Why Me? (10 page)

I turned to go downstairs. Before I made it to my room, Mom announced, “Oh, and you’re grounded for two weeks! You go to school, you come home, that’s it!”

“Well, there goes Homecoming!” I thought to myself.

The next day, I had to break the news to Brian that I couldn’t go to Homecoming. I felt silly telling a junior that I was grounded, so I made up a story about having to be out of town for a family event. I couldn’t tell if Brian believed my story, but he was nice about it. Then we went our separate ways, never really talking to each other again.

Homecoming night came, and Mom opened all the doors and windows. While I sat at the kitchen table and wrote
I will not disrespect my mother
hundreds of times, the sounds of the Homecoming football game down the street filled my house. The more I wrote, the angrier I got. The more sounds I heard from the football game, the more defiant I felt. “This has to end!” I thought to myself. “I have to get out of here.”

I made my decision that October night: I was going to find a way out of that house. I needed to take matters into my own hands. I truly felt it was only a matter of time before Mom killed me.

Chapter 10

My last day

The Monday after Homecoming, I went to school ashamed of having to back out of my first Homecoming dance, but with a sense of purpose. After the Excedrin incident with Mom, I was determined to fight back and find a way out of that house. I had reached my breaking point. The years of mental and physical abuse, coupled with the Excedrin incident, had finally caught up to me. I had to make a choice: stay in the house and put up with Mom for the next couple of years or find a way out and leave that home and that town forever.

There was one teacher at my high school that I felt very comfortable with. Mrs. Bechtold, my English teacher, was always so kind and so sweet to me. Deep down, I thought she knew about the things my mother did to me and treated me with extra kindness because of them. “That’s who I’ll get advice from—Mrs. Bechtold,” I thought to myself. “Mrs. Bechtold will know what to do.”

For the rest of the day, I formulated my speech to Mrs. Bechtold. I would lay out the years of abuse, the horrible things Mom did to animals, and the recent Excedrin incident. “She has to help—there has to be someone who would take me in for a year or so until I graduate!” As I thought about the possibility of leaving home, my eyes filled with tears of happiness. “She
has
to help!”

The final bell rang at the end of the day, and I rushed to Mrs. Bechtold’s room to catch her before she left. As I approached the door, I heard the sound of children’s voices coming from the room. I paused with my hand on the doorknob and peeked through the window into the classroom.

There was Mrs. Bechtold, holding both of her young daughters on her lap. All three of them were laughing wholeheartedly together. As I observed the happy scene, a wave of sadness and guilt washed over me. “I can’t butt into this,” I thought. “I can’t mess up what they have going.”

I let go of the doorknob, turned, and walked away. I had no idea what to do now. I didn’t trust any other teacher in the school and didn’t have any family to speak of—none that would take me in, away from Mom and
Dale
Richard
. Mrs. Bechtold was my only hope, but I couldn’t bring myself to bring sadness upon that happy family.

I walked out the side door of the high school and headed down the street toward home. As I neared the first corner, I heard a wolf whistle coming from behind me. Two thoughts crossed my mind: “That isn’t directed toward me” and “If it is, someone’s just making fun of me.” I continued walking until I heard a male voice yell, “Hey! You in the jeans!”

“Damn!” I thought. I had to turn around now, if only to make this person stop yelling. I turned around and noticed that the voice was coming from a group of kids standing on the sidewalk across from the high school. I knew what kind of reputation these kids had, and in some cases it was worse than mine! These were the smokers, the potheads, the “troublemakers.” If I were to hang out with these people, my mother would snap.

This thought made me smile, and I began making my way toward the group. I recognized all their faces, but I had never really talked to these kids before because I didn’t want to destroy what might be left of my reputation. There was Billie Jo, Rita, Joelle, Ryan, Max, Gigi, and one man that I had never met before.

“Were you yelling at me?” I asked him.

The man smiled and flipped his hair back. “I’ve never met you before—I’m Matt.”

