RedRose

Ninth grade was kind of weird for me because I didn't go to school where the rest of my friends went.  I went to Bullard Havens Technical School where there were more learning opportunities for the boys than there were for the girls.  I didn't really want to go there, but one friend did, and she didn't want to go alone, so she talked me into signing up for the school when we were in 8th grade.  All 9th grade girls were assigned to Fashion Design.  After 9th grade, girls could choose between Fashion Design and Beauty Culture.  The boys had Mechanic Shop, Carpentry, Plumbing, Bake Shop, and Electrical Shop.  I hated Fashion Design because sewing wasn't really my thing, and besides, we had to buy all sorts of materials to do our projects, and growing up with my mother, I had fear of asking for things, and even though I was living with my dad and he would have forked over the cash to buy the materials, I felt too bashful to do so.  Well, in the beginning I did, reluctantly, but after that, I gave up out of embarrassment.

I liked 9th grade because I got high often.  At school it was easy to score acid and hanging out in class messed up on acid was pretty easy because the teachers kept out of the business of the kids unless things got out of hand.  Hell, in the sewing class, lots of girls used to gather and talk about their sexual experiences with their boyfriends.  I liked to listen in but I had nothing to add because I was still a virgin and intending on staying that way if I could help it.  Too many girls then were getting pregnant and I didn't want to be one of them.  Besides, I was pretty bashful when it came to that kind of stuff.

My fondest memories of 9th grade are discovering 4-way sunshine and courting the affections of a Puerto Rican boy who was in Bake shop.  Everyday after lunch when I passed by the shop, he used to hand me a brown paper sack stuffed with freshly made eclaires.  Not the crappy eclaires you get in the store, but real homemade custard filled treats topped with that chocolately covering.  That school year I must have put on over 20 pounds from eating those eclaires.  I was pretty thin, so the extra weight looked good.

Instead of hanging around with the girl who got me to sign up to go to that school, I hung out with a new found friend, one who liked getting high just as much as I did.  Her boyfriend was also a drug dealer at school so he could get us anything we wanted, except none of us ever had any money.  Once in a while I had a couple of bucks, but it wasn't often.  I never even had money for lunch because I felt embarrassed to tell my dad that lunches at school weren't free.

All through 9th grade I continued to sniff whatever because it was a cheap high.  I couldn't afford weed, and acid cost $3.50 a hit.  That was big money for me back then, and I didn't babysit all that often, at least not often enough to make that kind of money.  Looking back I'm thinking it was probably a good thing I didn't have the money because I probably would have fried all of my brain cells.

Previously I mentioned that the summer before 9th grade that our dad came to live with us because he or they felt two parents were necessary to keep an eye on us, especially on me since I was the troubled one.  The arrangement lasted until just after Thanksgiving when our mother moved out without telling a soul.  She just packed up her shit and left, and it really angered me.

Here's how it all happened:  Thanksgiving came up and either my mother or my father had the bright idea to invite Roger for dinner.  Who's Roger?  Well, Roger used to be our neighbor.  But Roger was more than that.  Roger used to be my dad's pal or drinking buddy, but even better than that, Roger's wife was screwing around with our dad just before our parents broke up completely.  In fact, I'm sure than the breakup of our parents and the breakup of Roger and his wife probably were instigated by the fact that those two were screwing around.  Pat had 2 girls by Roger and then had a third child, a son, whom she named Roger.  Later when I was in high school, Roger came to our house, looking for our dad because he wanted to meet his real dad--our father.  Well, anyway, it was decided that Roger would be invited over for turkey dinner since he was alone.  Pat ran off to Florida with a friend of our dad's whom he had met in Florida and brought back to Connecticut.  Apparently, Roger held no grudges against my dad.  Hell, they were drinking buddies, and I suppose that drinking buddies don't let women spoil their fun and friendship.

