Chapter 4
The Ride Up Hill
It was almost a week before the state had
found me a new home. My caseworker found a family that was still in the same
area so I wouldn’t have to changes schools. I needed normalcy, not disruption,
as they put it, and going home was not the answer. Thank god for small favors
even though I had a very hard time thanking him for anything back then and
still do. To say I prayed a lot would be an understatement. I would pray for
hours alone in the dark. All I got was silence; I didn’t feel any comfort that
people say they felt. I felt nothing as my voice became hoarse from crying,
hoping to be heard, again nothing but silence.
My new family known as the Steeds, foster home number 17 was a young couple
with two children. They had a little boy named, Oscar. He was about two; all it
did was make me miss my brother even more as I watched him laugh and play with
his big sister her name was Tabitha, Tabby for short. It broke my heart, even
more, knowing that here he would have been loved.
His big sister loved him very much, she was only 8 about the same age as my
brother. Tabby had brown hair and green eyes; like her mother. She also had
pigtails and pink ribbons in her hair. Strawberry Shortcake was her idol and
her favorite color was pink; considering she had it all over her room. Tabby
reminded me of a nicer version of Susan. She even wore glasses like me. I hated
to start over, but there was nothing I could do. I was bounced from home to
home; all I could do was make the best of it.
Mr. Steed was nothing like Dad was. He was more forgiving when came to me
acting out. Not once did his raise a hand against me nor did his wife. I was
never chained to my room or my bed. But saying I wasn’t punished would be a
mistake. If I wanted to run away they would let me, not once did they try to
stop me.
We would sit in my room and he would calmly sit next to me on the bed. We’d
talk about life and the reasons why I chose to act out and calmly discussed
other ways to accomplish the same task. I never before had to reason out
different points of getting the same thing done using a different action or
approach to getting what I wanted.
His cool brown eyes like my grandfathers smiled up at me making me feel safe
and secure. It always seemed his brown hair was out of place and him always
licking it back down with his fingers. He was tall like a bean pole and a
professor at BYU teaching mathematics and science.
Like all foster homes, they had to meet certain requirements, and due to my
persistent Grandmother, were LDS. They weren’t hardcore compared to the Frys,
but we still never missed a meeting. Plus we never sat on the front row as I
had done before. Mrs. Steed was a geek (which is a nicer word for nerd) and
like her husband loved books of all kinds. She’s a stay at home mom and took in
custom sewing to help pay the bills and she was an artist.
She was short no taller than my Grandmother 5 ‘2 and scrawny, but very pretty
and wore glasses when she was reading the newspaper or the mail and would lose
them when she placed them on her head. She had the softest brown hair and wore
it shoulder length and her green eyes would crinkle when she smiled or laughed
and wiggle her nose like a rabbit. She would sing like meadow lark when she
cooked or was busy with the housework. She hated shoes just like me so we ran
barefoot the second I walked into the house. All our shoes would be piled by
the door.
I was thankful for having a family that seemed to care about me and was willing
to take me in, in despite my many problems. But for once my records showed
considerable improvements mostly because of the Frys strictness. I had become a
child that just needed to be loved and time to grow. Not saying that I still
didn’t have my problems. I had only run away once, testing the waters. I was
just too depressed; losing a home that I’d thought had loved me and would be
there for me until the bitter end. Only to be tossed out on the street like
garbage. I couldn’t eat or sleep without nightmares of Jeff haunting me. All I
could see was his cold dead eyes staring up at me; chasing me, begging me to
join him. If I could have I would have just to feel loved again.
I needed the darkness and refused to come out into the light as I would be
found hiding in the Steed’s basement. Crying, praying alone in some forgotten
corner; I wanted my Dad and my Mom to forgive. All I could hear were their
voices, condemning me; their words echoed in my mind. Why didn’t you stop him,
we trusted you and this how you pay us back. You murdered him. It is all your
fault. You are nothing; you are trash. Why would somebody love you? You will
always be a disappointment. You are your father’s demon seed, an immoral dirty
freak. I couldn’t face anyone. I would scream in torment against the wall; my
hands bloodied from hitting the hard cement wall. God again was still silent.
I ran away just so I could get them to love me again and forgive me; hoping
they would take me back. But I couldn’t find my way home. I ended up in the
back of a police car breaking curfew as they contacted the Steeds to come to
get me. As they searched the phone book
since I neither knew the address or the phone number. The Frys told them not to
bring back there ever again since the police had a large folder with my name
already on it. What can I say? It was the one thing I was really good at and
that was running away.
