44. party girl

Gentle Reader,

It is, once again, late at night and I am tired. 

It has been, once again, a full day of Life: the morning school rush, a lengthy family budget meeting, a solid workout, 6 hours of client sessions, a late dinner, kids homework, and bedtime (for them, not me - if only I could write to you direct from Dreamtime, wouldn’t that be something!?)

It is with grace for myself, and to oblige the request for more memoir stories, that I share tonight’s excerpt. It’s funny to read back over my own words and meet different versions of myself in the process: the youth and adolescent faces of my being, whose tales are told herein, the twenty-something author, for whom this exposé was a great and vulnerable feat, and the witness of today, my 39 year old self reading. 

In a way, writing can do that for us: help us collect pieces of ourselves and fit them together into something greater than the sum of our parts, something weaving its way into wholeness. 

It it my hope that in offering my heart-art to you, that you might know me more, but even more so that it helps you call forth and connect with some of the selves who’ve been cast off or forgotten along the winding road of life. 

This excerpt is dedicated to my party girl, may she rest in peace, but also rise in power and passionate fury when she is needed. 

***
Party Girl

(excerpt from Sugar to Salt)

Everybody has a story. Your whole life, from the moment you were born, is your story. Some parts of it you may not remember, and other parts, you may wish to forget. It is only when you accept all of the parts, and acknowledge your truth - it is only then that you can be free. 

Growing up, I didn’t always like myself. Things were happy at home, but out in the real world I was struggling. I was the chubby girl in grade school, and the smart girl. In second grade, my teacher Mr. Farley had all the kids in the class read as many books as they could during the year. For each book read, a foot long piece of paper would be stapled to the wall, with the title and author of the book. At the end of the year, the student with the most books read would receive a prize. Some students only had three or four pieces of paper. My list stretched around the room three times. Some of the other kids called me a kiss-up for reading so many books. Mostly, they just copied off my papers. It made me so angry, and when I went home I would tell my mother about it and cry.

In third grade, a kid named Edwin decided to make fun of me on picture day. I remember the day, and the outfit. I was wearing a pink and blue tie-dye shirt, with the plastic thing you could pull the shirt through on one side. I had my hair half up in a ponytail on the top of my head. Pictures were taken on the stage in the auditorium, and as I walked across the stage I heard Edwin yell “THUNDERRRRR THIGHS!” at the top of his lungs. Everyone started laughing, except me of course. I started crying. The photographer took the picture anyway. My face was red and blotchy, and I wasn't smiling.

By sixth grade I had resorted to using sarcasm, an I-don’t-care attitude, as my defense mechanism. I aligned myself with a few girls who were also smart, and not skinny or beautiful. I always got good grades in school, and my teachers adored me. At home, I read Sweet Valley High novels and prayed to grow up to be blond, thin, and pretty. Every night I would wish upon a star, and every night I wished to be thin and beautiful, so that people would love me.

It was in eighth grade that I decided I would no longer be the fat girl. I knew that if I got thin, people would like me better. I would be more popular, and boys would want to go out with me. Until then, I’d only gone out with one boy. His name was Erik and he was in the gifted and talented education (GATE) program, like me. He was Jewish, though, and his mother didn’t approve of me as his girlfriend. In retrospect, she probably didn’t approve of anyone as his girlfriend considering he was only thirteen. Other than Erik, I had never kissed a boy, except for in truth-or-dare at summer camp, but that didn’t count, because they had to kiss me. It wasn’t because they wanted to. 

So after eighth grade, after Erik dumped me for not being Jewish, I decided it was time for a major overhaul. I got a job as a counselor in training at a summer day camp, and I rode my bike ten miles there and back every day, Monday through Friday. I became a vegetarian, and started counting how many calories were in everything I ate. A typical lunch was ten baby carrots (40), six pieces of celery (10) a light string cheese (80) and a peach (70). At dinner, I would tell my mom that I had just eaten, or I would simply move the food around on my plate until dinner was over. We never had rules about finishing the food on our plates. We never needed to, I guess. I was the child who would steal Little Debbie snacks and kielbasa sausages and take them to my room, and eat them as fast as I could so I wouldn’t be caught. 

