and he got a job, and soon thereafter Mom managed to get one too.
Now let me explain a couple things about my parents. They are both old, and at the time, my father was 59 and my mother was 57. My dad was working in a warehouse where they kept steel coils and cut them to customer spec. One of the requirements my father had was to go up 30 feet and lubricate the in-house cranes. He had to crawl across the beams, 30 feet in the air, with no protection whatsoever. This might be easy for you and me, but for a 57 year old man, with arthritis and back problems? It was hell for him. Mom had a job working as a bag stuffer. Ever go to a craft store and buy one of those do-it-yourself projects? Mom was probably the one that counted all those parts and put them in there. The pay was shit and the job was too. If anything, they shouldn’t have been forced to work, but such is the life of the poor. My father eventually had to stop working, upon trying to get a new job he burned himself all to hell welding, and after that he managed a job at Rouge Steel. He came home and didn’t go back, the pain was too great. My mother now supports us, working in a kitchen at a retirement home. I have no idea how she can handle it, considering how she interacts with the elderly; being reminded daily of my grandmother. Maybe she feels she’s making up for the years by making others’ lives better. I don’t know.
I scoff at all who look down at me and tell me that I know nothing because I’m younger than they are. I’ve walked a long road, learned many things that few even have known, and there is still a long stretch I have yet to travel. I can only hope that it will be reasonably smooth.