Traci Lords Page 4

  At night we stayed at campgrounds and ate at restaurants serving all-you-can-eat smorgasbords. That’s where Roger taught us how to steal food. Leaving the restaurant with our pockets bulging, we felt like we were really a part of something, like it was a special secret that only we shared.

  During this first “family” vacation, I began to see Roger as a provider, which was something we all desperately needed. At eleven years old, I didn’t realize teaching us how to steal was wrong. I was just glad he was there. And so, I slowly began to let down my guard and trust him.

  It started on that long trip to the Keys, when I awoke from a deep sleep feeling cold.

  I sat up, realizing my tube top was pulled all the way down, exposing my breasts. I didn’t know what time it was, or where we were, but it was dark outside and I could just make out Roger standing near me.

  My sisters were snoring under mounds of covers, the curtain up front was closed, and Roger was right over me, zipping up his pants. I was disoriented, confused. Where am I? What’s going on? He just stood there, staring at my breasts.

  After a moment, he turned away and opened the curtain. Mom was driving, and he moved into the copilot seat. He tried to make a joke about it to her, announcing loudly that my top fell down and “Hee hee hee, look at her little poached eggs!”

  Hot with fury, I pulled up my top. Mom smiled in my direction and scolded Roger lightly with a “Behave now.” It was all just a funny joke. She couldn’t see what I was going through. How upset I was! I felt violated and had no idea why.

  Again I doubted my instincts. Surely Mom would tell me if something was wrong. I had to believe that. She was my mom. So I got angry with myself, for not knowing the answers and for doubting the very people who loved me.

  Settling back down, I listened intently to the songs on the radio. Someday I’d get away from all this. I sang along to the music, losing myself in the words and fantasizing about running away to join a band.

  4

  Route 66

  Roger Hays did what my parents had always dreamed of: he moved to California.

  Only days before we’d left for Florida, he and my mom were discussing whether he should accept a job as an engineer in El Segundo after graduation. Mom had put on a brave face, but I could see the thought of losing him really mattered to her. Roger just said they’d talk about it later.

  When we returned from the Keys, we got the news. Mom sat us down and told us Roger was moving to California, and in two months’ time, we’d be joining him. I was surprised at how quickly it was all happening. We’d moved a dozen times over the years but this was different. We were leaving for good.

  A panic rose in my chest as I thought of my father. Dad would never let us go. What kind of trouble was she trying to start? I sat there sweating in my plastic chair, waiting for Mom to continue. “You’ll love it! Palm trees, sun all year round, the ocean, and so many more opportunities to make money!”

  The place Mom described sounded pretty great. I got excited as I imagined what it would be like. I hated our cramped little apartment, and certainly wasn’t going to miss the cockroaches and freezing winters. But most of all I wasn’t going to miss my father. I was tired of feeling scared all the time and sick of the way he would talk to us about our mom. I felt like I was being poisoned. We needed to get away.

  I looked over at Lorraine and wondered if she was thinking about Dad too. She hadn’t seen him for months. On our last visit, they’d argued about a red mark on her neck. He said it was a “love bite” and she insisted it wasn’t. Then he slapped her in the face. She’d stormed out of the house while I trailed behind with the little girls. I was stunned. He’d attacked her without warning. Would I be next?

  Mom warned us not to say a word about the move. It was two tense months away and I was as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs, convinced one of us would accidentally blurt out our escape plan.

  It was so smoggy the morning we left Ohio that I could taste the air. People were pushing and shoving to get on the bus. My mother was trying to herd my sisters and me through the line. She was shaking so badly the suitcases kept falling out of her hands.

  One by one we marched up the big black rubber steps onto the Greyhound bus. It had a logo of a running dog painted on the side. I liked that. It was a good sign, I thought. Freedom. I held my breath. “One, two, three, four,” I counted to myself, looking down at my Mickey Mouse watch. My cheeks felt hot as I exhaled. Hiccup. I was so nervous I couldn’t stop hiccuping. I could taste the IHOP breakfast we’d eaten hours earlier.

