Demise Of A Young Girl Memoir Ch. 6-10

CHAPTER SIX: CHRISTMAS IN OKLAHOMA CITY


I was glum. There was no cheering me up. My dad pretty much left me alone, just occasionally and politely asking a simple stupid question like “Hey, Susie, do you mind riding in the back on the way back to Oklahoma City?”

I was in such a shit-hole of self-pity; I did not really understand what he was saying. Then my brain caught up and repeated what he had just asked. Doooo yoooouuu miinnd sittttiinnng iiinn the baaaackk seeeat?

Hubbbba jubbba jubbaa! I sit up straight. “What did you just say?”

“Well, you know the guy Matthew, the one who works at the post office, the Christian guy? Well his parents live just outside the City. He’ll split the gas if I give him a lift. But you’ll have to sit in the back.”

Now I thought to myself. This could be a trick or this could be a gift from God, and since it is a Christian guy, I go with the latter.

I bring forth the most uninterested expression as I can muster. “Sure, Dad whatever. I don’t care what we do.”

Aah come on, Suze, it’ll be fun having some company, it’ll make the time go faster!”

Amen to that. “I don’t care dad, I really don’t. I don’t mind sitting the back seat. Baron will keep me company”

Oh my God! For all my dad’s brilliance, he can be so stupid! He really is a fucking idiot! Hmm….or maybe I am becoming a very good actor. He really has it in his mind that I actually enjoy what he calls ‘rolling blow jobs.” That is when we are traveling and he demands to be serviced

“Just hold my balls like they are little birds eggs! Yeah that’s right. He would slow down for truckers. He really thought I liked banging my head on the steering wheel for half an hour? Being watched every time a big rig came by?

Getting to sit in the back seat felt like a temporary ticket to Heaven had just landed in my lap. “Please, God, Please God. Don’t let him change his mind!”

He didn’t and the next day we were headed to Oklahoma City. As we crossed the Oklahoma state line, the snow started to come down fast. The Christian, Matthew decided it was time for a little bible study, which was fine with me. It was getting nasty outside. I do not remember what he read but the more it calmed me down; the more it irritated my dad. I loved it! I believe even Baron was amused.
         
When we arrived in OKC the snow was at least a foot high. Dad dropped me off at my mom’s and then headed to Duncan where my grandparents still lived.

After Herman and Baron squared off and chased each other all over the two-story condominium, things settled down. I took my bag upstairs and was so happy and so sad. It was getting late and I wanted this day to be over.

I went downstairs and Mom had already made me a ham sandwich, some potato salad and my favorite lime-green jello with the marshmallows on top.

She hugged me again. I hugged her back even harder.

You need to eat, Hon.”

She was right. I was starving. After wolfing down every bite, I leaned back in the chair. I let my body commence digestion. When this happens, I get a goofy grin and my eyes gloss over. All the energy in me is concentrated on devouring calories. My eyes began to close and snoring was soon to follow.

My mother saw the telltale signs and helped me up the stairs. Still, being my Mom, she made me brush my teeth. I probably would not have if I had been this tired in New Mexico.

I sleep hard, dreamless. I am allowed to sleep in so I do not wake up until around 10:00 am.

I am very startled, no confused is a better description. It takes at least an entire minute to orient myself. Reality check, one, two, three….reality check, one, two, three… OK, I am getting it now. I am in Oklahoma City at my mom’s, I am not dreaming, and I am not insane.

I quickly scan back over the last twenty-four hours. I feel like I’m on another planet, planet good and friendly, not planet dark and evil. I am determined to make the best of every minute. I will not dwell on reality.

I get dressed and amble down the carpeted staircase. As I enter the living room, a welcoming voice booms out.

“Well there she is, Miss America! Hey sleepy head, your mom’s got French toast and bacon waiting for you.”

I smile and walk over to give Dick a hug.

“What in the heck, Dick? What is all this stuff?”

One entire wall in the living room is taken up the coolest, most fascinating electronic equipment I have ever laid eyes on, except on Star Trek. There are reel-to-reel taper recorders, input devices, output devices, recording and playback mixers, phonographs, equalizers, hell, I don’t know, humidifiers! It’s beautiful!

As Neil Diamond plays, Dick beams. “You like it Sue?”

Do I like it? Shit!! I love it! Music was one of the first things Dick and I bonded over. I was already making bootleg cassettes off the radio when we met.

Even though it is gray and cold, that afternoon I decide to go for a walk. I bring Baron with me. After twenty yards or so, he makes it clear this was not a good idea He will not stay cold if he does not have to, he has already taught me that. . He is not comfortable until he is zipped up in my jacket. The trees keep moaning, their branches at the limit of breaking off from the weight of the new snow. As we walk along, so many memories come flooding back.

Hell in this condominium complex alone, we had moved three times. My mother liked to move. She had a full time job at a clinic doing X-ray and lab stuff. Because dad was a total deadbeat and his shit rolled down hill and stained everyone in his path, my mom had to get a second job. In turn, we did not get as much supervision; we learned all kinds of negative stuff, etc, etc, etc.

Anyway, these were very exclusive condominiums and we stepped up, so to speak, living there. It was not like the apartments we were used to living in. These were condominiums. None of the apartments we ever live in had the gate at the front. All the buildings were made of stucco, and were painted a sandy flamingo pink. They were like adobe, with no building like the other. The entrances to the condominiums were not easily identified they were all in little nooks and crannies.

The apartments we had lived in before had four apartments upstairs, two staircases and four apartments downstairs, a newspaper thrower’s dream. I could hit eight doors in less than thirty seconds.

The Wedgwood condominiums were built on the site of the biggest amusement park Oklahoma City had ever accommodated. It had an Olympic size swimming pool with a two-story clubhouse with a weight room and a sauna and all sorts of ritzy things. The second story was a swanky nightclub, members only. Dick met my mother there. She had taken on a second job there

The place was very cool. One night I got to see my first dead person. I was headed over to play pinball and there was a crowd gathering at the bottom of the stairs that led to the club. There was a huge fat guy lying on his back.

“No, he’s not dead, he’s just knocked out” one guy offered.
 
“No, no Jim! I think he’s dead! He’s not breathing!”

Now back in 1975, there weren’t any clear procedures as how  to handle such situations so someone ran upstairs and brought back a glass of water in one hand and a shot of vodka into the other.

“Candy, see if you and Jim can lift his head up and get some of this water in him.” With that, Ed threw the vodka back into his mouth then squinted and let out a gasp.

