2 am chronicles 2 the electric boogaloo

Hello Brain, we meet again. Reflecting on the last writings of my insomniac mind, I realized I forgot to consider a necessary factor in why I sleep so terribly. My emotional baggage doesn’t help one bit. I’m sorting through it like a never-ending load of dirty underwear and stained shirts. (Trust me, the less you know about the stains the better.)

Let’s be honest, I’m not a Calvin Klein model by any means. I’ve been overweight as long as I can remember. I look at food and boom – 5 pounds. Being a larger kid came with the usual (and unfortunately memorable) name calling and jokes among peers. I recall a mean little girl in my second grade class who had a mom on the teaching class. Chloe was her name I believe, and it’s been so long we’re going with that. Despite being a non-confrontational kid, there always seemed to be that one person who wanted to get under my skin. Chloe was one of those people.

Her name for me was “big fat jelly roll.” She was taller than me and she wasn’t a skinny-mini either. I didn’t see the irony in that at the time but looking back I find it pretty hilarious. She drove me nuts, and the people around didn’t help. She called me a “big fat jelly roll” in front of our teacher and the teacher, who I stared at in disbelief, cracked up laughing. The teacher, supposed to be impartial and kind, was no help.

This started a trend that went on for months until one day I just said “fuck it.” I paid Chloe no attention. She was a shadow I wanted to go away. She continued to pick on me so frequently that classmates and teachers told her to shut up. At the time I didn’t realize what I had done. I had picked up a skill that I honestly would forget until my adult years: not caring what others thought of me. In that moment I had won without even knowing it. A true silent victory that served me well because I was dealing with other problems too.

We were moving around a lot and I was transferred from school to school. I was originally going to Jacksonville Beach Elementary in North Jacksonville, then we moved all over South Jacksonville. With each new school I was learning new mascots, getting targeted by new bullies, and dealing with new crazy teachers who should have retired years before. It didn’t help that I was also so bored because I was ahead of the curriculum in the underfunded schools I was attending.

Kindergarten through second grade were unstable years for me. I’d go from living with my mom in a new apartment to living with Aunt Tracy and my cousins, back to a new apartment, back to Aunt Tracy’s, new apartment with sketchy neighbors, then hey Aunty, I’m back! Then came the apartment complex that I’ll remember until the end of my days.

I can’t tell you the name of the apartment complex but I can tell you the apartments were amazing and still are to this day. It’s a gated complex with vibrant colors, a gym, a swimming pool, and a beautiful pond that always seemed to have an alligator in it. We had a two bedroom, two bath. It wasn’t the ritz, but the apartments had the basic amenities you would get in a 90s apartment.

I shared one of the bedrooms with my older sister Antoinette. The other room was for my old man, my mom, and my year-old little brother Deloren. Let me guess what you’re thinking at this point: wait, where did the little brother come from?? Just know he’s not the last kid my father would help bring to Earth, but he was the last one my mother bore.

Deloren was born July 18, 1996. He was a healthy baby sadly born into an unhealthy family situation. I remember that year because my mother was frequently sick and (I believe) struggling with postpartum depression. It didn’t help that my dad was an abusive asshole. I remember some of the fights, and getting the shit slapped out of me the one time I jumped in. I recall my dad literally throwing my mother outside one of our apartments, and her landing on her stomach a month after she’d had my brother by C-section. I remember my mom packing to stay with a friend and my dad making me choose whether to go with her or stay with him. I was scared to leave because I didn’t want him to be mad at me. Thinking back, I should have gone with my mom, but I was scared to say anything.

Fast forward to 1997. I didn’t know at the time, but my time in Florida was slowly drawing to a close. For months I went to school and made friends at the apartments. My parents fought off and on while I was locked in my room. My dad goes to jail. My mom gets back with dad. Then I witnessed the last straw that broke the camel’s back.

I was at a friend’s house across the street playing Nintendo or something when I heard a whole bunch of police and fire truck sirens. The first thought that crossed my mind, “where is Mom?” I saw officers and then saw Mom holding the cordless phone, in tears, with a bloodied nose. Everyone in the neighborhood gathered around asking if she’s alright. Does she need anything? Then I saw the look in her eyes and it wasn’t sorrow, it was “I’m fed up and I’ve had enough.”

I didn’t realize my mom had been planning for months to make her escape. She had to be very patient and careful about it. She had to strategize carefully because she knew my father had eyes watching her in Jacksonville. She made a separate bank account, leaned on trustworthy friends, and planned out an Oceans-11esque getaway.

We were on the road to Kansas City within days. Unfortunately, we couldn’t take my sister because she wasn’t my mother’s biological child. (They’ve talked about this since and my sister understands, she still calls her “Mom” to this day.) I didn’t get to say goodbye to my cousins, who were also my best friends. It would be years before I would see them again.

I didn’t know it at the time but it was the best decision my mom made for us. She risked everything to get us out of that situation when I was nine and I’m thankful for it every day. I don’t know where I would be if we had stayed in that situation. I’m 32 now and I don’t think I would still be alive if we hadn’t left. I’m going to leave it at that for now. Until next time - Anthem



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