  The bus driver was a friendly black man who instantly became my hero. I wanted to hug him, but I just smiled as I moved toward the back. I had to pee again but held it in favor of getting a window seat. I sat there holding hands with Lorraine, looking out the window, searching the parking lot. Was Dad going to appear suddenly?

  I couldn’t stand to look anymore so I slammed my eyes shut and tried not to breathe too loudly. “Come on, mister, pull this bus onto the highway,” I prayed silently. I sneaked a peek at Mom. She was quiet and her eyes seemed glazed. I wondered if she’d been crying. My little sisters were playing a game of go fish and just as we were pulling out onto the highway, two police cruisers stopped our bus. I threw up all over my white mary janes.

  My sister howled at our mother that I’d made a mess, it stunk, and she wanted a new seat. I hid my head between my legs and started to mop myself up as the cops boarded and walked right by us.

  I felt guilty, though I didn’t know why. I looked up in time to see the policemen take a young boy off the bus. He was carrying a yellow duffel bag with a big eagle on it and he looked very sad. He started to cry and I did too. I wondered if his dirty little house was as bad as ours. My body was tight. I thought of my favorite cartoon characters, Bugs and the Roadrunner, and became strong. I am dynamite, I told myself, clenching my fists. I can survive anything.

  I closed my eyes and willed that bus onto the highway, leaving my father behind.

  We drove for three days and three nights, stopping at rest stops and little diners along the way. My body ached from sitting and I developed a rash from the cloth seat. But I didn’t care. I felt better every day. Safer. The distance gave me room to breathe.

  I scribbled giant question marks in my notebook as I daydreamed, trying to imagine what my new bedroom would be like. It should be pale pink, I decided, with a beautiful vanity and a big mirror for Lorraine and me to share. We would brush each other’s hair while listening to the Eagles’ “Hotel California” on the radio our new stepdaddy would buy us. There would be a whole new group of friends at school and no one would tease me anymore. At lunchtime I wouldn’t have to pretend not to be hungry to avoid the shame of my free-meal coupon.

  My mom would have a whole closetful of pretty peach-colored dresses and she’d smile all the time. My little sisters would get the braces they needed and we’d all be happy. Our new family would be perfect. It was all going to be okay. The sun would shine every day and set every night over the swaying palm trees in our front yard.

  I sat grinning all the way to California. I love palm trees, I thought, I love my mom…it’s all okay. We’re safe now.

  5

  Hollywood, California

  Welcome to Hollywood, California, ladies and gentlemen. Please be sure to gather all your personal belongings before departing the bus. This is our final destination. Thank you for choosing Greyhound.”

  I sat bolt upright from a dead sleep. I was annoyed that I slept through our arrival, but who cared! We were here! Bouncing slightly in my seat, I pressed my face to the window to take in every new image. There, sitting in the parking lot, I spied it: the green van! “Roger’s here, Mommy! Look, there he is!” My sisters and I started squealing with delight.

  I didn’t realize how much I’d missed him.

  My mother’s face flushed with anticipation. Though desperately trying to gather our things, round us up, and fix her hair all at the same time
, she was beaming. I got lost in her beautiful eyes. She was so stunning and in control of everything in that moment, and I loved her more than ever. I wanted to tell her how proud I was of her, how brave I thought she was, that it would all be different now. But I didn’t know those words then. I watched her, soaking her in. The fear of being wrong suddenly nagged at me. But how could I be wrong? She looked like she’d just won something, and I hadn’t seen her smile in such a long time.

  We were off the bus, in that van, and on our way to Redondo Beach faster than I could say “Book ’em Dano.” I barely caught a glimpse of Hollywood Boulevard as we pulled onto the 101 freeway, but I still remember the way the stars lay along the sidewalk. I lost my breath for a moment, in awe of the palm-lined street. We drove off just as I had truly arrived. I knew then I’d be back.

  I just didn’t know why.

  6

  Two Butch Palms

  We pulled into the driveway of a white-and-tan Spanish-style house in a typical middle-class neighborhood in Redondo Beach, California. Roger ruffled my hair as he pointed out the twin palms on the front lawn. “Those are our two ‘butch palms.’” He laughed. We all giggled along with him, but I didn’t have a clue what he meant.

