Well, in all honesty I haven’t blogged in ages. On occasion I’ll put something artsy up on myspace, but I haven’t felt the urge to write about my everyday life since middle school. Now, as an upcoming senior in high school, I have that urge again. Why? Because it might get a little more than interesting.
Alright kiddies, buckle up, because I’m going to tell you a story of what’s happened to me so far this year.
It all started with that spin-off show CSI:Miami. I was out having a life that night, but my mom and step-dad watched the episode centering around the online game called Second Life. The next thing I know, my mom is raving about this game and even bought a $2,000 dollar laptop with an awesome graphics card so that she could play it.
At first, I was cool with it. On the plus side, I got to use her computer (which was light speed compared to my ’98 Gateway), and I didn’t have to talk (argue) with her as much because she was distracted. Life was good.
Than the ‘boyfriend’ came around.
Now, when I was in sixth grade I learned never to go into your parents bedroom snooping around. Why? Because you will learn and see things you NEVER wanted to know. For instance, I got curious and looked around in the cupboards of my step-dad’s computer desk.
Let’s just say there was a little too much leather and elongated electronics for my poor little mind to process.
So it came to no surprise to me that the first thing my mother did on that second life game was find a ‘master.’ Evidently, since my step-dad was an overly obese pig, he could no longer strain himself to have sex anymore and to my mother that was unacceptable. She-growing near age sixty-was “too young to stop have sex.” And so she made herself a slutty blonde slave on the game and did everything he wanted. Even in real life.
At this point my step-dad and I were blissfully unaware of what was going on. We wouldn’t become aware until her first master dropped her and she took on a new one that she didn’t even bother to keep a secret.
The day I found out, I was sitting on the fireplace watching tv. She told me to come look at the computer screen and tell her what I thought. I didn’t want to-I honestly didn’t care whatever she thought was so exciting-but I did it anyway. Just to shut her up. On the screen was the myspace of a somewhat handsome guy that looked like he was in his late thirties/early forties. She told me his name was Frans and that he lived in Holland. He was her ‘friend.’
I gave her a weird look, told her he was ‘okay’ looking, and sat down. A friend? Yeah right. I mean, I didn’t full out know at that point what was going on, but I got sick to my stomach thinking about what could be happening. And that meant…no, I couldn’t let myself get carried away. I trudged over to the computer and didn’t think about it.
After that she wouldn’t stop talking about him. Frans said…Frans is…Frans thinks… Ugh, I didn’t know if I wanted to smack him or her. She was obsessed, and as the months passed things only got worse.
My step-dad, John, found out and was furious. They both got into yelling matches all the time, mom fighting to defend her ‘master/lover’ and John telling her that she’s crazy. I was inclined to John’s side of the arguments, but instead opted to put in my earphones and crank up the music. Sadly, I had been in the same type of household before and when the yelling started, I always knew to just cover my ears and wait.
Patience was never my thing. John and I thought it was a phase my mother was going through. You know, like teens when they’re trying to ‘find themselves’ or whatever. We figured it would blow over and be swept under the rug. But no. Even though I over heard her talking to the Frans guy online, hearing him bash her, my sister, and myself, she just wouldn’t end it. I mean, she deserved to get yelled at (really, she WAS being stupid), and I deserved to get yelled at (I’m not going to deny being a horrible child to her), but my sister was an innocent bystander. And he called her a whore.
A real mother would have dumped him. She denied it, but made up with him later.
My step-dad couldn’t take it anymore. He found the man’s real picture online and shoved it in my mom’s face, telling her the truth, but she wouldn’t listen. He found pictures of their avatars doing the naughty and read her long-distance text messages. He had enough. He kicked her out of their bedroom and declared that he was moving out and he was divorcing her.
It’s kind of funny-that even though I had known my step-dad since I was in elementary school, I didn’t care when he packed up and left. It was probably because I never wanted him around in the first place, and even more so because my mother married him two years prior while I was away on vacation. She didn’t tell anyone until after it happened.
Without John we hardly had any money. Mom was wasting cash fast on her online game and had no reserve at all for energy. On top of that she had me to take care of, which was a hassle anyway. She decided to sell the house and made plans with Frans to visit him over the summer. I was to stay behind and not cause trouble.