I had crept in close enough now to see the dead guy’s entire face. “Yep, I do believe he’s dead, alright. Maybe someone should call the cops or an ambulance or something.”

By this time a crowd of about, eight or nine people had gathered around poor old dead Arnold.

They all knew me.

“Out of the mouths of babes, Cindy says already running up the stairs to the phone.

I had never seen a dead body before but I knew what it was when I saw it. But I wasn’t as smashed as they were at the time.

Baron and I paused in front of the Clubhouse. The nightclub was closed now. It was getting dark and I was tired. It was time to head back.

As I came in the door, my mom rushed to me. “You’ve got to be freezing! Let me get your coat. As I unzipped Baron, she set him down and hugged me real tight. I could hear her taking deep breaths. It was the police hug. It disappointed me greatly. I walked into the kitchen and hoisted myself up onto a corner counter.

She followed me and started rubbing my hands, first one then the other. She looked into my eyes. I had already passed the sniff test.

“Honey, where have you been? It’s getting so dark and it is so cold. How could you stay out there for so long?”

It is not suspicion that I see in her face; it is worry, a mother’s genuine concern.

Mom, this is nothing. I go snow skiing every other day…when school’s not in session. I am used to this kind of weather.

Then she looks me straight in the eye. “Are you Ok? Have you seen anyone, called anyone?”

“For God’s sake, no Ma!”

“I’m sorry honey, your eyes, they just look different. Is everything Ok?”

“Yeah, Mom, everything is fine, I was just thinking about that dead guy at the club awhile back, remember that?”

“Honey, its Christmas! Why would you be thinking about that?”

“I don’t know, I just passed by there and thought about it. Please come here and give me a hug.”

She came to me, her body wrapped tightly around mine. I stared over her shoulder, out into the distance. I felt a hundred years old and a million miles away.



CHAPTER SEVEN:  SKI CHALLENGES, DISASTERS AND ESCAPES

Since everyday reality was pretty much the same mixture of complete unexpectation, I began to my accept life as tolerable…well…, all things considered. There were benefits to growing up at the speed of light. I did not have to go to school, I had a lucrative job making gobs of money and I could drink pretty much whenever I felt like it. I could stay up late; learn all kinds of new things. I could sleep until I woke up. It was comforting to see my horse every day, to feed her Twinkies when I had them. And I had my own truck: a ’57 Ford Pick-up with three on the tree and a push button start. It was quite a status symbol for someone my age. I didn’t’ have pay for pot, or cocaine, as Dad would get the best available. I could get valiums anytime I wanted from my dad’s Dr. friend. I learned how to play poker but I wasn’t very good at it. I was good at the horse track, though. I learned how to predict winners by becoming a guru with the racing forms. I was respected and people appreciated an occasional inside tip. This is what my dad considered LOVE.

Then there were the frequent ski trips to Taos or Red River or Angelfire. There weren’t many children on the slopes since we normally skied on weekdays. We would arrive around 10:00 in the morning and head back at around 3:00 in the afternoon. That was more than enough ski time, as all of the resorts were less than 80 miles away. Sometimes a crowd of six or eight of us would go, sometimes just Dad and me.

I always looked forward to getting drunk on the mountain from the wine in my goatskin. These ventures never failed to entertain. As if on cue, someone would put the wine to their lips, gulping that one gulp that threw them into stupidness. That’s when the fun really began. Watching perfectly sane adults get completely shit faced and turn into Jean Claude Kili was priceless! Limping down the mountain became a frequent mode of travel.

Ahh, the memories, I still smirk when I think about the time Dad swerved off the main trail, mounting a young juniper tree at 30 miles an hour. To maintain his coolness, he laughed with the rest of us. I was laughing harder on the inside. He was injured more than he realized. But I knew. He was going to be out of commission for at least a few days. The black eyes, raging headache and torn groin muscle took the Casa Nova right out of him. There were many other hilarious shenanigans but none made me laugh as hard and long as that one.

I became a pretty good skier, easily racing past most people. Then I took to choosing the expert Diamond trails, the ones that make the experts leery. I was confident Dad would follow. He had to, he had no choice. His arrogance and faulty self-confidence forced him to beat me, to out-ski me, to rule over me in all things. I snigger when I remember this. I was picking up ways to beat him at his own game.

“Are you sure? Are you sure Dad? Should we really try this one? I’m game if you are, Dad! You wanna, Dad? Huh, huh, you wanna?” There, I got him. Sometimes he was so fucking easy. On the other hand, maybe I was getting savvier.

I looked over the edge and nearly peed my pants. This was going to be a blast. Finally, I pushed off and slowly eased into a confident rhythm, going back and forth across the slope. After 20 yards or so, I slowed and came to a stop. I looked up at him with a huge grin and gave him the ‘hi’ sign. I could see his face turning red. My grin got bigger. I could even see the beads of sweat forming on his brow. It is 5 degrees outside and we are 11,000 feet above sea level. The man looks like he just stepped out of a sauna!

God, it felt good to be winning. The danger of going down a 40-degree slope with deadly caverns and crevices didn’t faze me a bit. I had never been happier to be in so much peril! This was nothing! I risked it all and tore down the slope another 50 yards then slowed to a stop and let out a whoop. “Wow! That was so cool!” I yelled up at him.

I allowed him a few seconds to gather himself before looking up to see where he was. He was bent over, fiddling with the bootstrap on his right ski. “Dammit!! I knew the guy at the ski shop didn’t set this right,” he yelled. Then he took off the ski and began to troubleshoot in earnest.

After a few minutes of this, I yelled, “Want me to go ahead or do you want me to wait? You want me to go get ski support, maybe they can fix it!”

  “No, they a bunch of ignoramuses just like the ski shop guy. I’ll fix it. You go on, I’ll catch up.”

“Are ya sure? I could walk back up and take a look at it for ya.” Now I knew this would do the trick, this would really piss him off.

“Goddammit, you think you can fix it if I can’t! Go ON!! I’ll meet you at the bottom!” With an apology and a shrug, I turned and headed down.

I beat him, I beat him!! Ha ha ha!!!! Whoo hoo!!! I’m free, I’m a bird! I’m flying!!!!  I’m flyyyiiiing!!!! NOW THIS IS LOVE!!  God I LOVE being alive!!! I’m finally flying!!! I’m really…flyi…. Whoa…uhh…. Hey…. I really AM flying. My vision is blurred and I’m possibly hitting 40-50 miles an hour, speeding in a straight line down a very steep mountain. I’m going way too fast and far too reckless to survive this for much longer.