Roger accepted the invite and ate with us.  Everything was cool.  After dinner my mother and Roger sat on the couch talking about all sorts of things.  Then they got to talking about roller skating.  Apparently, it was something the both of them really loved but hadn't done in a long time, so they decided that they would meet to go rollerskating.  Every weekend afterward (and there weren't many between then and Christmas) they went roller skating together.  Then one day I came home from school to find our mother's room stripped bare of most of her belongings.  Everything was gone except the bed and the bureau.  I mean all the wall hangings like the velvet painting with the Christ head, and the reproduction of the nude couple embracing and kissing, even all the trays of perfumes and lipsticks, and then all the plastic baubles that she had hanging on the walls.  And she had lots of stuff.  I know she moved quickly because all that stuff was there when I went to school in the morning.  I knew it wasn't impossible for my mother to clear out like that because I had seen her in action when she helped her twin sister our aunt leave her husband.  My brother, cousin, and me helped our mothers, and a couple of their friends pack up all my aunt's shit and stuff it into boxes and plastic bags in a matter of a couple of hours.  I wondered who had helped my mother.  It was pretty shocking, actually.  It wasn't like when she left and went to Fat Pat's, because she had left most of her stuff intact.  She knew then that she was coming back, but this time was different.  She didn't have plans of coming back.  She found her out and she took it.  Little did we know it at the time, but she moved in with Roger.  Later she contacted us and said that she wanted her tv back and also the bed.  It pissed me off that she wanted the tv, but it didn't bother me that she wanted the bed since I didn't want to sleep in it; however, I did for a while until it was retrieved.

That Christmas was strange because it were as though I tried to put together a Christmas as my mother had trained me to do.  I washed and ironed all the curtains, cleaned the house thoroughly before decorating, and then decorated just as decadently as my mother would have done, and without remorse, I enlisted the help of my brother making sure he helped me out wherever I needed it, and then I cooked a complete Christmas dinner so that everything appeared to go on as it would if our mother were there.  It would be our very first Christmas without our mother at the controls.

I Don't Smoke

For how long can we ignore the terrorist atrocities perpetrated in the name of Security, Liberty, & Democracy? It is imperative that you watch the documentary War Against the Third World below which reveals the truth behind the deceitful military actions either supported by the US or directly acted out by the US. Since WWII--or perhaps even WWI--the power elite has used mass media to manufacture public consent for numerous military misadventures cloaked in the Stars & Stripes. While you do your weekly shopping, strolling with ease through the supermarket isles which offer a confusing array of plastic wraps, paper chinaware, beverage straws and other like sundries, and you read the boxes while trying to decide which product best suits your momentary needs, people are tortured, slaughtered, driven from their homes, and deprived of their right to Life, Liberty & pursuit of Happiness all under the guise of Freedom and Democracy. If each US inhabitant spent a minimum of 10% of his/her time researching the validity of these accusations as he/she spends deciding which toothpaste, shampoo, ear swab, fabric softener, plastic wrap, toilet paper, snack food, or laundry detergent to buy, then little by little the blind fold that has been covering the eyes for decades will be lifted before the glaring truth and then desire for change will become a prime motivator. If you think these atrocities will not come home to haunt us, think again. Most people fond of saying, "What goes around, comes around," give little heed to its implications. If you think you are immune from what is done in the name of this country, then you have been misled--as we all have.

I'm not your ordinary trailer trash.  You can find the Red Rose floating among the clouds sometimes chasing dreams that others can't see or understand.  Certainly, you won't find her mindlessly following the other lemmings over the cliff's edge.  Due to biological factors beyond Red Rose's control, her petals are getting a little brown and wilted, but let me tell you that in her day, her flower was brilliantly red; however, her thorns were sharp.  Now, you might find those points broken off.  Red Rose loves the creatures of the world big and small.  She dreams of disappearing into mountains in some far off land on her putt-putt motorcycle.  Maybe one day she'll fade into into one of those low hanging clouds stealing colors off a retreating sun.  The Rose knows that a book's cover serves only to protect its contents therefore judging need be held in check until further investigation reveals an understanding.  The Red Rose never likes to harm anyone or any creature or to see harm come to anyone or any creature.  Intuitively, the Red Rose knows you can't enforce peace through war and you can't quell violence with more of the same.  Red Rose says there has to be an end to violence, a beginning to peace.  Why can't we begin today, like right now this very minute?