Bad Girl House

During our first summer together, John and I went on a few small trips with his family. The first trip was to Mohican State Park. We were going to spend the day canoeing. The weather had certainly cooperated with our plans. The sun was out for the entire day, making the river shine and the overgrowth along the banks glow. I was in a canoe with John and his son. Jonathan sat in the center of the boat since he still didn’t have the strength to steer the narrow boat. John’s brother Tom, his sister Nina, and her boyfriend Joe shared another canoe. Nana and Papa were paddling along somewhere behind us. It was a typical canoe trip of trying to keep up with each other, avoiding the banks of the river, and attempting to tip each other over. John, who always seemed to be in a hurry, even on a day that was supposed to be relaxing, kept us moving down the river at a pretty good pace. We were so far ahead of everyone else, that we sat and watched for them to when we reach the end of the course. When everyone had finally arrived, and canoes were put away, we all stood along the shore for awhile before leaving. Catching me by surprise, Papa grabbed my shoulders from behind and pretended that he was going to toss me in the river. He was joking around since my canoe hadn’t gotten turned over at all that day. Everyone was laughing playfully as he let go right at the river’s edge. It made me feel good to be included like that. Unfortunately, that was the first and only time he would ever acted like that around me.

The second family outing was to Cedar Point. We started out early, all of us piling into Papa’s work van. On the way there we stopped for breakfast, and I ordered pancakes. I covered them with plenty of syrup. I didn’t know it at that point, but that sugar was going to aggravate an awful bladder infection that was about to ruin my entire day. By the middle of the day, I was stopping in every bathroom I walked past. I hadn’t yet said anything about how I was feeling, and John’s patience was quickly wearing very thin. When I finally told him, he still complained every time I needed to make a pit stop. Even though it was something that I couldn’t help, he felt it necessary to make me feel bad that everyone had to wait for me. Standing in line for rides was becoming increasingly more difficult, so eventually I had to wait for everyone else to ride. I couldn't risk being stuck in a line for hours. Most of the day went by before anyone else realized something was wrong. I didn’t want to mention it, making everyone else leave so early because of me. We stayed at the parkuntil it was dark, and by then I was really struggling. All I could think about was the long ride home. John hadn’t told his father about my infection until we were all walking back to the van. I was hoping that by some miracle there would be a port-o-potty in the parking lot, because I already felt like I needed it. It would have been like finding an oasis in the desert. Papa said that he would find somewhere to stop if I needed him to. I was so afraid that I was going to upset everyone in the van by asking to stop. We were more than two hours away from Nana and Papa’s house. John asked me how I was feeling, but made me feel like I was complaining when I said I wasn’t doing so well. All he could say was that Papa was driving as fast as he could. He said it with an annoyed tone in his voice. With about an hour to go, I told John to stop checking on me because I was trying to think about something else, or even fall asleep. He begrudgingly stopped. Somehow I made it through the entire trip back without asking to stop, but with tears filling my eyes.