Bog #8: First Draft

Kimberly Castro
10/6/09
Personal CNF essay

High Point
New Jersey

I left for High Point, North Carolina on August 19th, my sister’s fourth birthday- the only time we had not given her a party. I didn’t know how I was going to survive for an entire school year without seeing my mom and sister, but I ignored my feeling of impending loss and repeated my newly adopted mantra: you’re getting away from all the bullshit, you’re getting away. I held my little sister tighter than I ever had wanting to hide her in the backseat when nobody was looking. I said goodbye to my brother Joey, knowing that despite our differences I did love him. I said goodbye to my Dad (did I?), I don’t remember. I relegated my problems to the back of my mind and concentrated on the ten hour drive ahead of us.
The night before had been rough. Another screaming match, more pushing and shoving, probably another hole in the wall or broken lamp, I’ve forgotten by now, who cares? I do remember running to the black car on the corner (our meeting spot) and jumping in. I got in with my boyfriend, at the time, and the biggest secret I had managed to keep from my parents for almost a year. He was a secret for more than one reason, partly because of his age (23) partly because I didn’t want him to see the problems I had and the rage I often allowed to consume me. He knew all along of course. We talked and hugged and said our goodbyes. When I got out of the car it was after midnight and hot, but I was shivering. I felt truly alone for the first time. I wanted to let him in and help me deal with things, but I wanted more to crawl into a shell and shut out everyone, so I did.

Delaware

I was exhausted by the prospect of another seven hours in the car. I slid a mixed CD of 80’s love ballads into the stereo. “My boyfriend made this for me.” It felt strange saying these words out loud to my mother. I had never spoken to her about Tom voluntarily.
“I like it”, she said tapping her fingers rhythmically on the steering wheel. My bottom was already sore from sitting and my face was numb from the blasting AC. I complain way too much. Just shut up and be happy. Be happy. It seemed like a simple enough idea but so inaccessible at the moment. I wanted to be excited about college and making sophisticated, intellectual friends, and having some independence. I wanted to be a normal functioning seventeen year old, but all I could muster was a stream of anxiety and regret punctuated by moments of panic. I could feel my mom’s eyes flashing from me to the road and back. She knew I was depressed and did her best to console me. “You know when we sell the house in Jersey and get settled down there, you can invite your friends over. We’ll have a barbeque in our new yard. It’ll be great. You can even invite your boyfriend to stay in the guest room. What’s his name again? Tomasquo?”
“Mom, he’s not a Native American.” I rolled my eyes. “It’s Tomasso.”

Maryland

As the mixed CD switched tracks, I thought of how my best friend’s sister had unceremoniously told my mom about Tom on our prom night. I felt guilty for being so secretive and knew I had hurt my mother by not sharing such an important part of my life.
“Why is your family the last to know about your boyfriend Kimberly?” she asked in between group photos. I was standing in the front yard in my pink dress feeling an equal mixture of humiliation and anger. I wanted to scream "well maybe if we had a normal family I could bring him home, but we don’t so you’re never going to meet him!" I didn’t say anything though. I shrugged and walked away to join my friends in the limo.
Why was I punishing my mom? Did I resent her for staying married to him even though she was miserable? I had no right to assume I knew her situation, no right to judge my mom, she had given me everything. It wasn’t her fault she had married a crazy person, he hadn’t always been like that. I remember we had been happy at one time. Life was simple; I knew who I was and what I wanted. His best friend died though and things changed, slowly but steadily growing worse. As I got older and reached adolescence, his role as the enemy became more evident. He lost his friend and I didn’t understand what that was like. I didn’t take the time to listen, just yelled. Is that an excuse?
The day she told me they wanted to sell our home in New Jersey was the day she said she was leaving my dad. I was relieved but mostly angry that we had all been cheated of something better. I never felt an ounce of sadness though. Later, when they had decided to “work things out”, I was furious. I felt betrayed by my mom and indignant that my dad had more or less won.

Virginia

Maybe I am being hypersensitive to things, everyone has family problems right? It could always be worse. Sitting there in the car I suddenly felt like a little child being scolded by her parents. Am I being ridiculous? Should I be grateful instead of bitter twenty four hours a day? Does my mom think I’m a brat and is it my imagination or did she just scowl at me when I thought that? Shut up, you’re crazy.
I was flushed with a new found optimism that told me maybe North Carolina wouldn’t be the hell I pictured. I would meet new, hopefully interesting people, experience southern life, maybe develop a drawl…okay no thank you. High Point University is a respected college with a beautiful campus in an up and coming city with plenty to do. This is an adventure! I cringed at how corny I sounded to myself. At least you won’t be fighting with your father. Yeah, that was definitely a plus. I would also be sharing a room with my cousin Ashley who, despite the temptation to strangle sometimes, was one of my best friends. Maybe everything will be okay. Maybe that’s not so crazy to imagine. Just breathe.

End of the Road, North Carolina

By the end of the first week I was a basket case. The slightest upset caused me to burst into tears on and off campus. I soon realized that my cousin’s family was just as dysfunctional, maybe more so, than mine. I had daily flashbacks of my parents hurling accusations and insults, doors slamming after repeated proclamations of divorce. Ashley’s contempt for my uncle and their violent encounters was both remarkably and sadly the mirror image of the relationship I shared with my dad. I was reminded daily of the things I had so desperately tried to flee. What made it worse was that I felt like an intruder; a charity case eavesdropping on ugly family secrets. At one point the tension erupted into a fistfight between my cousin and I, (I gave her a black eye, she cut my lip. I think I won.)
I began to question myself and my aspirations. What the hell was I doing down here? Is this what I really want or is it a stall? I hated having no friends and no car, and I hated being a burden. I hated myself for wanting to run away from what was mine, no matter how shameful and depressing it could be at times. Every phone call and email was a desperate attempt to reconnect to my old self, my old life. I wanted it but I still hated it. Eventually, a constant gnawing ache developed in my chest, not the metaphorical kind but the physical kind caused by excessive sadness and anxiety that makes you want to expel it by vomiting. I was left wanting. My condition had nothing to do with the place I was located; it had everything to do with the place I was in personally, it was all me and my hang-ups. This is the most accurate description of my initial college experience; I wanted to vomit. I needed my sister and my mom. I missed my secret boyfriend. I even missed the notorious garbage smell of New Jersey. High Point was my low point and I had to turn around.