Angelia -- IV -- Teen sex and Drug Use

Drafted October 8, 2007

ANGELIA

Chapter Four

** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **

         Without knocking Mom storms into my room with her high-octane look, hurling killer daggers at me with her eyes. I white knuckle the bed covers, wanting to pull them over my head to shield my face. I know I am in trouble again but have no idea what I've done this time to agitate her. My mother is a big woman. Almost six-foot tall, and somewhat overweight, with long, frizzy hair that always looks disheveled, she is very imposing and intimidating.

         "I'm so sick and tired of you moping around," she says loudly. I can actually see her nostrils flare as she hovers over me. "You're getting fat. Your face is looking puffy. You'd better start exercising or you'll end up looking like your Aunt Judy."

         She paces my room back and forth; her arms swing wildly up and down, side to side, like some maniacal orchestra conductor. She petrifies me when she acts this way. This is serious bipolar behavior, and I try to avoid her when she's like this. She has closed the door behind her, and I'm trapped in my bed like a kitten in a storm. And what's this comparison with Aunt Judy? I believe Mom is at least ten pounds heavier than her. My face looks puffy because I've been crying a lot. I admit I may have gained no more than five pounds since I was grounded, but at five-nine and 125 pounds, I hardly call that fat. In fact, most people think I'm as slim as a fashion model.

         There is no reasoning with Mom at a time like this, so I let her disburse her negative energy. I hope that she'd eventually feel spent and leave me alone again. I try to tune her out by reliving some of the better moments in my life, when she and Dad were still married, and we all lived together in harmony, peace and love. I'm such a dreamer. Those moments were rare, but I had hopes that eventually we'd become a happy family. Things did not get better. One day, Mom packed her things and moved out of the house. Months later, she got a new house and a new car from the divorce settlement. What amazes me to this day is how she managed to receive child support for Jackson and me when she shares joint custody with Dad. In addition, the court awarded her tuition money at Dad's expense so she can get a new degree and a better job.

         The child support continues to this day, even though she's got a full time job that pays her well. She has also remarried. My stepfather--Mom's first cousin--owns his own business and he makes a lot of money, so much that they sold Mom's house and bought a new and bigger house. Yes, the child support continues even though Mom lives an affluent lifestyle now, and even during the two years that Dad did not have a job. I can never understand this.

         I have a lot of things that I don't understand. For instance, where is Angelia? Why hasn't she contacted us? It is almost as if she has disappeared from the face of the earth. Did something bad happen between her and Dad? Why is Dad being so silent about Angelia's absence? I know he misses her terribly. There have been times when I caught him staring at her picture. And this may sound so high school, but I've heard him quietly playing the song "Angelia" in his bedroom. I remember how I loved to watch Dad and Angelia dance in the living room to Richard Marx's song. I thought that was so much fun to see. I never saw Dad dance with Mom. Fact is that I never saw them behave romantically with each other.

         I wish Angelia would come back, and make life better again for Dad, Jackson and me. I've never needed her as much as I do now. I know for sure that instead of yelling and preaching at me if she were here, she'd wrap her arms around me instead, and tell me that everything will be all right.

         Mom's shrill voice brings me back to the present when I hear her say, " I better not hear you talk to that Tyler kid again, or I swear, I'll take him to court for statutory rape."

         I wonder how long she's been growling like a mad dog. Honestly, there's froth forming at the corner or her mouth.

         It scares me to death every time she mentions "statutory rape." I don't want anything bad to happen to Tyler. I love him, even though I love him only as a friend. It's hard to believe this, I know, but he's the best friend I've ever had. He always listened to me and treated me nicely. He never acted cocky, vulgar, or idiotic like many of the boys in school. How can I say he's a nice guy when he was the one who introduced me to sex and drugs? I cannot explain it, but it's true. And now, Mom always threatens to send him to prison. The idea breaks my heart. Tyler didn't rape or assault me. I consented to it. Granted I was under the influence of ecstasy, still, I knew what I was doing.

         "You're such a big disappointment in my life. I never thought you'd end up like a whore and a drug user. And at fifteen? My God! How can I ever trust you again? How can I ever forgive you for the scandal you've caused our family?"