I was immediately lovestruck. Matt was tall, obviously in his 20s, with shoulder-length brown hair and blue eyes. My face flushed. “I … I … I’m Sarah,” I stammered.

Max laughed out loud. “She’s fucking nervous!” he gloated to Matt. “Seriously, girl,” Max said to me, “he’s nothing to be nervous about.”

I laughed and put my bookbag on the ground. For the next hour I stood on the sidewalk, laughing and joking with this crowd that I had never hung out with before. I was deep in a discussion with Billie Jo about Mountain Dew versus Coke when I heard Matt say, “Why is this car stopping next to us? Who is that bitch staring at us?”

I didn’t even have to turn around. I knew it was Mom. I should have been home at least forty-five minutes ago, and Mom was out looking for me. “Sarah—do you know her?” Billie Jo asked.

I turned around. There was Mom, staring at me and drumming her fingers on the top of the steering wheel. “That’s my Mom,” I said in disgust.

“Well, what the fuck does she want?” Max demanded.

Without thinking, I said, “To drag me home and beat the shit out of me.”

“Fuck that!” Max said. “You don’t have to go with her. Fuck her! Stay here with us.”

For the first time in my life, I felt strong against my mother. I stood on the sidewalk with all my new friends behind me, crossed my arms, and stared back at Mom. Mom gave me a look of shock. Instead of yelling and screaming at me as I expected, she peeled off down the street, leaving my friends and me in the dust.

“You can come over to my house,” Matt whispered into my ear. The hairs on my neck stood up, and I immediately forgot about Mom.

“Hell, yeah!” Max exclaimed. “We’re all going to Matt’s house.” Immediately Max started planning the games we were going to play, who was going to get the beer, and who had cigarettes. Having never touched a beer or a cigarette, I felt a rush of adrenaline flow through my entire body.

I had a choice. I could disassociate from these people, go home, and deal with whatever Mom had in store for me, or I could just not go home and have the first fun night of my life. I thought of the scene of Mrs. Bechtold and her daughters. Recalling how happy they were together made me even angrier at my mother. “Mom doesn’t know who any of these people are, especially Matt. There is no way she’ll know where I am!” I thought to myself.

My choice was clear: I would not be going home that night. Whatever lay in store for me the next day, I would deal with it then. But tonight I was going to live and not be hurt or hit by Mom. For some reason, this group of my peers made me feel safe, and I felt as if they understood me.

“Let’s do this!” I exclaimed.

“Ride with me then, Sarah!” said Billie Jo. “We can go back to my house and get some things and get ready.”

After exchanging a few quick good-byes and setting up a time to meet, Billie Jo and I got into Billie’s black truck and took off toward her house. The music was cranked up loud when Billie started the engine, and she immediately turned it off. As soon as we had pulled away from the group on the sidewalk, Billie turned to me and said, “OK, what the hell is up with your mom?”

Not knowing whether to fully trust Billie Jo at that point, I leaned back and squinted at her. “What do you mean?” I inquired, trying to sound innocent.

“You know what I mean. Moms don’t look at their kids like that. What is her problem?”

And at that moment, I opened up and let Billie Jo into my life. I didn’t go into great detail, but I gave Billie a quick overview of some of the most horrible things Mom had done to me. As I recounted some of my experiences, Billie Jo started crying. “I am
so
sorry, Sarah!” she said. “My mom and I have problems, but she would never hit me or do things to me like that.”

I wanted to cry along with Billie Jo, but I was afraid of looking like a victim, like I wasn’t strong. “It is what it is,” I said matter-of-factly.

“You are
not
going home tonight. You can hide out at my house if you want. My mom will let you!”

“We’ll see. Thanks for the invite and listening. I really appreciate it.” I was trying to divert Billie’s attention. Although I would have loved to accept the invitation to stay at Billie Jo’s, I was still nervous about what my mother could possibly do if I didn’t come home that night. I didn’t want to involve anyone in anything my mother started.

