WTCF?

Totally off topic but it had to be done. I hate school functions.  I love my daughter and I love watching her compete or be recognized and I love the other kids... (for the most part) but I HATE the parents.  We live on the edge of a really nice school district with a brand new multi-million dollar high school. We are in a trailer park on the edge…did I mention that? In any case, after arriving at the sports banquet last night we were told the girls were all sitting up front.  I know not one single parent in the room.  I work two jobs and make about ¼ of the Gurl Child’s events and then I hang by myself because I know no one.

I can stand in front of room full of strangers and talk about the merits of having the perfect resume’ or teach a class full of people how to make a spreadsheet.  I was once handed a stapler in a job interview and had to give an impromptu presentation about the merits of its versatility and functionality and I killed it but please don’t ask me to socialize at school functions. It makes me sweaty and awkward.  I feel inadequate and shabby and I understand how much this is all my very own problem.  I understand that these people are wealthy and some of them have even worked for it.  I understand that it’s not their fault that I live in a goddamned trailer park in a cabin. I get that and I don’t blame them.  Doesn’t make it any easier for me to weather though.

Let’s add to my discomfort, the fact that I do my own hair.  I cut it, I color it.  Occasionally, I’ll spring for the salon but I can’t drop what equates to a tank of gas on my hair.  I just can’t do it.  I normally get the color from the beauty supply and mix and apply and no harm, no foul.

The GC and I went to Wal-Mart 2 nights prior to previously mentioned banquet and she says, “MOM!! Get this…it’ll be great!” It was called Super Blonde.  I am blonde.  I am naturally a dark blonde…all the hair on my body is blonde. I thought, What could it hurt?  When I pulled the towel off my wet head, I almost fainted.  Imagine the brassiest blonde on the whoriest porn star and that’s what was there. It was awful…it was cheap looking and it was awful. I had to live with it  for a couple of days until I could put a toner on it. I had to work that night and the next after work and wouldn’t have time to pick it up or even go home and do it at 10 at night.  So I went to the banquet with brassy porn star hair.

I had on black slacks and a cute white tee with black and white peep toe pumps.  Simple jewelry and oh yeah…porn hair.  I felt ok though. I didn’t feel like I’d be over or underdressed…it was my work attire and I was not going to be conspicuous.  Well, except for the GODDAMNED PORN HAIR. 

GC directs me to a table where Sarah’s mom is sitting and apparently Sarah’s mom is nice and it’ll be fine and go sit there.  Fine. I sit, I introduce, we exchange the obligatory, “Who’s your kid?” We talk about whether the food will be any good and she proceeds to tell me that she has four children and all their ages and that they are busy building their 3^rd house in a chi-chi-poo-poo- la-de-da part of town and she thinks she has it all down now because after all this is her 3^rd house and it’s just so HARD picking out all the tile at once but it’s going to be so great to quit renting because you know the renting is so HARD living in someone’s else’s house like that and oh by the way I stay home and my husband works and what do you do?"

Yeah…this bitch.

“Well, I work as an admin assistant full time and then I work part time as a cashier.”

You could see it. I didn’t imagine it and I didn’t make it up, it was the confusion and the calculation taking over her face as she tried to comprehend that she was talking to white trash.  I mean if she hadn’t figured it out from the hair already.

This is my nightmare porn star hair.

“Oooooohhh, that’s really great.” With the patronizing tone as if she were addressing a beloved cat that just presented her with a dead bird with feathers everywhere and guts hanging out.  To be honest it was also the tone I used when the sparsely toothed gentleman from two houses down talked about how "the 5 year old can whoop the 7 year old cuz he's a tough lil basterd." I was familiar.

We were in line for food by this time so I just faced front and tried to blow it all off.  We got our catered fajitas and sat down only to be joined by another mom who went through the whole , “Who’s your kid?” spiel and then promptly asked, “Where are your husbands?”