My smugness and gloating sank under the weight of the chunk of ice that had taken up residence in my stomach. My surroundings assured me that my complete and utter terror was appropriate. Dammit!! Holy Shit!! Oh MY God!! I might die, right here, right now!!!
I’d gotten so absorbed with the possibility of accidentally killing him, that I forgot about me!!! I don’t want to die!!!

God, I am such a baby. I know what to do when I stop panicking. I begin to make longer S turns across the slope, crossing back and forth horizontally until I finally loose all momentum. I push my ski poles into the snow and lean my armpits into them. Whew, wee.

As I looked out across the horizon, I could see peeks that seemed at least 100 miles away. As long as I looked at them, I was OK. But the moment I looked down, my knees began to buckle and I couldn’t breathe. I was on top of the Empire State building. I was being held over the edge of the top floor by my ankles. I felt someone letting go. I could see the splat and felt like vomiting.

I was afraid to close my eyes because I would surely go into the spins and fall off the mountain. I looked at the sky and tried to think of puppies and kittens.

Then vaguely familiar warmth began to melt my frozen stomach. My trusty old survival mechanism was slowly waking up, then it began to chug. Soon it was purring steadily, pouring sanity into me like warm syrup. “Sit Down you Idiot! Take a breath! Suck on your goat skin, now!!” The slope was so steep it seemed like I was sitting in a lawn chair. I tilted the bag back and squirted the wine into my mouth, not missing a drop. Then I removed the cap and took a long gulp. Then another gulp. Then another.

Time for a cigarette. I inhaled deeply and it hurt my lungs. Aah, finally! The warm calm sensation entered my brain and didn’t stop until it reached my toes. Another gulp, another puff. Geeez, this is heaven!! I LOVE this! It’s beautiful up here!

I pulled out a joint and coughed while lighting it. After a few deep hits, I was at peace with the world. My situation was not so grim. What was I thinking? Sheeeit!! What is my problem? I’ve done this a million times. I start laughing as I looked down at the mountain of death. God this is funny! I am laughing uncontrollably at the sky now. And when I look down, it’s kind of fun! “Whoa there pardner, steady yerself!

My reality is wonderful now! This was a kiddies’ slope, easy as pie. I could ski down as far as I wanted and then take another break. It’d be a blast! I may die, but then I may not!!  I could even take my skis off and walk down, but wasn’t really an option because the chance of flying into oblivion is what made me feel so alive. It’s what made it so fun, so worth it.

After an hour or so, I was sipping on my third cider and rum. The ski lodge was the usual walls of glass meeting at the top of the A-Frame. Out of the corner of my eye, I couldn’t miss the bright red rescue jackets walking towards to lodge. My dad was still cussing the ski shop guy and was demanding to be unescorted at this point. I quickly looked in the opposite direction towards the deer head over the fireplace. Ahh, how nice. As he walked in, I feigned surprise, relief and camaraderie.

“My God Dad, I heard there was a white out up there? How in the hell did you make it?” And so began the circle of himself. Perfect. I would believe every word of his bravery and courage, just as long as they kept those ciders coming.

Heading back to Raton was and adventure in itself. The driving was treacherous on the way back through the Cimarron canyon. The one lane road snaked through tremendous palisades on one side with a steep cliff on the other. Not much room for error, you might say. One tiny swerve and you could be meeting Gabriel, or Michael or some other big shot from heaven. That’s what made it so fun. Now you live, now you don’t!

You felt so lucky and invincible every damn time the road finally got wider, and the canyon faded into calm rolling meadows. I would always feel a sense of indestructibility. I felt like had I just went sky diving from 50 thousand feet. I was confident when the main chute failed. With steady hands I cut it away and pulled the string of the pussy little extra chute. I land perfectly. What, me worry? I laugh in the face of danger!  Yes, it truly was good to be alive.

Yet oddly, in the deepest place within me, a churning never ceased. A thought kept screaming at me and would not shut up. It repeated constantly: EVERYTHING IS ALL WRONG!  That’s how I knew that reality was not lost on me. This truth was my very own; no one would see it, hear it or know about it. I swore I secretly I would hold onto the truth. I swore that I would remain sane. I made a commitment to myself to do anything to live.

My Dad was in LOVE with me. I swore right then and there that I would not let it kill me. I knew what I was in LOVE with.  I was in LOVE with life.

CHAPTER EIGHT: REDEMPTION RANT

It was almost 4:00 in the afternoon. “For Jesus sake Susie, why didn’t you wake me up!?!” “I’m going to be late!!”

I wondered why he used Jesus’ name when he didn’t believe in Him only this time I wondered this out loud. DAMNIT! Why did I say that? Ohh boy, here we go… Now was I enduring the ‘Redemption” diatribe for God knows how many times.

“Redemption is not possible!” he proclaimed, “You would have to believe in God and Heaven and Hell to even consider the possibility of redemption! Redemption? Redemption for what, from what? Redemption is for pussies!” He was just warming up. The full-blown harangue had begun.

I sat transfixed. His entire head was changing shape. It was actually transforming itself from oval to completely round, round as a ripe tomato and it was turning just as red. The veins in his neck suddenly popped out and grew thicker than his little finger. I watched in utter amazement. Surely, in any moment, smoke was going to shoot out of his ears, and flames would start roaring out of his mouth. Then his head would explode, tiny pieces of confetti floating down on his body that had deflated like a blown out tire.

“Wow!” Uh-oh, what did I say? Oh, shit! What if he clued in to the fact that I hadn’t paying attention bullshit he was preaching to me, his one and only captive audience? But he just picked up where he left off.

“That’s right, WOW! And if everyone could just accept that there is nothing, NOTHING, beyond the grave, we all could do what we want without feeling guilty!” Then he would always end by proclaiming that Everyone turns to dust so they might as well enjoy life while they’re alive and make the most of it and don’t regret anything because it was all over then, lost to time and the elements that would quickly erase his existence here and blah, blah, blah (inhale) and… blah, blaah blah blah blah!. My head was bowed in deference to his greatness, in awe of his genius. 

“Oh shit, I gotta get down stairs. We open in ten minutes throw me my, hurry, did you iron my shirt?” Susie! Did you iron my shirt!!??!!” I was still looking at his deflated rubber body in fascination, wondering: Why it was it confetti that exploded out of his head, why not blood, guts and gore?