The Steeds were understanding and did their best to comfort me. As they went
back and gathered my meager belongings and put me in my own room having Oscar
move in with Tabby so I could have my privacy. I was allowed to attend the
funeral as long as I stayed in the background. But I could not help my self, as
I ran up and fell on my knees begging them to forgive me. As my new Mom and Dad
picked me up and carried me out. While they shouted the same hateful words; it
was the last time I ever saw them. The tears would not stop as I kneeled in
front of Jeff’s grave begging him to forgive me. Wanting to know why he did
this to me as I cried into another stranger’s arms as my new Dad held me
against him and my new Mom held my hand and tried to brush my tears away.
I was so tired and could not face the light; I was letting the darkness console
me. I knew I smelled bad and I didn’t care, my clothes were torn almost into
shreds. I had stolen a knife from the kitchen and had cut myself numerous
times. Sitting in the dark feeling the warm blood and the pain I had caused
hoping it would console me. While I sat alone in the darkness listening to the
cold voices, I welcomed them; I welcomed death as if he were my friend.
I had become delirious and had a fever that refused to break. I couldn’t eat.
The mere thought of food made me vomit and I was covered with it. I would toss
and turn; screaming for Jeff and pleading for forgiveness. Any sudden noise
would cause me to scream as my dreams became my waking nightmares. All I could
see was Jeff standing next to me, getting closer as I felt the cold steel; I
tried to plunge the knife only to be caught as someone screamed no. I fell
delirious in my Dad’s arms.
I barely remember him picking me up in his arms and carrying me up the stairs
as my sobs become hoarse and whispering, begging. “Please let me die… nobody
can love a murderer.” I remember waking up in the tub as the cold water hit me.
I felt as if I was drowning. My hands fighting as I gripped my attacker’s arms
as they held me screaming, but as I looked up and saw my fathers face and Jeff
was standing next to him.
A warm, soothing voice broke through my rage and delirium, comforting me.
Soothing my fears as she held me in her arms; I could feel her tears as they
fell against my bare back. As they slowly removed what was left of my torn
clothing. I sobbed. “It was my fault; all my fault Jeff is dead because of me.
Please let me die.” I felt the bandages as my new Mom wrapped them around my
numerous cuts on my arms, legs, hands, and chest to stop the bleeding. I would
only scream begging her to stop, letting the blood run free. While she tried to
pry my swollen fingers open. I could see the fresh drops of blood staining red
against the white porcelain tub.
My Dad’s voice soothed me as I soon realized they weren’t drowning me while Dad
finished cutting my ripped jeans stained with my own feces and vomit. His warm
eyes held me with such love that I could feel the darkness leave me. The ghosts
faded away as they laid me back; comforting me. When realized I was naked and
my face turned red and wanting to hide back into my Eskimo suit. The smell from
my clothes piled in the corner reminded me of the smell of the prison, not more
than a year ago.
I screamed in terror as I tried to cover up my body; trembling in fear as I
waited for my rapist and abuser to touch me. Only to fall back against the side
of the tub as Mom caught me in her arms. Reassuring me everything was alright,
placing a wet towel around my waist; while my new Dad removed the ruined,
discarded clothing from the room and the smell that inhabited them. I must have
fallen asleep for when I woke; Dad had placed me in my bed. My new Mom shushed me
when I came to a start not knowing my new surroundings.
The bedroom was brightly lit as the sun shown through the window; I was used to
the darkness as the light hurt my eyes. The darkness was the only thing I felt
safe in these days. Mom calming my fears placed another cool cloth on my head
and on my chest. They bathed me twice that day to beak the fever and once more
after I threw up all over my self and my bed.
I couldn’t keep anything down except warm broth or soup. For nearly a week I
was sick and the nightmares came and went. Mom would read to me during the day
and Dad would read to me at night. Not once was I left alone as they stayed by
my bedside watching my new brother and sister play in the room. Sometimes I
would awake to find Tabitha sleeping next to me and her head on my chest
nuzzled against me. While Oscar would sleep against Mom’s shoulder; her warm
smile always made me feel better.
It became a habit to find my sister in my bed with her thumb in her mouth. I
didn’t mind it as I placed my arm around her and went back to sleep. There was
nothing wrong with new beginnings; it’s not like I hadn’t done this before. I
liked calling him Dad and her Mom. It made things easier and until home visits
got in the way and the words just slipped out unexpected. I always called my
parents as far back as I could remember Mamma and Daddy. It shocked everyone
including me as I said to them and I answered: “yes sir and yes ma’am.”
I’ll never forget my mother’s reaction. Her eyes got real big as I tried to recall
the words as if I had just sworn. My father’s face was unreadable but growled
an approval saying. “At last, someone has taught you some manners boy.”