         Mom's acrimonious words cut right through every fiber of my being. But I can't blame her. Everything she says is true. I deserve to be called a "whore and a drug user." How can she ever trust me again, no matter how many times I tell her it will never happen again? How can she ever forgive me for the scandal I've caused to her family? It doesn't matter that her family has been riddled with scandal as well. It doesn't matter that Jane, my cousin of the same age, has done the same thing I've done; in fact, she might still be on drugs. But that's no excuse. How about my Grandma? Did she falsely accuse Grandpa of sexually molesting my Mom and aunt Judy when they were young to send grandpa to the cleaners during the divorce? I've only seen Grandpa a couple times when Dad took Jackson and me to him one Christmas time. He was so happy to see us, but he looked as old as Methuselah.

         The yelling continues. What can I do to make her stop? "Are you listening to me? Are you ignoring me, you slut? You're disgusting. Look at your room. Your clean clothes are mixed in with your dirty clothes on the floor. Your wastebasket is overflowing with tissue paper. Your bathroom is filthy."

         I get up and start straightening up. She's right. I never kept my room neat. I guess it's just one of the things I inherited from her. She was never neat the whole time she was married to Dad. She just changed when she married her cousin and he got her this big and beautiful house. She has two maids that come to clean twice a week; still, the house never seems to stay clean and orderly. She has fired one of the maids and now I do a lot of the housework as part of my punishment.

         Mom's anger seems to escalate every minute. It has been like this almost every day since the world found out about my disgraceful teen sex and drug use. I know I deserve this treatment. I was bad. Truthfully, guilt had been eating me up, and I had planned on confessing to Mom and Dad that I'd been using ecstasy and cocaine since summer vacation started. I had no reason for doing it. It just happened while Tyler and I were hanging out with some of his eighteen-year old friends. At fifteen, I was the youngest there, but you could never tell it. I am tall, slim, but curvaceous due to my well endowed chest, and most importantly, I swear my IQ is twice as high as most of theirs put together. Acting "as mature as they were," I indulged in ecstasy.

         I've known about the drug ecstasy long before I started using it. The Internet makes it easy to learn about a lot of things; unfortunately, once I found out all about it, I became curious.

         Ecstasy is a psychostimulantive drug. It consists of Methylenedioxymethamphetamine or MDMA. Wow, I finally got to use this term in a sentence. The National Honor Society would be proud of me. The drug affects the concentration in the brain, which makes the users hallucinate, or simply "feel good." Some studies suggest that ecstasy, sometimes referred to as X-T-E, is merely a recreational drug and does not pose any serious damage to the brain and body. But most other studies produce overwhelming results that are well documented--that the risks in brain damage because of the loss of serotonim levels are very high. Heart failure and kidney failure are also among the consequences caused by long periods of use.

         Notwithstanding my scholarly knowledge of the drug and its dangers, my curiosity prevailed. I used ecstasy. It was not as bad as I thought it would be. I felt calm and euphoric. It felt wonderful. But what I remember most about that experience was the pain from my virginal sex. I was screaming, begging Tyler to stop. I think I heard laughter and cheers in the background; I'm not sure.

         Tyler and I had sex and drugs often at his parents' house after that. His parents work at the same company from 3:00 in the afternoon through 11:00 at night. They call it "swing shift." It was perfect. After school, I would not take the bus home. I'd tell either Mom of Dad that I would be with my best friend Laura, and that someone would take me home. They had questioned me about Tyler, and I told them that he's a very good friend, and nothing more. But now the word is out: The good friend was not a good friend after all. What eighteen-year old good friend would do this to a fifteen-year old girl?"

         Thank God. Without warning, Mom finally leaves my room. I finish straightening up the clutter in the bathroom. It looks much better. Why don't I do this every day? It's no excuse that I'm just a typical teenager who hates housework; it's no excuse that Mom has never set an example to me. Angelia has shown me how to maintain a clean house without much effort. I should have already learned from her. I swear, from now on, my room is always going to be neat and clean. No more scum in the bathtub and sink; no more dirty clothes on the floor mixed in with clean ones; and no more unmade bed.

         I start feeling better about myself, and I am about to go back to bed when I hear familiar heavy footsteps marching fast toward my room. Each angry step matches each nervous beat in my chest. I freeze facing the door opening, waiting for the emergence of an angry mother. Oh, God. What is it now? {i/}

         Her face as red as blood with fury, she throws what looks like a check to my face. The edge of the crisp paper hit my right cheek. Feeling the sting from it I trace the spot with my finger to check for blood. Nothing.

         "There's three thousand dollars for you! Buy yourself a car, or drug . . . anything. Just pack your things and get out of my face. I don't care where you go. Go to your friends, or move in with your Dad permanently. I don't care! Just leave! Right now!"

         I stand transfixed as I watch her storm out of my room again. Then I start shaking, not knowing what to do.