My girlfriends had always told me I was really pretty, but as I started to get thinner the compliments began pouring in. I remember one friend telling me that I looked much better with cheekbones. Bones became a desirable thing. If cheekbones were good, hip bones would be even better. Wrist bones, collar bones, anything that could jut out prominently became a goal. By the beginning of ninth grade, I looked like a completely different person from the year before. I remember turning heads the first day back at school. I remember a male voice saying, “Whoa, what happened to the fat girl? She got hot.” 

The sense of power that came along with being thin was incredible. All of a sudden, I was popular. Parties with alcohol, and weed, parties I’d never been invited to before, I was suddenly welcome to join. The first party I went to was at this girl Lauren’s house. I remember telling my parents I’d been invited to a sleepover at Lauren’s. They asked, “Who is Lauren? Why haven’t we ever met her?” I responded, “Mom, come on. You have met her, you just don’t remember.” My mom had never met her, I don’t think. Maybe briefly. But I’d never given my parents a reason to distrust me, so I was allowed to go. 

I remember someone had told me that we all had to bring alcohol. When my dad was in the backyard, mowing the lawn, I emptied out three plastic water bottles and filled them with alcohol from the liquor cabinet. The liquor cabinet was really just the left cupboard in the buffet in the dining room. The horizontal blinds on the dining room window were all the way down, but only halfway closed, and I could see my Dad mowing the lawn in straight, even lines. He vacuumed the same way- it was always very straight, methodical, even lines. 

I didn’t know which liquor to choose, but I figured I’d take the ones that had the most alcohol in the bottle. Hopefully my parents wouldn’t notice then. Jose Cuervo, Smirnoff, and Wild Turkey. I filled each water bottle about three quarters of the way full- I didn’t want them to leak all over my duffel bag. 

Lauren lived about a mile away in a tract-house development. Our house was much nicer, custom-built in a neighborhood with a fake lake. It was real in the sense that it was water in the ground, but it wasn’t a lake so much as a glorified man-made pond. Our house had an in-ground pool, with a rock waterfall you could sit under. We had different colored plastic filters that we put over the lights in the pool to make cool effects.

My dad used to spend hours cleaning the pool. He would go outside in his cut off shorts, the same ones he’d had since the early eighties, before I was born, and he would skim the pool for hours. It wasn’t until my dad left that I realized all his vacuuming in lines, mowing, and pool-skimming were potential signs of his unhappiness. But that happened later.

I packed the stolen booze in my bag of clothes and went over to Lauren’s house around seven thirty. That was the time that she told me to come, but when I got there everyone was already there. It seemed like the other girls had been hanging out most of the day, and I wondered why I hadn’t been invited to that part. Lauren’s family didn’t have their own pool, but the neighborhood had a community pool, and the other girls that were there had spent the afternoon swimming. I wouldn’t have wanted to swim with them anyway. Even though I’d gotten skinny, I still wasn’t as skinny or tan as most of them, so I wouldn’t have wanted to be there.

Lauren’s parents were divorced, and this sleepover was at her mom’s house. Her mom was going out on a date that night, or staying over at her boyfriend’s house, or something, and she didn’t care if Lauren had her friends stay over when she was gone. I guess she thought Lauren would be safer that way. She was wrong. Lauren was dating a boy who was a grade older than us- a sophomore. In the town where we grew up, seventh, eighth, and ninth graders were middle schoolers, and it wasn’t until tenth grade that we started high school. 

Lauren had made plans for all of us- me, her, and five other girls- to meet up with Lauren’s boyfriend and his friends in the park near her house after dark. I had never met up with boys in a park before, but I tried to play it cool. I pulled out the water bottles with the vodka, whiskey, and tequila. 