All I could say was ‘yes sir’ and stood tall with my shoulders back as I headed
back to my room to puzzle this new complex problem. My sister Susan tried to
tease me about it, but Mom wouldn’t hear about it and for the first time she
seemed proud of me instead of disappointed in me for a change. My mannerism
changed and I continued to grow and seldom got into fights with my Dad when I
came home to visit. I avoided my sisters goading me and learned to puzzle out
my choices before I did something stupid.
My Dad/Steed and Mom/Steed were a great influence and one of the best role
models I had to date. It seemed I had a stabilized home in both places for now.
My grades were mostly A’s and B’s in all my subjects. I still had anger issues,
but not many. As it became a requirement for me in some of my classes; I was
asked to remove my shoes as I entered the door after giving a student a bloody
nose. He deserved it after calling my foster parents a name I didn’t like, and
it was only one shoe not two. It’s not my fault he didn’t have the sense to
duck.
We became friends soon after. But my shoes and socks kept the teacher company
as they sat against the desk. I didn’t mind. I hated shoes as I padded softly;
gathering them up after every class when it was dismissed. It came to be a habit that some students
teased me about it yelling down the hall. “Look, here comes Hackberry Fin.”
Until my new pal and a best friend knocked him over with his size 12’s right in
the kisser.
His name was Ron Chaplin and he earned his pet name, Chipmunk, due to his
yellow hair and small black tail of hair he kept in a ponytail. When he smiled
or laughed you could see his buck teeth, and his big brown eyes. Ron was good
at climbing trees. Tall as bean pole some called the little giant at an even
six feet and scrawny, but excellent wrestler in gym class.
It seemed we were always together as we dangled our shoes over our shoulders
and walked barefoot through the hall. It wasn’t long before we were both
setting out our shoes and socks next to the teacher’s desk; taking our seats
next to each other. It wasn’t long until we became five adding Brad Simons and
Jake Slayer and his friend Rocky Fillmore known as Rocko. They were my crew.
Ron was the leader of our group. No one dared make fun of us and the bullies
never bothered us the rest of the year.
Brad Simons was known as the class clown and soon became our third member he
was built like a brick house and loved showing off his muscles in class and in
the gym. Talk about a six pack he could bench press one-eighty without breaking
a sweat. He always stuck up for the little guy as he put the guy causing the
problems in a half nelson smelling his armpit of hell until they’d cried,
uncle. Blond hair blue eyes; the girls called him a dreamboat. Loved kissing
them in back corners and liked it when they felt his biceps. I think his shoes
and socks could put the rest of ours to shame.
Jake Slayer was his kom pa’a dray (which means his best friend and partner in
crime) and known for his Texas accent. We called him skunk because of his raven black hair and white
strip down the middle, and that he seemed to use way too much cologne that
could stink up any room. His dazzling blue eyes and sculptured face made him a
pretty boy even though he was small for his age, but don’t let that fool you he
could punch you hard enough that would leave a bruise for a week. Pin a guy in
sixty seconds and won several awards doing it.
Rocky Fillmore known as Rocko our fifth member was a foster kid like me and
almost had lived in as many foster homes as I have from the age of seven. We
called him Rocko because he was training to be a boxer and held the
middleweight title for our school. He loved nothing better than boxing and
having the girls watching him box without his shirt. Unlike me I still had a
problem would decline more often than not when teams were selected skins against
shirts. I would always be the last one to take a shower as sat and waited
outside of the shower when nobody was looking; until my friends waited with me
making it nearly impossible to shower alone, even more so since my coach knew
about my problem early on thanks to the Frys. The battle was lessening but was
still a battle that I would sometimes win and some times not.
Rocko was teased for the color of his skin because he was black. But in our
group of misfits, nobody cared what color anyone’s skin was. He still bled red
like the rest of us and spilled enough of it in the ring or the playground in
some ways he made it the battle of my Eskimo suit seem mute because of the
color of his skin. He to was built like Brad with his tight six pack and steely
black, brown eyes that turned gold in the sun or red when he was angered or in
the ring. He towered over all of us at seven feet. Coach kept trying to put him
on the basketball team, but he kept knocking the players out when they fouled
him.
The teachers were beginning to think they were shoes salesman’s, with five
pairs of shoes lining the front of their desk every day. They would just watch
us calmly each day as we padded to and from our seats and wiggled our bare toes
under the desk. Mom and Dad busted a gut when they came to parent teacher’s
conference as the teachers mentioned something about foot odor. Dad didn’t
hesitate and bought a can of deodorant and sent it as a gift to the teachers
that complained; to which he included a card that read ‘From Huckleberry and
Friends.’”
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