”SUSIE!!” I woke from my reverie when he reached down and thumped me hard on the head, twice. “GO GET MY PANTS!!! NOW!!”

Before he could thump me again I was in the bedroom grabbing up his pants and shirt, then hurried over to the chest of drawers for, hopefully, the right colored socks. Trying not to wrinkle his shirt, I hurried over to his side of the bed and picked up his shoes and his belt. Whew! Cool! I made before he could finish shaving! Ha, ha, ha! No time for a tickle now you fucker. “Dad, I got everything for you, they’re on the couch.”

As he came out of the bathroom and started to dress, he turned his head to me and looked at me with that stupid grin of his. He reached out for me.

“Oh, shit! I forgot your watch!” I ran to the bedroom, leaped across the bed and landed on the floor next to his nightstand. “Do you want your rings tonight?” I asked, my eyes scanning the top of the dresser.

“Umm…no…they…umm, NEVERMIND!” he said, fumbling with his belt. “Just bring me my watch! If I’m late, you’ll know it when you come down. You do know you’re on schedule tonight, right?” He admired himself in the mirror one last time. 

“Yes Daddy, of course. I won’t be late; I’ll be down on time.” I walked out of the bedroom.

“OK, come give me a kiss before you get dressed.” I knew not to hesitate; I had no desire for the consequences, I was hoping for a peaceful night instead of the familiar waking nightmare of constantly having to be available for his every need. . I already felt tired.

A group of his admirers were on their college break. I hoped they’d do what everyone does and beg to hear a few of my dad’s amusing anecdotes and clever tales. Maybe tonight they would hang around long enough for him to get shit-faced by the time he came upstairs after closing time. Sometimes he would get do drunk, he would immediately pass out when he hit the bed.

CHAPTER EIGHT: UNDER PRESSURE

In 1976, we in the midst of an energy crisis. Raton depended on coal mining as one of its main sources of industry for its 6000 residents. They worked in small mines, not yet big enough to spoil the beauty of the mountainsides they were digging into. Now ecology pretty much disappeared as a concern for anyone. No area was off limits, even the nearby pristine Sangre de Christo Range mountain range that bordered Raton. Many entrepreneurs with very deep pockets were being lured to the area for possible exploitation.

A group of American investors became familiar guests, frequenting the Palace every month or so. They were a friendly, spoiled, indulgent group of men who were used to the finer things that comes with wealth and they had no shame in showing it.

This particular evening however, someone called ahead. They would only speak with my dad directly. Of course, my ears and eyes were all over this and I gathered as much as possible listening to one side of the conversation.

My dad’s voice was all business, but I swear his feet were about to flutter together fast enough to lift him off the ground. He made the occasional cough that gave him time to catch his breath without revealing he was out of breath.

I watched as he looked at the ceiling, regaining his composure.

“Yes, Mike, of course. We’ll make it special. Everything will be perfect, you know that! You’re dealing with me, remember? The lobsters? They are superb, Mike! Would I serve anything else? C’mon, do you really have to ask?”

Garble, garble, garble, on the other end of the line. My dad’s smile breaks out into laughter.

“Yeah, you too, Mike, I know. We all know how to return the favors, don’t we, no worries here! Alright, we’ll see you later on this evening, what, about 8:00 pm? Ok, 8 to 9 is fine; you know we’ll be open till you get here. Yeah I know, you always appreciate it, Mike. As I do you, you know what I mean? Ok, see you when you get here, “

Click.

I scurried out of my hiding place and began my normal routine, checking orders, watering glasses. My mind couldn’t put it all together but I knew it had to be important.

Suddenly my Dad came from the bar into the restaurant and summoned all three waitresses on staff that night.

“Maria, Andrea, I want you to take over Susie’s tables. It’s not that busy I’m sure you two can handle it. If I you get too busy I’ll see if I can call in Katherine. Susie, I want you to set up the Casino room. I want you to go through the linen and pick out the very best, no stains, you hear me? We have a special group coming in and you are going to handle them, got it?”

Maria, Andrea and I looked at each other and shrugged. “Ok, Dad, if that’s what you want.”

As Maria took my tickets from my tables and I headed toward the linen closet, Dad pulled me aside.

“You know that investment group, the one with Mike?” I nodded, who could forget, he was disgusting.

“Well they’re coming in tonight and they are bringing a very, very important person from Germany!”

God, I wish I could roll my eyes. “Ok, Dad, we’ll handle it, I promise.”

“You bet you will.” With that, he trotted of to the kitchen freezer to inspect the lobsters. Then he started in on the cooks about which were the best filet mignons to choose for the occasion.

It was only 6:30, so I knew I had some time at least.

The vacuum was pulled out, the polish was sprayed, the Windex squeaked on the colored glass. Then the linen was laid, the silverware set, the crystal in place and the candles lit. Perfect. What’s weird is I really didn’t feel any pressure, I knew I could do it. The room was breathtaking.


The group finally arrived accompanied by a huge man that looked like Stalin, from the pictures I’d seen of Stalin He talked kind of like that too. He expressed heavily accented “oohs” and “aahs” while taking in the surroundings. Good sign, I thought.

, my father was exuding every ounce of charm possible, which was a lot. After engaging them in with pleasant banter, he led the group across the bar and into the Casino room. More “oohs” and “aahs” except this time from everyone in the group. Everything was coming off without a hitch. My chances of having my head cut off at the end of the night are diminishing with every moment.

I don’t’ know whom it benefits most but my dad is invited to join them, they are insistent.

I suggest the mushrooms and escargot and everyone is delighted. Then dad says he has a perfect wine for the occasion and joins me as I leave the table. I put the order for the hors d’oeuvres and follow him to the wine cellar.

That special moment had arrived. I was to serve the most expensive bottle of wine in the house. It was a Rothschild.

“Now THIS is the one!” He pulled the bottle from the rack. I swear, he held it like a bird’s egg. “Now listen Susie, you can’t fuck this up! Serve it like I taught you. You’ve done this a million times. DON’T SCREW THIS UP!!”

Gulp. Wow, thanks for giving me such a sense of calm, DAD!!! I looked up at him and saw his vulnerability. I actually felt kind of sorry for him. “Sure, Dad, no problem. Just like always!”

He handed me the bottle as if it were a new born baby and winced. “DON”T SCREW THIS UP!!!”