“You just let me know. Oh, here we are. Mom’s not home, so we can get ready without her bugging us!” Billie Jo was talking a mile a minute as she hopped out of the truck and ran up to the front door.

I followed Billie inside and shut the door. I looked around Billie’s house, assessing it to see if it was a place I would want to live. It was a lot messier than my house, but comfortable. There was a funny smell from an animal—I couldn’t tell if it was a dog or a cat—but nothing a few candles or fragrance sprays couldn’t fix. The butterflies in my stomach disappeared, and I became more at ease. “I could stay here for a little while if I had to,” I thought to myself.

“Sarah! Want to borrow something?” Billie Jo was peeking her head around the corner of the bathroom. “Just go through the closet and try on whatever you think will fit!”

I spent the rest of the afternoon in Billie Jo’s room, trying on little outfits, doing my hair, and putting on makeup for the first time. Not once did we speak of Mom or anything from my past. Billie Jo and I made fun of some of the girls at school, and we gossiped about teachers and boys.

“OK—let’s go!” Billie Jo finally said. She picked up her little purse and went into the bathroom to grab her lipstick.

I stood up and took one final look in the mirror. A reflection of a young woman was staring back at me. My hair was curled and pinned up, my lips were stained red, and my eyes were rimmed with shimmery eyeliner. I had found an adorable little dress to wear, and the hem stopped right above my knees and flared out. I did a quick spin in front of the mirror and felt like the little girl from my childhood, spinning around in front of the mirror with a black towel on my head.

“Come on!” Billie Jo exclaimed as she ran to the front door.

I snapped out of my reverie and ran after Billie. We hopped into her truck and headed down the country roads to Matt’s house.

Billie pulled into a small gravel driveway. It led to an enormous farmhouse out in an area of Walnut I didn’t even know existed until that very moment. Max and Gigi were already there and were standing in the driveway, beers in hand, ready to greet us as we got out.

“Ready to drink?” Gigi gleefully asked me.

“Sure!” I said, trying to sound cool, but really I was dying on the inside. I had never tasted beer before and didn’t want to look like a loser in front of my new friends. I glanced over at Billie Jo and saw her crack open the beer that Max had given her and immediately start drinking it.

“Why not?” I thought to myself. I cracked open my own beer and took a deep swig.

“Ugh!” I sputtered as I spit the beer out of my mouth. “What the hell is that?”

“Haven’t you ever had beer before?” Max asked mockingly.

“Sure I have … just not that kind,” I said, praying that they would drop the conversation.

“Bullshit! You don’t drink. Girl, if you don’t drink, then don’t pretend you drink around us. It’s cool—you don’t have to drink!”

Billie Jo winked at me and said, “But there are so many things other than beer!” I laughed, even though I had no idea what other things Billie Jo was talking about.

The back door to the farmhouse opened, and I saw Matt come outside. My heart fluttered again, and the butterflies returned to my stomach. He walked right over to me and put his arm around my shoulder. “I’m glad you came. Did you get something to drink?” he asked.

“You don’t want to know!” laughed Billie Jo.

Matt looked at me and asked, “Would you like a personal tour?” His eyes seemed to pierce right into mine, and I suddenly felt very hot.

“Sure,” I managed to whisper.

Matt took my hand and started his tour. As we walked around the farm, hand in hand, and Matt explained what was around each corner, I grew more comfortable with him and this new environment. Matt’s farm reminded me of our farm  and everything I had loved about it. I loved how big the sky was, how the old barns creaked when the wind blew through them, and I thought how nice it was to have someone who liked me to share it with.

“He’s so much older than me!” I thought to myself. But that thought was fleeting as I realized that this could be a home for me until I graduated. Just when I started to summon up the courage to ask Matt if I could crash there for the night, he stopped in the middle of the barn, turned me toward him, and pulled me close.