Living in the memory

Clarity in the Mud

Everything in this book is true.
But is it factual?
I don't really have an answer to that.

These things did happen to me.
Though things might be different through another person's eyes, compared to my story.

I am writing this story Today, 2023,
In a little apartment in New York.
I'm still in school, a Super-Senior,

Still juggling the strange objects, along with the tasks people assign to me. "M, do this. M, do that."
The things that life hurdles towards my direction no matter what disability I have.
No matter how I feel or how mentally and physically 'okay' that I am.

I feel as though I have no choice but to do things the right way.

I remember how many times I would screw up the simple tasks of daily house chores. And I still do sometimes on my bad days. The days when I'm drained from school, wake up, get dressed, brush uncontrollable hair, tie uncontrollable hair back with a hair tie and NOT a rubber band. I tried that once and the rubber band glued to each hair strand on my scalp, a cruel torture device I tell you.

Why was the rubber band ever invented? Other than to suffocate curled up paper, a weapon for bullies/annoying teens that would hold onto their elastic, charge it up and they'd aim the band straight into the eye or any exposed skin that peaked from the Gen Z clothing on a student.

I think the rubber band was invented to be used for crafts.. But with each new generation, there is always someone who ruins one thing for all of us.

There were the spit balls through the straw,

The toilet talks & gossip,

The Cheese Touch..

Cooties, teasing and picking,

old and fresh gum underneath every surface,

Torn up books with questionable stains.

And that doesn't even cover how much teenagers are evolving just as fast as the times change.

From day to night the moon phases are hidden behind blankets hung up over a window. Keeping the cold air out, the cracks the landlord refuses to fix, the sloppiness and 'good enough' attitude that kept society.. Everyone afloat somehowover polluted waters.

Murky, dark, oily, gasoline, plastic islands and trashy.. Water.

I wish I could see the stars again.

I remember when my small town was a safe place. We had not much going on, we still don't 12 years later. But still, it just isn't the same. There are police officers arresting teenagers for selling meth at a school I used to go to, a school I hated, blessed to be transferred to a properly educated plane. There were sirens that echoed down the dark streets, not a wink of sleep for anyone. I would lie in bed, wondering what else happened? I wondered if it was my business, I'm living here and that terrible smoke of drugs spilling, rising up through the walls, into my room. I can't stand it. I didn't stand for it at all. I held my breath, I grabbed a blanket and moved into the livingroom just outside my bedroom door. The smell made me feel dizzy, that shunk gave me headaches, the cold kept me awake, the air tried to circulate but that dirty smell stayed.

I would be so tired that I stayed up past witching hour. Wobbling around before giving up, letting the smoke take me. I don't like my neighbors for their loud music. I hate drugs, alcohol, they were all the same.. It reminded me of my father and all the terrible things he had done to my mother and my family. How he threw his life away, changing so suddenly.. All for what?

I still don't know why he wanted me.
I still don't understand if the hill with the big house, the autumn's leaves falling onto the car hood.. I'm not sure if that nice lady who played with me did anything to help me.

I remember the bunnies. Not exactly fur covered, shaved almost, soft, white rabbits dressed up in fabric. And a mansion that opened up, section by section.

I loved toys,
I still love plushies, animals, colors, food, all kinds of things. Everything.

I was just like any other kid.
I had my fears, I had my tastes in anything given to me (food-wise).

But what I didn't have was friends.
I didn't have a childhood really.. And I don't think my sisters did either. I don't think Mom has a good life after he showed up, took her cards and ruined her credit, took custody of her jeep, the house, our clothes, our pets and what did he do?

...

He wasn't a father.

He may be my biological father but he was never there to support mom. So why should I bother?

Why should I bother remembering the things he had on his computer screen that I saw and the court used that as evidence. They heard everything he had done to hurt us, and they thought. "Oh well, he should still see the children!" He never took us back to OUR HOUSE. He took us to Chuckycheese, McDonald's, bribed us, he tried to BUY us to come back to him instead of being a part of the family to begin with.

I know its not entirely his fault.
People change,
Things happen.
But that is not an excuse for him to subject us, me, to Domestic Violence.

He had so many chances, he didn't.
The things he did do are so sickening.. I feel like crying, for being helpless as a kid and watching him beat my mother with a black cable phone. I remember crying, wondering when mom will be back. If she was okay.

Why did he have to change?

Everything felt still underwater. I'd see bass swimming by with the cans and bottles of beer. The green bottles, broken pieces of glass, grayness that clouded my eyes.

The small lights in the sky, I could stare at them for hours. I used to, in the car rides.. Home.