“So check it out, you guys. My parents have so much stuff, they won’t even know I took this.” No one seemed very impressed by my collection, but then again, this wasn’t their first time. 

Lauren grabbed one of the bottles and took a big swig out of it. I was glad she went first, because I didn’t know what to do. Following her lead, I opened the tequila and knocked some back. I gagged as soon as it hit my throat, and my eyes began watering. I swallowed, but then was choking, eyes burning and crying from the harshness of the drink.

After about ten minutes everyone was giddy and drunk, or pretending to be. We left the house, a gaggle of fourteen year old girls headed out to the park on a warm October evening. It was an Indian summer that year, but it always was in the northern California valley where we grew up. Dressed in short skirts, sundresses, spaghetti strap tank tops, and tiny shorts; with our push up bras and thong underwear, we were illicit sex personified and didn’t even know it. 

The evening turned into trouble. In retrospect, we should have known that would happen. But we were too young and dumb to recognize the warning signs. Sarah, one of the girls in the group, had never really tried alcohol either, just like me. And just like me, she wanted desperately to fit in, so she was drinking out of all three bottles, trying to beat everyone else in the race to get drunk. She held it together until we got to the park. 

When we got there, Lauren’s boyfriend Dan was already there, with a big group of his friends. I think there were more guys than girls, but I don’t really remember. I had never met any of these guys before- some of them I remembered from the previous year in school, but being a GATE nerd, they weren’t really running the same circles as me. One of the guys, Cliff, was really friendly and welcoming to all of us, but he seemed especially interested in talking to Sarah and me. I was really loose from the drinks at the house, and so when he asked if I wanted to smoke, I boldly replied,

“Sure. Whatever.” It must have been the right response, because he just laughed and said,

“OK, party girl.” 

Party girl. It was the first time anyone had used that phrase to describe me, and I liked it. I wanted to be the life of the party, the fun girl, the one who cracked jokes and teased the guys, but always kept her cool mystique. With his response, Cliff sparked a fire in me that would eventually rage out of control. Party girl... that was me. 

I didn’t really know what I had agreed to smoke. I figured it was a cigarette, so when he pulled out a soda can I didn’t have a clue what was going on. He crushed it, and then poked a hole in it in the side. Then he pulled the smallest baggie I had ever seen out of his pocket, and it dawned on me that we weren’t just smoking cigarettes. I kept my cool, though, and didn’t let on that I had never seen weed before, much less smoked it. I watched as he held the mouth of the soda can to his lips, then lit the weed on fire and inhaled deeply. He was holding the can out to me as he exhaled, blowing a plume of smoke into the air, then coughing. 

“Hurry up! Shit won’t stay cherried forever, come on, party girl.” To cover my naivetë, I told him to hold the can for me and light it. He did, and I inhaled just as he had, deeply, but as the smoke hit my virgin lungs they rebelled, and I coughed hard, blowing the cherried bowl off of the can and onto the ground. 

“What the fuck, man, come on! Don’t blow that shit off, what’s your problem?” Even though he was acting pissed off, I could tell he didn’t really care. It seemed like he actually liked it that I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t apologize, just kept coughing and didn’t respond at all. My brain started to feel really light inside my head, and I wondered what everyone else was doing. Sarah and I had walked with Cliff and Eric some distance away from the rest of the group. We were standing at the foot of the slides. The slides were a relic from the days when you could build large, concrete slides in a kid’s park, and no one worried about the safety. Surely, today’s city planners or architects or whoever's job it was to build a park would speak up against letting kids slide down forty foot cement slabs on scraps of cardboard, forgoing any safety equipment like pads or helmets. 

Cliff’s friend, Eric, was talking to me, asking if I wanted to take a walk. 