  Maybe it was California slang.

  I couldn’t help noticing all the cars parked in the driveway and wondered if they were for us. Maybe when we were bigger we’d all get to choose one. But until then they’d just sit there, pretty in the sun, waiting for us to grow up. My mother was getting close to the house and I had to be the first to touch the doorknob.

  Racing up the steps, I threw open the front door, which was strangely unlocked. Maybe people are more relaxed in California, I reasoned with myself, bursting into the living room with my sisters right behind me. The first thing I saw was an extremely hairy fat man wearing boxer shorts, drinking a beer with one hand and smoking a really smelly cigarette with the other. I was pretty sure it was “reefer.” I’d seen Roger smoking it before and knew Mother wouldn’t be pleased. I wanted to punch this man in his jelly belly for ruining my perfect day. He was sitting on what I thought was supposed to be our couch. He smiled at me and said, “Hey, my name’s Greg. You must be the Kuzmas. I’m your roommate.”

  I stood there, mouth gaping, staring at this bear of a man that would be living with us. Mother was behind me in the doorway. I thought she was going to cry as she scowled at Roger. The air was suddenly thick again.

  7

  Junior HIGH

  Junior high is a place where young people get stoned,” my pretty, tan pot-smoking thirteen-year-old next-door neighbor, Dee Dee, informed me on my first day of school in southern California. I was sitting under a palm tree on the campus of my new school, completely amazed that we actually had to leave the building to go from class to class. The schools back east were all enclosed. You entered the building at sunrise and didn’t see light again until that afternoon, if at all.

  I’d been eyeballing my watch all morning waiting for my least favorite time of the day to arrive: lunchtime. I had learned long ago how dangerous and humiliating something as simple as lunch could be. Having been the new kid a dozen times before, I knew what was coming. It was about pecking order. If you wanted any respect you had to fight for your place. I’d avoid insensitive teachers hunting me down announcing to the entire cafeteria that I’d forgotten my free-meal coupon, which would seal my doom with the title of “loser” forever. I was in a foul mood. Didn’t any of these teachers ever think about what it must be like to be a poor kid in a rich world?

  How could people so oblivious to reality teach me anything?

  The vultures had been circling the playground waiting for me to make my move. They were all so…white, but that was where our similarities ended. I felt like I was from another planet with my Ohio look. A stranger in a strange land, I sat completely still on a bench looking for Lorraine, my partner in crime. I couldn’t see her anywhere. My sister was usually close by, since she was only one grade ahead of me, but now I wondered if older classrooms had recess in another area. My thoughts drifted to Saturday-morning cartoons and I envisioned the Wonder Twins, who could disappear in times of trouble. I concentrated, thinking how cool it would be if it really worked, for once. But I was still here.

  My mop of curly light brown hair and pale skin stuck out like a sore thumb. California girls didn’t wear makeup, so I wiped the red gloss from my lips and crossed my arms over my breasts, hoping no one would notice me. Sitting on the bench counting pebbles, I watched shoes go by. I saw Vans, Reeboks, and a pair of hot pink thongs—a far cry from the winter snow boots of Ohio. I was glad I’d worn my red Christmas shoes. Mom had bought them for me last year and I’d been saving them for a special occasion. They twinkled prettily in the sun like Dorothy’s in The Wizard of Oz. “You’re a long way from Kansas, Dorothy,” I giggled to myself.

  I caught pieces of conversation that made no sense. I didn’t have the California slang down yet. It was like another language, but I tried to relax and enjoy it. I told myself it was an adventure, pretending I was in a foreign country. I was daydreaming about France when these long golden-brown legs walked right up to me and demanded my attention. Hello, legs. The feet were bare, a no-no I had been told by the plump school administrator that very morning. The toenails were well groomed and painted slate-black with a silver thunderbolt on the big toes. Looking up, I saw the girl was wearing an AC/DC T-shirt with a thunderbolt on it. My favorite band! I was immediately in awe of her.

