Life of a Thief - Chapter Two

Chapter Two






-Broads, booze, and BB guns. The three B’s of elementary school.





Life progressed in this way for some time until I was around eleven years old. A new boyfriend had come into our lives and he had a grand idea (they all do) that we could move up into the mountains with him in a little town in his little house with his big dog and big dreams. Mom got that fuzzy feeling again and off we went to the little house on the mountain. The idea, I suppose, was that we were to be a small happy family in our small happy town. Little did he know was that once Mom’s fuzzy feeling went away it was usually replaced by a more iced liquidy feeling. Somewhat not unlike the feeling of a fresh poured Rum and Coke. Now I am not in any way knocking that second not-so-fuzzy-feeling but I am not recommending it to any unsuspecting boyfriends who just want a little family to go with their big dog.
So there I am, a weird kid in a small weird town with nowhere to go. Now let’s delve into the weird kid part a little more before we go on. I had the uncanny knack of being the only completely ass backward kid in school. If I lived in a skater town, I was a cowboy. If I lived in a hippie town, I was a city kid, and if we lived in a redneck town I was, of course, gothic. So invariably wherever we went I was shunned, picked on, tortured and ridiculed. Oh, and add the fact that I appeared at least 5 years younger than I was and stood much shorter than the other kids my age. Resulting in a cumulative effect of being a weird pretty boy who got all the girls (If no one else knew), got beat up by the boys, usually liked by the teachers(until I recognized that they didn’t know what I wanted to learn), and had VERY few friends. All in all a very reclusive lifestyle. At the time I hated it but refused to change, more because of ego than anything else but I also felt that I was in the right somehow. That I was the one who was normal and all the rest of the world save my sister needed to change.

Come to think of it, my sister never did change. Funny how memories work. Do you find it odd that once there’s an idea in your head or a particular memory that it will never change. Even if it’s wrong. Even if someone else tells you that that never happened and you must have been dreaming the whole childhood incident, you will stick to your guns and remember it as it were as real as your belly button lint. Well, I have a few of those, too. One is, again, my sister. I warned you she’d be showing up a lot. I’m sure she had her problems, her teenage angst, her hate for everyone including me from time to time. I’m sure she changed as a person, grew up, gained ideals and motives for living. I’m sure of all these things, but I refused to acknowledge any of them. To me, she was always the same, never changing solid form that will be, has been, and continues to be that same person. I never saw a change in her. Never saw her grow up. Never saw any hate or pain or any other human emotion. I just saw her for what she was to me. How many memories do we have that are convoluted by our own needs and selfish behaviors? How much of what we remember is completely made up by our childish fantasies. Someone once told me that we create our own reality. Maybe so , maybe not. If our reality is based on what we remember, than ask yourself, who WERE you really?
Based on these assumptions what I’m telling you might be completely false, this could be one giant lie written only to entertain you. Could be. But I believe it, because it is my past. Whether I made it up or not I remember it to be true, this thought is what makes me who I am now. I create my own reality, and in my world you will enjoy this story and find it disturbingly funny and you will promote me to Master of the Universe. We need a new He-Man. I will be he.
I should continue the story before you ask yourself why you are still reading this. Don’t ask questions, just follow. Says He-Man. Did I mention I was the only kid in my school with an earring. I wish to blame someone for that but I can’t. I did make a very good friend during that time because of the earring though. You see he had one, too. Well, okay, I was one of two people who had earrings in my school. He, however, didn’t get picked on for it because he was Indian. How that creates some sort of bully shield I don’t know. Apparently in the early teen mind, being Indian exempts you from many things. You are allowed to have long hair, earrings, and other hick fearing paraphernalia, so long as you are not gay. Luckily for us, we weren’t. I would spend my lunch hours and the minutes before the school bell in the morning, sitting underneath a tree off school grounds. It was far enough that nobody could see me but close enough I could hear the bell. I never went to the school grounds until everyone else was inside. The teachers just got used to the fact that I was always two minutes late, exactly. They didn’t really want me there anymore than the students so I had a lot a leeway the other kids did not. One of the rules that didn’t really apply to me was the requirement of actually BEING at school. Mom was often gone for days at a time so I would just stay home and watch cartoons all day. I think I only totaled around 45 days of actual school that entire year. The principle and his cohorts wanted me gone so bad they passed me anyway. Good for them. During one of my tree sittings someone actually walked all the way out to me and sat down. He never said anything but he smiled and looked at me like I was normal. We shared a bond, being different. He was Indian, and I was a freak. Both things our society has and still does like to ostracize. Think Columbine. I haven’t spoken to my him in years but I hope he knows he will ALWAYS be my friend, for life. Even if he did turn Mormon.....

I have nothing against religion. Really I don’t. This town in particular is all Mormon. A.K.A. Latter Day Saints, or LDS, or LSD to you dyslexic readers. I was not, nor was my mother, nor was her boyfriends. Mix that with gothic clothes, the earring, the spiked hair, the affinity for Depeche Mode and you have a funny story. Not funny at the time but damn it’s funny now. When grown adults avoid looking at you, when they are your teachers and they pretend you’re not there, that is some serous ignorance. Having said that, it’s debatable where my devilish ways came from, the people around me who shunned and belittled all who were not of their kind, or it was just predestined. Apples or oranges, egg or the chicken. No one should ever blame others for their own misfortunes, however, we’re talking about ignorance. That is one of the few things that can be blamed