Chapter One

I have decided to start my book on my blog. The Anti Hippie told me years ago that writing a book would be very therapeutic.

Wishing for a Pair of Long Underwear

The dream is always the same, I always wake up in a cold sweat and the neck of my sleep-shirt is usually wet with perspiration. I dreamed about him again last night. I dreamed he opened the window and carried the boy off into the night. I dreamed I was there and I could see him. Icould also hear the empty promises he made to the boy, about trips and fun. When I wake up, I usually go upstairs and check on the boy, just to make sure.

Last summer I swore I saw him at the local public pool. I was incognito in my wide brimmed sun-hat and sunglasses, and the boy does not look anything like he did when he was little, when I left. I guess my irrational fear comes from not knowing where in time and space he really is. Is he here, is he there, is he dead, is he alive, or in jail?

The boy is now ten, but this story and his story begin twelve plus years ago, when I actually left for the first time. I had an ex-boyfriend who was going to school in Alaska. Jaques had graduated early from high-school and left for school in January. I was heart broken but I was 2 years his elder and was in college, we agreed breaking up would be the best thing. While he was away in the great northern expanse, I was at home miserable. I had just been forced to move back home with my parents after a failed attempt of living on my own. I lived in an apartment I could not afford, with a friend who was addicted to prescription pain medication. I was also flunking out of college because partying and getting high were so much more enjoyable at that time in my life.

So here I was living at home, with my parents whose marriage was pretty shaky after my mother's solo battle with breast cancer and builing a brand new house, which exceeded it's budget. During the previous summer, my mother un beknownst to me had found out she had breast cancer. I was away a camp as a counselor and only found out because my brother had a big mouth and could not let me leave after the fourth of July knowing that on my birthday she would have a maestoctomy. My mother apparently did not let anyone know about the cancer, she told my dad and I guess my brother, but she did not want to burden me with her news, nor any of her friends. Whom I found out later were really alienated by her behavior. No my mother was very stoic and stayed at the hospital by herself while part of her womanhood was removed. My parents did not tell me about the cancer until after I returned from working at the summer camp. I was hurt to say the least, I was uncomfortable around either one of them. I felt betrayed, which would ultimately lead to my betrayal of them. When I got home from camp that summer, my mother actually asked me if I wanted to see her scar and if I would go bra shopping with her, I was so angry and hurt that I refused.

In my anger I moved out with Jane. Jane was an addict. She saw about 10 doctors, non of whom knew anything about the other. She took prescription medication like it was candy. I was oblivious to this, until years later when I spoke to a mutual friend, after Jane had died. Jane lived the high life, she was the heiress to a family that owned about 15 gas stations. She lived out of her means too, but on the river of denial. Jane was a fun first roommate, she was either passed out on the couch, or wanted to go shopping. She was older, but not a mother figure. We had some good times, but looking back on it now I probably could have saved Jane's life. I was so young and so naive, though.

At this time of transition, I was juggling several boyfriends. I had one in the town where the summer camp was, I had old faithful who would always be there, I had Jacques in the fall before he left, and I had the bar owner with crabs. I am really lucky that crabs were the only STD that I came in contact with during that time of being young and stupid.


Stay tuned for more..... i like it so far