Sarah’s mom proudly said,  “He’s working. You know we just moved back and are renting in the subdivision til our house is finished. Did I tell you it’s my third? Anyway, he’s having to commute right now so he can’t be here but he was so so disappointed, it’s just so HARD.”

Mother #2 just nodded sympathetically and turned to me with eyebrows raised. I just stared back hoping she’d ignore me and tell us where her husband was since usually when someone asks a question like that they really want you to ask them the same question. She didn’t though. She said, “And yours?”

I wanted to say, well my WIFE couldn’t be here tonight, but I thought of GC and the trouble it could cause her and said, “I don’t have one of those.”

Her eyebrows shot up even further as if in disbelief and she simply said, “Oh.”

Sarah’s mother said very diplomatically, “Well, it’s good you could be here tonight.” As if my single motherhood would preclude me from attending any of my daughter’s functions since I was probably home having indiscriminate sex for crack money and then smoking said crack in front of my daughter.

We all had to quiet down the chit chat so we could watch the awards and blah blah blah blah then pictures then cake. I heard from both of these parents that they LOVED my GC and thought she was the best kid ever but it was funny how they said it like they just couldn't fucking believe it.

Then my GC knowing how I was dying inside came and stuck out her hand and said, “You ready to blow this pop stand, Baby?”

“Sure am, Momma.” I took her hand and bid the ladies good-bye and thanks for the conversation.  We walked hand in hand back to the truck laughing and joking.  The anxiety melted away and I felt like I could breathe once again.  When we got to the truck, I looked in the back and saw the bag of garbage we hadn’t dumped yet, the empty gas can and the old slipper still hanging out in there and then caught a glimpse of my glow in the dark hair in the truck window. Then it comes to me when I’m no longer in that situation faced with the perfect mothers with their perfectly absent husbands that my daughter is a 15 year old virgin who has a good heart and a strong mind and I might very well be white trash but I don’t really give a country fuck. 

Unfathomable

Obviously, I woke up. I remember driving myself home because there were two vehicles at the hospital and we had to stop for diesel in the truck I was driving.  An acquaintance named Bubba was at the gas station and stopped Tucker to talk to him and came to say hello to me and asked why I was moving so slowly to which Tucker answered, “We’re just getting home from the hospital, she had surgery.”

Bubba looked bewildered and turned to Tucker and said, “What the fuck are you doing letting her drive and why are you standing here bullshitting with me.  Get her home!”  Bubba came over and opened the truck door and helped me into the truck and reached across me and buckled me in and quietly said, “You let me know when you get tired of his shit and call me.” I felt sort of vindicated and I smiled and kissed him on the cheek. 

I got home and got into bed only to have Tucker disappear for about 12 hours.  I was relieved.  He said he had some stuff to take care of and I didn’t care to question him over it. My Harlow took care of me and even Freddy pitched in to make sure I didn’t have to get up and do too much. Tucker went and came back and pretended as if nothing untoward had even happened. 

My convalescence was too much for Tucker’s delicate constitution however since roughly three days or so after I was home, Tucker had a hard on and that meant I needed to exorcise the demons.  It may have been some tiny holes in my belly and they may have taken said organ out through my navel but I still had a fucking organ ripped out of my fucking body and I didn’t want to have sex. We got into a wicked, knock-down, drag out fight.  He railed at me in the bedroom, I followed him into the living room telling him what a selfish prick he was, he followed me back to the bedroom to tell me I didn’t really love him anymore and things had changed. I bought into his bullshit briefly and tried to explain to him that I’d. Just. Had. Surgery. He didn’t hear me and just kept on.  Finally, I ran out of steam and was in a bit of pain and I just sat down on the bed and stared at him.  Whereby Tucker decided he was sleeping on the couch.  I was so relieved but at the same time I was absolutely furious.  He didn’t get to decide his feelings were hurt.  He didn’t get to say he was sleeping on the couch. *I* was going to make him sleep there because I told him he had to.  Yes, we all know I should have gone back to bed and let it lie but I’m a stupid bitch who was well and truly enraged and possibly also high on pain killers. 