  She stopped right in front of me and we stared each other down, my eyes intense as I dared this rock chick to mess with one of Ozzy’s own. But she just looked at me, snapped her gum, and said, “So, you just moved in with the freaks next door, huh?”

  Before I could say anything, she was sitting next to me gathering pebbles into a pile. We talked about music and I was relieved to find one thing that hadn’t changed. Kids everywhere liked heavy metal music. Ozzy was a god and Judas Priest reigned on high.

  Dee Dee gave me an education, pointing out which teachers gave pop quizzes, which homework I should do, and what I didn’t have to bother with. I found out beer drinking and pot smoking were common pastimes in junior high, and that Dee Dee often stole the butts of marijuana cigarettes out of her parents’ ashtray and sold them for a buck apiece on the playground.

  We were interrupted by a couple of boys walking by. One of them made a comment about “the new chick” and wham! Dee Dee hurled pebble after pebble at his naked ankles. I found myself grinning at her feistiness. Thump, bam…ooouch…quit it! They hightailed it across the playground lickety-split and she went back to her rock collecting. Her calm blue eyes seemed wise beyond their years and were burdened with experience. I wondered if she suffered from the same afflictions I did. She told me she lived in the house next door with a bunch of freaks she happened to be related to. She couldn’t wait to grow up and move out of this dead-end place.

  It hit me like a truck: Ohio or California, it wasn’t the place—it was the life, being young and having seen things you couldn’t just wish away.

  The school bell rang and took me out of my trance. Lunch was over and I had a new partner in crime. She said she’d wait for me after school. Then she reached over and planted a kiss on the side of my mouth. I didn’t know what to think. Was this the way people said good-bye in California? I’d never been kissed by a girl like that, but it was exciting. I breathed in the sweetness of her skin. She smelled of vanilla, and, strangely, I wanted to kiss her again.

  I got up and quickly walked back to class, fearful she would guess what I was thinking. What does it mean? I thought, feeling weird that I was having lustful thoughts about a girl.

  Dee Dee and I spent the remainder of the year hanging out together, trading homework and avoiding our parental units. I managed to squash my fantasies about her, but I still couldn’t help but wonder if she’d ever try to kiss me again.

  Mom and Roger were on the rocks.

  They kept arguing ab
out broken promises. She was livid we had to live with strangers and demanded he stop using drugs. I wondered if it was pot, or maybe something else. Everyone smoked pot, so I didn’t think that was a big deal. And despite the fact that fat Greg and his friends were annoying, it was still a hell of a lot better living in California than in our crappy little hovel in Ohio. I wasn’t going back there, and I certainly couldn’t go back to my father. He had disappeared from my life. I didn’t even get letters from him anymore. It hurt to see how quickly he’d forgotten us. Well, I’d forget him too!

  I was fed up, sick of Mom’s hasty decisions ruining my life. I wasn’t going to let it happen again. I started taking Roger’s side in the fights and decided then and there that I was better off on my own.

  Music blared and parties were always raging in our living room. I took Dee Dee’s advice for making a little money on the side and snagged roaches from the ashtray for resale later. It was impossible to get any homework done, though I somehow managed to pass all my classes anyway.

  Sleep, on the other hand, was a whole other battle.

  Roger was coming into my room at night. I no longer thought that I was imagining or making it up, but I still didn’t know why he was there. I started pretending to be asleep when I wasn’t, lying quietly in the dark waiting for something to happen. One night Lorraine was snoring across the room from me and I’d almost fallen asleep when, in my groggy state, I saw Roger’s face hovering above me. At first I thought I was dreaming, but when I sat up, I could feel his fingers inside me.

  Before I could say a word he was out the door and down the hallway. I was left alone, knowing something had taken place but not knowing exactly what.

  I couldn’t wrap my brain around this incident. Did he really do this to me? Or was I going crazy? I thought of the road trips to Florida, and the way he and Mom laughed about my “poached eggs” when my top fell down. But if he was doing something wrong wouldn’t my mother notice? It didn’t make any sense. I needed time to think.