This is when I cracked. Before I just made my normal snippy comments and made her feel bad about herself, but this time I had a plan and drove it into action. I stole her computer while she was at work and hid it in the basement.
I was so anxious and excited it was crazy. It was like being forced onto the Goliath rollercoaster again, except this time I didn’t have the option of passing out until it was over. I remember her opening the door and talking about something at work before she made it into the living room and stopped.
“Where is my computer?!”
I tried to suppress a smile. It didn’t work. She glared at me and marched up in a huffy fashion. I loved to make her angry.
“Where is it?” she demanded again.
My smile grew wider. I wondered vaguely if I was a sadist, then laid down the ground rules. She wouldn’t get her computer back until she started acting like a real mother.
Now, now, don’t get angry. I had a reason for this. Pent up frustration. When she ordered me to do chores, I generally didn’t do them because she never did them herself. The only reason I ever cleaned or cooked dinner was because I knew that if I didn’t do it, no one would. The only thing she did was smoke (a bad habit that reemerged when she decided she was too fat for Frans), and play on her computer with her ‘master.’ Scrubbing the kitchen counters made me want to cry because she always messed them up with coffee in the mornings and I was the only one to clean them. We went a week without her making dinner and I didn’t know how to cook, so I ended up eating stale cereal or having my friends take me out. So needless to say I was pissed and obviously crying out for attention.
Anyway, her face started turning red in anger and I warned my forearms to get ready for incoming blows. She said she didn’t know what I was talking about. She wanted her computer. Now.
I backed away, a little fear from the past telling me she was about to strike, and headed into the dining room. She followed. I told her to help clean the kitchen. She refused.
I skipped into the living room, ignoring her screams of outrage. She was fat, I was not, so therefore I could out-run her. Or, you know, skip. She started coming toward me again. I told her to help take out the garbage. She refused.
I skipped just outside the front door. She stopped in the hallway. I knew she wouldn’t go outside because of the neighbors. I told her to cook dinner and help clean the house. She refused and told me to come back inside or else. I laughed.
She ran to grab her cell phone so I went back inside, smiley. She threatened to call my brother and said if I didn’t cooperate, he would come over and force me to. My smile faltered and all fun went away. I led her into the basement where my bedroom was and stopped. I didn’t want to give it back so easily. When I refused again she started trying to slap me but I was on guard and blocked her easily.
“I swear,” she said, “if you don’t hand it over now I’ll call the cops!” Hurt is the best word for what I started feeling. On your own daughter? Over a computer?
I refused. She dialed my brother’s number and told him what was happening. Being the mediator middle child, he asked her to give the phone to me.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked.
“I-“ I didn’t know. I wanted her to be a mother. I wanted her to be better so that I could love her like normal children love their mothers. But I just spat out excuses to him that were idiotic even to my ears. I started crying, even.
“Just give it back,” he said, sound tired. I agreed and gave her back the phone.
I went into my bedroom closet, dug around, and threw bags of cat food down at her feet and headed to the storage room. “Where is it?” she demanded.
“In those,” I said plainly. She started screaming again as she pulled out her mouse and earphones and charger from separate baggies. Honestly, at least the bags were empty before I put them in.
I walked up to the stacks of different things we kept from the fourteen years of living in the same house and pulled, seemingly out of no where, her laptop. If I hadn’t told her where it was, she never would have found any of it. As she tugged it out of my grasp, I wished that I had gone with plan A and thrown it into the creek in our backyard.
She told me that she didn’t want me, and that I was going to my father’s house.
And so, after about a month of lonely housecleaning (done by yours truly and my older sister) and two days of last minute packing, my dad picked me up and took me to Georgia to live with him. I haven’t talked to my mother since then.
It’s been about three weeks and I must say, it’s not bad down here. I mean, they’ve had to teach me how to do dishes and sift kitty litter boxes, but so far living in a normal household is completely doable. It’s kind of everything I wanted, I just wish I hadn’t been forced to move here before my senior year in high school and leave all of my friends behind.
This next year is going to suck, and you get to read ALL about it.
Have fun.
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