“Ok,” I said, not really caring one way or the other. Cliff and Sarah had started making out, and I didn’t want to stand there and watch. Eric took my hand and we began walking over towards the pools, which were surrounded by a twenty foot high chain link fence. When we got near the restrooms he stopped, and pulled me into the shadows behind the ladies entrance. 

“You’re really pretty, did you know that?” he asked, closing the gap between us and bringing his face just inches from mine. He smelled like a mixture of cologne, body odor, and cigarette smoke. When he came near, I could see that his face was pockmarked with whiteheads and scars, from the zits he had picked. The street lamps illuminating the park cast a yellow glow over everything, and the faint hum of electricity buzzed in my ears. I didn’t know how to respond, but I had read an article in Cosmopolitan magazine that said confidence was the sexiest thing to a man, so I tried it on for size. I looked straight at him and replied,

“You’re not so bad yourself.” Taken aback for a moment, he scrutinized me in the yellow light, then smiled. 

“Oh yeah? Well, what are you going to do about it?” It was a challenge, he was calling my bluff. There were two options: walk away, and return to loser status, or step up- and make a name for myself as a confident, sexy girl.

My voice sounded like someone else's when I spoke: “Get over here, and find out.” I reached for his belt with my right hand, hooked my fingers under the waistband of his pants, and pulled him closer. 

Needing no further invitation, he went in for the kill, pushing my body up against the concrete wall behind me, and fumbling to reach up beneath my denim skirt. Panicked inside, but not wanting to show it, I steeled my nerves and let him touch me. Without finesse, he shoved a finger inside me, and pain registered in my brain as he fingered me. 

“Ouch, stop!” I said, pushing him away. 

“Oh, come on, you like this,” he said, and reached for me again, more aggressively this time. From somewhere across the park, I heard a girl scream, and I shoved him harder. 

“NO!” I said, “Didn’t you hear that? Something is happening.” Pulling my skirt down and straightening my tank top and bra strap took only a second, and then I dashed off towards the sound of the scream. 

A group of kids was clustered near one of the lamp lights halfway across the park. I ran through the basketball court and into the soccer field, taking the shortest path to reach the group. I felt disgusting for letting Eric touch me like that, and wanted to just go back to Lauren’s house, and watch a movie, maybe eat popcorn, and talk about boys. Things were getting out of control. 

As I got closer to the group, I saw that there were a few older kids, high school age, standing with Lauren, and Megan, and Kristine. Lauren’s boyfriend was there, and Cliff had joined the group also. I didn’t know who the other kids were, but one of them was kneeling down on the ground, and I overheard him say, “How much did she drink?” In the middle of the circle of people, Sarah lay on the ground in a pool of what looked like vomit. No one answered the high school boy, who was dressed all in black with a cape tied around his neck. He was a goth.

“She’s fine,” said Cliff, “she just smoked too much weed. You can leave, she’s totally fine.” 

“Fuck you, Cliff! She is NOT fine, we need to go home right now. You guys, she could DIE, can we please get out of here?” My voice was on the edge of hysteria, and I had tears welling up in my eyes. This was supposed to be a fun night, and now look what happened. I let some jerk touch my vagina, and Sarah was going to die. 

The goth looked up at me, and I saw that he had eyeliner around both of his eyes. His friends were a strange bunch also. There was a fat girl, wearing a fuzzy shirt that looked like fake fur, and a geeky-looking scrawny kid with glasses. They did not look like they wanted to be there. The goth spoke to me in a calm, even tone and said, “You’re right. She needs to go home. She may need to go to the hospital, but she definitely needs to get out of here. I have a car. Do you want me to drive you guys?”

I looked at Lauren, and she looked at Dan. Then she spoke: 

“Well, she can’t come back to my house all messed up like that. And I’m not ready to leave, we just got here.” She didn’t sound convinced of her own words, and I knew that Dan had coached her to say that. 

“Fine, whatever Lauren,” I said, before turning to the goth. “Thanks, we’ll get a ride with you.” I knelt down on the ground and felt the pebbles dig into my knees. “SARAH! Wake up! We have to go, our ride is here, come on!” I grabbed her by the shoulder and shook her. 