I marched back into the living room.  The back of the couch faced my approach…I stared down at him with the cover pulled up to his neck and promptly reached down grabbed the bottom of the back of the couch, lifted it up and dumped him out on the floor and then pushed the couch over on top of him.

“You….” I pointed my finger in his general direction under the couch, “Can go fuck YOURSELF from now on.”

My retreat was met with his cries of, “Oh you can’t FUCK me but you can throw a goddamned couch on me!?!”

I sort of chuckled to myself while I listened to him right the couch and plop back down on it.  I had hurt myself somewhat but I felt better…I was sure the kids heard all of it and then I felt ashamed suddenly. I thought and thought about how to get away from him.  How was I going to do any of this? The same thoughts I’d had time and again and never a tangible, solid, real answer came to me.

I had to save money back; it’s as simple as that.  Tucker was freaky strange good with numbers, like savant good and if he had any access to my checking account, he’d know exactly how much was there and what I should have.  It made it next to impossible to rat hole money in any significant way. 

Soon it became time for Freddy to go to Job Corps.  I had still come no closer to formulating a plan but thought maybe with only Harlow to worry about it could be easier to get out.  Nothing changed. I had to go to court every month to have them reset my court date for the following month. Tucker continued to promise me he’d take the blame for it all if I stayed with him.  He worked some deal over between his lawyer and the ADA in that county to pay restitution of some form and have him let off with a conviction, time served which frankly was all of about 2 hours and have my charges dropped.

I took Freddy to the bus station. We all went. He was scared and nervous.  I made sure he had money and told him to just do his level best to get through it and get through with it.  He promised he would and you could see the emotions passing over his face when he looked to Tucker to leave.  Freddy is a hugger and Tucker repeatedly told us that I was busy turning him into a pussy momma’s boy. He gave Tucker a solid hug anyway and I was heartened to see that he returned it.

I watched my boy get on a bus and pull out and away from me.  I felt a sense of relief that he was away from us and all our bullshit.  I hate the word dysfunctional. It has become stained with overuse and most often misunderstanding.  Bullshit works.  I was glad he was away from it. I wanted him to learn to take care of himself and since I was doing a piss poor job of it, he needed something.  I still worried about him so though.  I felt sick about him not being able to call and just be picked up.  There was no off site visitation for two weeks and I knew I wouldn’t be able to afford the gas to go see him during that time.

I waited until I was back in the car to start crying.  Tucker just sat indulgently and acted as if he were being magnanimous by letting me sob over my 16 year old going off to live somewhere else.  I cleared my head and put the car in drive.  I took us back home 40 miles outside of town and my mind raced.  It was all I could do to contain my excitement over thinking that now … now I could do it. 

I only had Harlow to contend with and we could begin going through closets and throwing things away.  Packing boxes and telling him it was off season clothing.  Separating everything I’d painstakingly merged wouldn’t be something I could do with him there at home and he was always…fucking…there.  Always sitting at the

computer, smoking cigarette after cigarette, scratching his balls and sitting around in his saggy ass underwear writing in that goddamned ledger of his all his brilliant machinations.  God, how I hated him and yet I kept him. He still held those charges over my head but now, now I would be ready.

I got income tax money back finally and told him we were only getting ½ of what we were really supposed to get.  I had some stipend money coming from school that he didn’t know about and I thought I could get it all past him.  Income tax came and the bank wouldn’t deposit without signatures and ID’s and then it turned out that he owed the bank money from one of his many schemes and they would likely confiscate it to cover his debt.  I had to tell him I messed up the return and we got more back because he had to be with me to cash the motherfucker.  He took it.  All of it.  I had some money come on the stipend and he asked what the red card in my wallet was for and then he took it too. I had to start over and figure something else out. At that moment what that something else would be, I couldn’t fathom but I also could not know that within months, he would present me with my chance for escape.