I swear I thought he was going to pinch me when  walked out of the wine cellar, through the restaurant, and into the small hall that led to the bar and Casino room. I turned up at my Dad and smiled before addressing the “The King of Germany." Then I began my routine. “This, sir is a gift from my father. Please allow me to delight you with one of our best pleasures. It’s been in the cellar awaiting the appropriate guest who can truly appreciate its uniqueness!”

I could tell the German looked at my angelic smile before lowering his eyes to my bosom where the bottle of wine rested. I gently sat it down on the table and ceremoniously began to turn the corkscrew. They were mesmerized. Upon the “Puuoopp” that accompanied the extraction of the cork, all eyes raised and everyone at the table began clapping lightly. I removed the cork from the corkscrew and coyly placed it under the German’s nose.

“Please sir, is it to your satisfaction? The cork is tender, would you like to feel?” He was beside himself. I smiled and picked up the precious liquid and poured a teaspoon into his glass. He picked it up, taking in the aroma. He sniffed then took a slight sip, which he rolled over his tongue and swished between his cheeks.

“Absolutely delightful” was his response. “I must come here more often!”

With that, I filled the rest of the glasses and melted away to my dad’s side behind the entrance of the casino room. He looked at me and his eyes said it all. “Perfect, Susie, perfect!” 

At the end of the night, I pushed the vacuum cleaner through the dining room. After all the patrons had left and the doors were closed and locked, I turned the eight-track player as loud as it would go and sing to the Eagles or Eddie Money, or Fleetwood Mac. I kept pushing the vacuum through the dining room around and around and around lost in the motion of the chore. I took my time cleaning up, as did the other employees. The cooks were scraping their grills and the dishwasher was still rinsing the last loads of dishes.

Then when all was quiet I began preparing to go upstairs. I would casually go behind the bar and refill the cherries and limes. Then I would hastily throw back three or four shots of Crown Royal if my Dad wasn’t looking or Canadian Club if he was still gathering the cash drawer. He had an uncanny ability to see with his ears and I knew I was not allowed to drink the expensive stuff. But I did anyway when he wasn’t around and I came to savor the smoothness of Crown Royal. It didn’t burn going down or make me queasy when it settled in my stomach. In an instant, a far away glow would surround me witnessed by the slight smile that replaced my pierced lips. My beautiful soft features would emerge. My face expressed me, I became angelic.

Then all over again, it would hit me. He was already upstairs in his office counting the nights take before placing it into the safe, next to the gun. I could not control my grimace, as the time grew short before going upstairs. Soon, he would be waiting, I knew. One more shot, no two. Whew. One more. OK, now I was ready. Crown Royal became the drink I chose at every opportunity.

CHAPTER 9: COLD DUCK NIGHT

One particular night at about eleven thirty, I was hanging out with the rest of the staff. We were in the kitchen goofing off and passing around a bottle of cold duck. When Dad walked in, I could see that he was in an unusually good mood. “Hey, you guys, go on, and get outa here. Grab another bottle if you want and take it with you, but it comes out of your tips tomorrow.”

He turned and left though the swinging door that led to the dining room. Then I heard the squeak of his shoe pivoting on the polished wooden floor. I stiffened, and raised my eyebrow at the others. They were somewhat puzzled as well. He pushed the door open just enough to stick his shoulders into the kitchen. I turned to see his head slightly bobbing. He was exposing his teeth in a grin that always caused me concern.

“Hey, Susie, why don’t you go with them tonight? Take the truck up the mountain to the Raton sign. That is where you guys hang out, right?” He reentered the kitchen and walked over to me, reaching into his pocket to pull out a few bills. That is when I noticed his, should I say, aroused state. God, I hated this! I knew this had to be a trick but what? 

“Here, take this, it’s a couple of bucks, go by Omar’s drive thru, Susie. Just tell him the same thing; that I sent you. His Cold Duck is cheaper than ours is. You guys have fun!” With that he practically skipped out of the kitchen, the sound of his steps fading as he padded onto the carpet leading back to the bar.

I turned and looked at the rest of the crew. There were Tito and Matt, the cooks, Andrea and Maria, the other waitresses. Then there was Luke, Matt’s little brother, he was the bus boy. And of course Paul would be going along. Then there was my favorite, Raphael. He was the dishwasher and he was very, very shy, which made me feel protective of him.

“Hey Raphael, we’re going up to the star, you coming with us?” Now I already know what his answer is going to be and I also know that I’m not going to accept it.

So there are eight of us, free, on our own to go have fun! This indeed is a rare occasion! Shit! I’m going to take advantage of it. As we, all clean up and change out of our uniforms, the excitement builds. Ironically, I think to myself, we are just like little kids! Hell, we may not be little, but we are kids! We are all bustling around trying to finish our chores so we can get out of there. We are so busy, I don’t notice that there is less and less noise coming from the bar.

We are definitely taking my truck, so everyone heads out the back hallway to the door leading out onto the street as I run up the stairs and grab some pot for the outing. I run back down and then hesitate. I should probably let Dad know we leaving. So I hurry back through the kitchen, and turn down the short hallway to the entrance of the bar.
Just as I am opening my mouth, I can feel my voice strangle me. My brain instantly stops the “Hey, Dad….” from actually reaching past my gullet. I freeze. I can tell he hasn’t heard me. He hasn’t noticed me. He is alone with a beautiful young college student. He has his arm around her and she is obviously mesmerized…and drunk. He is looking at her with snake eyes. Then I watch as his familiar tongue enters and probes her mouth. 

I fortunately reel out of the entrance and back into the hallway. I cannot breathe. It takes every ounce of energy I can gather to move my legs back toward the kitchen.

My wits are slowly coming back and I am quiet as a mouse as I head back through the kitchen and out to the truck. Everyone is goofing off, joking around. Laughing and stuff. It is all casual. Then as I walk closer to them, the jovial atmosphere dies down. Matt’s the first to speak.

“Jesus, Susan, are you OK? You’re totally white!! You’re sweating!! Its 10 degrees out here! What you do, see a ghost up there? Maybe you guys aren’t kidding about them. Wish I could see one!!”

“No, No, you dumbass!! I got the weed but I took a few snorts of my dad’s coke and Whoa!!!
I did not know it was that good! I’m OK, it’s wearing off now. Hand me that bottle of Cold Duck.”

It strikes me how lying is so second nature to me now.

