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20121018_074819When I was 14 years old I lived on the streets.

I was physically dragged out of the house one evening by my father, following the instructions of my mother, during one of her usual, drunken fits of rage.

I don’t remember why she was angry. Maybe I over-loaded the washing machine. Maybe I spilled a soda. I don’t know, anything set her off those days.

I remember my father dragging me through the front door by my right arm as my left desperately tried to find anything to cling onto. I remember being dragged so hard that the paint from the wall streaked my boots. Once he got me outside he slammed the door on my face and locked it. I banged on the window shouting,

“At least give me my purse!”

A few minutes later the door cracked open and my purse was flung out. I didn’t have any money inside but I did have the basics. A lipstick, tube of mascara, face powder compact and half a pack of cigarettes.

I pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Then I started walking.

I made my way past the local 711. There were two Mexicans out front cat calling me. I walked faster. It was early evening, already dark out and the streets of this ghetto neighborhood were not lit very well.

Two miles later I reached my destination, the park. I walked over to the picnic area and stumbled upon some people I recognized. A group of teenage, loser, outcasts from other poor households called, “The Stoners”. They earned their name rightfully so. Like myself they spent their days getting high, hanging out all the while trying their best to “score” beer and cigarettes.

I said my hello, sat in their circle and was greeted with a lit joint. I took a puff, coughed and passed it along.

There was a girl there I didn’t recognize. She was a bit taller than I was. She had wild, curly blonde hair and the biggest tits I had ever seen on such a thin frame. like me she was dressed in cut off blue jeans with holes in the knees and a baby-T.

“Hi! I’m Butterfly!” She exclaimed with her signature giggle.

I didn’t know it at the time but butterfly was the biggest slut that ever lived.

Butterfly told me that her mom was a “psycho bitch” too so she ran away from home. She suggested that we team up and be homeless together.

What a brilliant plan!

As the months came and went Butterfly taught me all the ins and outs of surviving on the streets. I knew which stores (and how) to steal my cigarettes from. I knew what bathrooms to “hooker shower” in. I knew where to scavenge up food. I even knew how to mingle my way into finding a warm bed to sleep in. Of course there were always consequences.

Butterfly and I even found a third wheel to join us in our adventures, a girl named Summer. Summer was a plump girl with bad acne just about our age. She wasn’t thrown out of her house or a runaway like we were. Her mom was a drug addict and just didn’t know or care to know what her daughter was up to. She was oblivious to what Summer was doing in her drugged out haze. Summer didn’t bother going to high school. She became very bored. She decided to follow us around for fun, until she got pregnant had her baby anyway (but that’s another story).

Summer, with her stomach-O-blubber, was very good at stealing bottles of liquor. She could hide them in her pouch, like a joey.

One fateful evening, while drinking one of these sweaty, stolen bottles, in the parking lot of a pool hall, three white trash, twenty-something men approached three drunken, homeless, teenaged girls. They asked us if we wanted to go to their place to hang out. Since we hadn’t yet found anywhere to stay for the evening we happily accepted. They piled us into the back of their pick up truck and drove us home to their trailer. They had a fridge full of cheap canned beer, what luck!?

After several cans of alcoholic, piss water, Butterfly and I decided to go streaking. We ran around the empty lot and spotted a river (this was to later be identified as a sewer-drainage ditch). We skinny dipped and laughed. After we had our fill and the cold started to set in we wandered our filthy, pasty, white ass’ back to the trailer and took turns showering. When we were through we realized that Summer had left. One of the men had taken her to get fast food and then back to his place for the night. The second man had passed out on the floor.

This left Butterfly and I alone with big nose. Seriously, this guy had a honker that could put the wicked witch to shame. I kept looking for the attached glasses and mustache! Butterfly kept looking for more beer.

“There’s some on the porch.” big nose told Butterfly.

Butterfly opened up the front door and in her quest for liquid gold stepped out.

That’s when it happened.

Big nose locked the door behind her. Then the son of a bitch grabbed me by the hair and forced me on the bed.

I honestly don’t remember anything else about the night.

I woke up naked, freezing and in pain the next morning. Butterfly was pounding on the door. I was alone in the trailer. I opened the door.

“What the fuck, you stupid bitch! Why did you lock me out all night? I could have frozen to death! I had to sleep on that chair!”

She pointed to a filthy, rotting, wicker chair on the porch that s covered in animal hair and mold.

I was shaking. I didn’t know what had happened, I just knew I was in pain and I needed to get the fuck out of there. I gathered my clothes and my purse. I did a quick stop in the bathroom mirror to put on some mascara and shocked myself when I saw the bruises on my face. I looked down. My arms were covered in bruises too. So were my legs. I also noticed a used condom on the floor and felt a sense of relief.

The two of us walked out of the trailer and down the dirt road back to Boulder Highway. I told Butterfly about what had happened.

“Stop being a pussy! It’s not a big deal, you are fine. At least you didn’t have to sleep outside! It was fucking cold. We need to find Summer. Hey, do you have a cigarette?” she asked.

That was my second sexual experience. Well, my third technically. I lost my virginity twice but that’s another story.

4 thoughts on “Just Keep Walking

  1. Pingback: Raised by a Narcissist | It's not my fault.

  2. The optimist says every time a door closes another one opens. Closed or open you sure had a streak of nothing good on either side. Did Summer ever marry that preacher or was he just another bible salesman with a good line?

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