Her eyes fluttered halfway open, and she tried to speak, but her words came out as slurred and garbled nonsense. The goth knelt down again, and said, “We have to pick her up. My car is right there in the parking lot,” and motioned with his chin to the lot behind us about ten years. 

“Fine.” Resolute, I grabbed one of Sarah’s arms and the goth took the other. 

“On three,” he said, “one! two! three!” We lifted Sarah up together, and her eyes opened as her feet scrambled to gain footing on the ground. I saw that her knees were scraped and bloody, and she had puke all over the front of her sundress. 

We each took one arm over our shoulders and dragged Sarah the short distance to the car. Behind us, the group started walking again, and I could hear their laughter as the fat girl moved things from the backseat to the floor of the car, making room for Sarah to lie down. 

“You’re going to have to sit back there with her,” the goth told me. “Hold her head and tell me if she’s going to throw up again. Make sure that if she barfs, she doesn’t choke on it.” 

Gross. Sarah was so lucky that I was a good friend. Everyone else just totally ditched us. What a bunch of assholes, I thought. 

“Hey, thank you,” I said to the goth, “I appreciate your help. I’m Amelia.” 

He looked at me for a moment before replying, “I’m Seth. And you’re welcome. Those guys you were with, just so you know, they are jerks. You should stay away from them.” 

No shit, man.

Aloud, I said, “Yeah. Thanks. I know. We are going over to Mace Ranch, to San Fernando street, do you know it?” Sarah was making noises now, presumably trying to say something, but all that was coming out was slurred nonsense. Climbing into the rear passenger seat, behind Seth, I lifted Sarah’s head and shoulders and then let them fall onto my lap. The fat girl picked up Sarah’s feet and pushed them toward the center console, crumpling her body up at an odd angle. She had a sour expression on her face, and I could tell that Seth’s act of charity was not the fat girl’s idea of a good time for the evening. To her, and the geek, I said “Thanks for helping us, I know you probably had other things to do.” Neither one responded, but the fat girl spoke to Seth: “Drive fast, please. Let’s get this over with.” 

It was a short five minute drive through residential streets before we pulled up to 5155 San Fernando. The porch light was on, and I knew that the front door was locked. Sarah was only slightly more with it now, and she didn’t protest as Seth helped me unload her from his Oldsmobile. In the street light, I could see that it was a hideous shade of brown. I wondered about his life, this kind stranger who would take time to help two young girls get home from a bad situation. I wondered if he had a little sister. With Sarah leaning on me, and her arm draped over my shoulder, I thanked him again. Then they got in the car and drove off into the night. I hauled Sarah through Lauren’s gate, and took her through the garage into the house. Depositing her on Lauren’s floor, I went into the bathroom, where I washed my hands and stared at myself in the mirror. 

I didn’t even look like myself. The mascara I had applied earlier was smeared below my eyes, giving me the appearance of a sad clown. My hair was disheveled and the straps of my tank top were stretched out, causing my shirt to hang low and exposing the top of my hot pink lace WonderBra. I turned on the faucet and washed my hands, then cupped some water and splashed it up on my face. I pumped some liquid hand soap into my hands and began scrubbing my face in a feeble attempt to wash off the dirty feelings I had from the night. 

After rinsing my face and drying it with the lime green hand towel next to the sink, I walked back into Lauren’s room and found my duffel bag. I pulled out my blue plaid pajama pants, and a t-shirt from Camp Rainbow, where I volunteered that summer. I put on my pajamas, then grabbed my toothbrush and went back to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth, then went back to the room and crawled into my sleeping bag. I had forgotten a pillow, so I lay with my head on the ground. I wished I could go home, but it was after midnight, and my parents would know something was wrong. Instead, I closed my eyes so the tears wouldn’t come, and I willed myself to go to sleep.