Maria passes it over to me and I drain it. Yes, much, much better. My color is coming back and I’m able to actually breathe again.

Everybody relaxes as I head toward the driver’s door, just as normal as ever. “I’ll drive us to Omar’s but I think we should get Annie Green Springs instead of Cold Duck. It’s cheaper and stronger, what do you guys think”

“Yeah, sure, sounds good,” is the consensus.

We first stop by Maria’s to get some heavy blankets, and then head to Omar’s drive through. He knows me and give’s me no shit whatsoever. As I pull around the building and up to the exit, I see my dad’s car pass by. It’s’ heading towards the cheap hotel with the cheesy piano bar. I cringe, waiting to see if anyone else noticed. Thankfully, no one says anything. God much more of this and I’m going to faint, I guarantee it!

I take a deep breathe and take a pull off one of the newly opened bottles of wine. We travel up the zigzag one lane dirt road heading up the mountain until we reach a flat parking area that was made as a scenic lookout and picnic area. About 30 feet above, affixed to the mountain is a 50-foot star made of rebar and luminescent bulbs. It can be seen from at least 20 miles away. It is the pride of Raton. 

Then I do what I know will help me. I bury my sadness and get drunk. It helps that I remember that I have a few valium in the truck glove box and those reeeaaly help.

The guys get a fire going and the joints start getting passed around. I laugh at stupid jokes and tell even stupider ones, which all get just as much laughter. I have a really good time. I have fun.

It’s at least 3:00 in the morning and the stars are so overwhelming they don’t look real, they are almost frightening. It’s settled down a bit as the fire dies down and blankets pulled up.
“There’s the big dipper,” someone says.

“No shit, duh, Einstein”

Chuckles all around.

Someone farts.

Blaming and snickers all around.

Geeez. Teenagers. They’re so stupid, so immature! I almost felt like one of them.

Tito drove us back and we got to the hotel around 4:30am.

Paul was the first to speak “Hey, Where’s Dad’s car? Where do ….”

I give him a look that freezes his tongue.

Nobody else says anything; they know not to ask questions about the Palace and the people who live there. That is, if they want to keep their jobs. Besides, everyone was too tired and drunk to give a shit.

As everyone took off, I unlocked the back door to the hotel and pulled Paul inside.

“Sorry,” he said. He knew he had broken an unspoken rule. We don’t talk about anything in front of anyone pretty much.

“It’s no big deal. I heard him talking on the phone last night; He said something about going to play poker over at Randy’s clubhouse. He’s either winning big, losing big or passed out. Anyway, what do we care? At least he’s not here.”

“Yeah, you’re right; do you think I can sleep in the main room? It’s so much warmer.”

Of course, if we hear him, you can sneak out the door of the spare…I mean…my bedroom.

He lays down on the floor and within in seconds, I here his steady breathing of sleep.

I lie back on the couch and stare at the ceiling. Once again, a familiar refrain rolls round and round in my head: “This can’t be my life.”


CHAPTER TEN:  ODD ESCAPES… FROM RATON & FROM DAD

It’s July 1977. I have been back in Oklahoma City about a month after my dad was chased out of New Mexico. He was caught embezzling from the company that owned the Palace Hotel. Since Paul and I were oblivious to his business practices, it came as quite a surprise when told us we were leaving Raton. He just sat us down one day and said we were leaving in two days.

TWO DAYS??? Knowing my dad, I should not have been surprised at anything he did. But this caught me completely off guard. Paul and I looked at each other and exchanged a look that silently said, “He’s CRAZY! What does this mean?? I can’t wait to talk to you later!”

“But Dad, what about Sugar? We’ll need a trailer won’t we?”

My horse was more than just a horse. She was my best friend, next to my dog, Baron. She understood everything and she never complained when I soaked her main with my snot and tears. She was a part of me.

“We can’t take her, Susie. I’ve already sold her. She’s going to a good home and she’ll be fine. Don’t ask me again about her. You can get another horse when we get back to Oklahoma City.”

I become aware that my mouth is agape and my tongue is a brillo pad. I can’t swallow, I have no spit. Every now and then, a very strange feeling comes over me and it was happening now. I want to cry, I want to laugh and I want to murder my father. I am light headed and my vision turns gray, like looking closely at newspaper print. I feel a strange buzzing all over my body. Then my body will not obey me and I start to fall over. Yes, I am fainting. I am completely passing out. Now all I can see is black.

I wake up with a washcloth on my forehead and felt the continuous sting of being slapped back in forth across my face.

“Dammit, Susie!!!” My dad always got exasperated when I passed out. “I wish you would stop doing that! I know you could control it if you wanted to!! I don’t want to see you do that again!” He stomped to the door and then turned back and glared at us.

“Don’t either of you say a thing. You better act as if nothing has happened when you come to work tonight.” He looked down then back up at me with what could be mistaken as a glimpse of guilt.  However, I knew better, I was not that stupid.

“You’ll get over her, Susie; it’s not the end of the world.” With that, he left the room and went down to his office.

I looked at Paul and I could tell he was in as much shock as I was. “How long was I out?”

He put his arm across my shoulder. “Not long, two or three minutes, maybe.”

We both just sat there staring into space.

“Do you really think we’re really going back to the City?”

Dad knew Oklahoma City like the back of his hand and still had many contacts there.

My eyebrows rise on reflex. I let out a huge sigh. “I don’t know, probably. Where else could we go?” We both shrugged simultaneously.

“I’m really sorry about Sugar, Sue. He is such a mean motherfucking bastard. I just want to kill him!”

“Yeah, I know, that’s why I passed out, I was seeing way too much of his blood flowing.” At this Wayne really laughed, not holding anything in. He laid back on the day-bed/couch and was almost in tears.

Still laughing he said, “You should have seen his face! You looked dead! He was scared as shit! I thought he was gonna have a fucking heart attack It was so fucking hilarious!”

I looked back over at my brother. He was lost in a glorious reverie of rare good humor. This time my sigh was from gratitude. “Well, I’m glad I could be such a source of entertainment for you, little bro.”

“It was funny, Sue, it really was, it was so funny!”

I could appreciate this. My brother and I had a certain rare understanding. “Yeah, it is quite nice to pay him back once in a while, eh?”

God isn’t it, Sue? I wish we could do something to make him fall over dead!”

Then the whole last two hours came flooding back. “Looks like we won’t need to, remember? We’re leaving.

Dammit! I just had to ruin it! Now we were both back in our usual state of depression and anxiety. Oh, well at least it was familiar.

Dad decided to take me off the schedule that night. Paul and I started packing. We weren’t taking any furniture, so basically it was just our clothes and personal stuff. Paul and I agreed that this was the weirdest thing ever. There were so many questions. Why were we leaving? Why so soon? Where were we going? If we go back to Oklahoma City, where will we live? The one question neither of us could voice was “Is this our chance of escape?” That was too much to think about. We kept ourselves busy for the rest of the night until dad came back from work.

He walked in and looked around. He had that stupid jovial look on his face. “Hey, not bad! You guys look like you’re pretty much packed up!”

The one thing I was certain of was never know what to expect of him. That is why I had little reaction when he walked over to a wall, lifted his boot and slammed a hole right through it.

“You know, you guys, since we’re pretty much ready, I think we’ll go ahead and leave tomorrow night.” He ambled through the flat, smacking his fist into his hand. “Susie, you’re not working tomorrow. Tomorrow while I’m downstairs, I want you two to tear this place apart!” 

I am not sure, but when I looked at Paul, his eyes had to be as wide as mine were. What did he just say? I know he’s crazy but what did he just say? I could tell Paul was thinking the same thing.

“Dad, what do you mean?” It was one of the rare times, Paul asked my Dad a question and I cringed.

“I mean just what I said! Are you stupid or something? I want you to demolish this place! Make it gross! Piss on the walls if you want! Just make it a place that no one would want to live in! And hey, have fun!”

I would not describe it as fun but we did take out our rage on the place. As a parting gift, the first person to enter that room would be greeted with a nice little pile of turds in the middle of the room.

The trip from Raton to Oklahoma City was as weird and uncomfortable as I expected. The silence was broken occasionally by my Dads’ upbeat version of what was going to happen next. It would not take him long to find an apartment. Until then, he and I would stay at a hotel. I felt sad and envious when I realized he was not bringing Paul with us.

Every time we stopped for gas, Paul would sneak in a few words to me. “I’m sorry, Sue, I really am”. His face betrayed him. He could not contain his relief and excitement.

I just looked at him. “Don’t worry little brother, I’ll be OK. We’ll see each other. Hell, we’ll be in the same city! “

We pulled into the apartment complex where my mother and step dad, Dick lived. It was the same apartment I had left two years ago with my father. As we neared my mother’s place, Dad slowed down to a crawl. The authority in his voice was crystal clear.

“Susie, when we get there, I want you to stay in the car. I’ll get your stuff out of the trunk. Paul, you go ahead and get out when we stop.”

What was there to say? He had trained me for two years! Obeying him was not a choice. My mom and Dick both greeted us at the door. Dad got out and slammed his door. Paul hugged me over the seat and opened his door to get out.

That’s when it happened. Baron, my little dachshund jumped out of the car and started running down the parking lot. We had lost Baron before and my instinct took over. I jumped out of the car and ran as hard as I could to reach him. He was scared, not knowing where he was. I had to get close enough for him to hear my voice before he stopped running and turned around towards me. I bent down and held my arms out. His frightened eyes relaxed when he recognized me and ran straight to me.

I was full out sobbing by now. He liked the taste of my salty tears. He was used to them. As he licked my face, I started to experience the strangest feeling. I did not feel like I was in trouble for not obeying him. My dad was as fond of Baron as I was. He had been lost before, and it had been my dad’s fault. It was a strange lucky ending when we found him. So in my mind, I hadn’t disobeyed him, I just did what he would’ve wanted me to do, under the circumstances.

But now I found myself over half a block down the parking lot. By myself. All of the sudden, getting away actually looked like a possibility. I just did not know how to react to it. I was torn. I had suffered the Stockholm syndrome for almost 2 years. I was like Patty Hearst, identifying with her kidnappers and feeling quite justified going in to spray bullets all over a bank. That was not her history. That was not her make-up. Yet when trapped and trying to survive, the mind plays devious tricks to keep you going. 

Dick came running to me and hugged me and Baron both. “My God, honey, he’s fine! God, you are shivering honey, you re white as a sheet!

I could not stop trembling; my teeth would not stop chattering. My body did not care that it was the middle of summer. By now, my body frequently disobeyed me in that way. I wanted to stay buried in that hug forever. I peeked around Dick and saw my dad casually leaning against the hood of his car. Mom was helping Paul in with his bags.

“I wish I could stay with you guys tonight.”

Dick put his hand on my shoulders and with a puzzled expression asked “Well, of course you are, honey, why would think that you wouldn’t be staying here?

“Well, my Dad and I are getting a motel room tonight and then...” I trailed off, not knowing what else to say. Dick had the kindest blue eyes and as they looked deep into mine, they tried their hardest to give me a sense of safety, a feeling of protection. I loved it. I ached for it. I went with it.

“No, I don’t think that’s necessary, Susie. We have plenty of room. We have been expecting you for a long time. Your mother and I have missed you terribly. You are staying here. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

As we walked back, Dick would not take his arm from around my shoulders. But the closer we got to Dad the more I felt like fainting.

“Calm down,” Dick whispered. “When we get to the door, you go to your mother, OK?” With that, he placed himself on the side that would come closest to my Dad. I hesitated in front of the car but kept my head down.

“Susie, go to your mom, she’s waiting for you.” With that, he gently shoved me away from my dad and towards the door where my mother stood. She took me inside and hugged me so tight that Baron yelped. At that, we both kind of laughed and Paul came over and took Baron from me. I could not believe my mother’s arms were around me. She smelled so sweet, so safe, so much like my momma. It had been a long time. 

Dick turned to my dad. “Why not just leave her here until you find a stable place to stay.”

It wasn’t really a stand off between them, but Dick was firm. My dad knew what was best for him.

“Yeah, sure, it shouldn’t take long and then I’ll come for you, Susie, OK?”

“Yeah, OK, Dad.” By agreeing with him, he relaxed. He still had control over me, at least for now.

“OK, well, I’m out of here, I call you soon.” He got into his car and just before pulling away, he looked at me in a way I would have nightmares over. It was a look meant just for me. It said, “Don’t do anything stupid or I will come back and kill you.” I knew he was sincere; he talked with his eyes all the time and usually followed through

With Dad out of my life, I began another voyage towards oblivion. Styx was luring me to “Come Sail Away” because everything was just part of the “Grand Illusion.” As Kansas sang about the Point of No Return, I was trying to find it. I agreed with them as they sang, everything was just “Dust in The Wind.” Billy Joel pissed me off when I heard him sing, “I love you just the way you are” What a lying sack of shit! Now Jackson Browne, he told my story with the entire album “The Pretender.” Now that is me, thank you. Tell it like it is!

It was inevitable that Dick would finally cry “Uncle!” He was a good man but he was utterly exhausted by all the insanity. I had picked up where I left off, joining my sister and brother in law in the drug business. I still had that nagging little problem of taking too many pills and overdosing. I was in and out of ER at least 3 times in two months. The law was closing in on my sister’s outfit and the pressure was enormous. She went on the run and we had no idea where she was. This actually benefited me because I stopped using for a while.

It was around this time Mom and Dick separated so Dick could regain whatever common sense he still had. Paul went to live with Tom in Chicago, so Mom and I moved into a small apartment together. Without the benefit of free pharmacy drugs, I went into the marijuana trade and it was not long before I was able to help my mother with the bills and rent.

I knew my dad was in the City but it was almost October now, I had not heard from him in almost 3 months. With every passing day, I worried about him less and less. Of course, this did not stop me from continually checking to see if the doors locked, and I never, ever went anywhere without looking over my shoulder. I have never lost that hyper-vigilance, which is not such a bad trait, really. Even today, I give all my girlfriends whistles for their key chains.

Mom and I had a good routine. We were like Laverne and Shirley. After she got home from work every night, I would have the margaritas ready. We would sit and talk just like best friends. This was easy to do since I never talked about New Mexico. I wanted to drink that all behind. The way Mom figured it; pot and alcohol were like baby aspirin to me. She was just grateful I wasn’t shooting up Demerol and cocaine…yet.

It was all very casual, thank God. I needed that, right now. It was nice to sip margaritas together while I steamed a compressed brick of pot over the stove until it expanded enough to package for sale. We had a nice little roll-a-way desk in the living room where I kept my product. Business was brisk and the money was good, too good. At seventeen, with a past like mine it was just a matter of time before I would be searching out narcotics. It was dangerous for my to have that kind of money, it could only lead to no good. I had no experience in finance, other than making money and spending it as soon as I got it

Within a month or two, Dick moved out of his apartment and came to live with us. He really loved my mom and he loved me. I was so happy and relieved he was back. It also freed up some of my time, although we did have to come an understanding about my “business.”

Dick was a trooper. One day I was up in my room and had a couple of pounds of pot spread out on a huge black trash bag. I was busy with the scales, pulling baggies from the box and stuffing them to the right weight and then doing it all over again, and again and again. In the middle of this production, Dick knocked on my door. He acted very cool, which really to me, was very uncool, but I knew he was just trying to reach out.

“I’ve smoke marijuana before, did you know that? At parties once in a while.”

Ummmm, nooooooo, I did not know that and wished I still did not know that.

Ok, let me think. What to do next? There’s really nowhere for him to sit because the entire bedroom floor is covered in pot. This is kind of freaking me out, but he is just standing there smiling at me. Geeez, he looks like he’s already had a hit or two.

Ok, here goes nothing. “Well, Dick do you want to smoke a joint of this, it’s some pretty good stuff. I could roll us a joint and we could go smoke it down on the patio if you want.”

“Sure, sure, I’ll make myself a cocktail and meet you down there!”

That was the most miserable joint I ever smoked. I did not want to do that with him. I wanted a father figure. I needed a father figure. I did not need him to be cool. I just needed him to stay out of my business. Thank God, he never asked me to do it again and the entire incident was soon forgotten.

Dugan, an old friend from junior high started hanging around, which was fine with me, I liked him. He was funny and easy to get along with. He was a year older than I was and since I had a fake ID, we made a regular habit of going out to the  Long Branch Saloon. It was a beer joint only so instead of twenty-one, the minimum age was eighteen and half the crowd was usually younger than that, like me. It was a popular if not raunchy establishment. It was as big as a movie theater with all the seats taken out, which is probably what it used to be, as I think about it now.

Dugan and I decided to hang at the bar and drink the familiar tepid Budweiser served in plastic cups. I was bored. Dugan was flirting with some chick and I started scanning the bar. Nope, nothing here,,,hey,,,,,wait a minute….who’s that? Ooh, he is cute! I punch Dugan, which makes him drop his beer. Not a smooth move in front of a potential temporary partner.

“Sorry, Duge, didn’t mean to do that, my fault, forgive me?”

Now his new potential chick is looking at me with glinty eyes that question just who the hell am I to be flirting with her potential boyfriend?

Hey, chick! Back off with the dagger-eyes! I just keep looking at Dugan. I’d already dated him, now we were best buds. “Dugan, I just wanted to know if you’ve seen that guy before, the one over there by the speakers, down in the front.”

“You mean Charles, the one with the moustache? Kinda short isn’t he?”

“Ha, ha, very funny, like I’m so tall, right?”

With that, Dugan light rested his elbow on my head. “OK, point taken. Why, do you want to meet him?”

Dugan turns back to his chick, who has now has chilled out somewhat, realizing out that I am a sister figure to Dugan, obviously not a threat to her choice of conquest.

“I’ll be right back. It’s Tamara, right?” She smiles and nods. “Ok, hang tight; I have a mission to accomplish.”

That is when and where I met Charles. He was cute, and charming and funny and generous and a huge drug addict. He was more of a fiend than I ever was and I didn’t think that was possible. He knew everyone to get everything. Needless to say, this hastened my downfall.

It is New Year’s Eve 1977. I am at a resort hotel outside Lake Arrowhead in east Oklahoma. I have been injecting morphine and cocaine daily for over a month. Now I am bent over a toilet throwing way too much blood. Charles is through with me. He drags me into his car and heads back to Oklahoma City about two hours away. Every time I throw up, he grimaces. When we get to my apartment, he marches straight upstairs to my mother and Dick’s bedroom. He states that I am downstairs and in immediate need of medical attention. With that, he stomps back down the stairs, walks out the door and out of my life.

It was just as well. I was dying. I had split my esophagus and was bleeding to death. For two weeks, the medical staff had to slowly wean me off morphine. I watched as a pink bubbly fluid drained out of a tube from my stomach and collect in a glass jar next to my head. You have never seen true resentment until you have seen a nurse shoot Demerol into a drug addict’s IV. That’s OK. I hated them as much as they hated me. I had slowly come to hate just about everyone.