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Chapter 10: Criminal

I don’t know how you can be a living so many different ways, and your personality seems to be changing like the wind. Life was moving in fast forward, so fast I wasn’t able to keep up. I was now weird new home,  temporarily will grow in, learn in and challenge every hurdle. The transition seemed flawless, and what was more as I was able to sleep OK at night knowing that anger, frustration and confusion wasn’t going to exist that night. In hopes when I closed my eyes, it will go away. That dream didn’t happen, that’s why I loved the song “Dreams” by the Cranberries. It brought me strength. I slowly changed my circle of friends with same interests and troubles. Little did I know, I was becoming more a rebel without a cause, born on a mission for mischief at first. I had no one to lead me or understand what was going on with me. Constantly trying and failing directly in their own life, I didn’t care what anybody else was doing. All I seemed to care about myself was myself, and those who supported me. My friends became my family: family over my high school years, and every crazy endeavour including streaking in a football game half naked, bodies painted  black, gold and white. What we’re we thinking? I wasn’t a football fan, homecoming was a way to party and be silly.



I was adjusting to life as an outcast foster kid, chasing boys and making enemies with the natives. I was spit on, provoked to fight and had my locker damaged. My mouth and my attitude was getting me in hot water. I finally decided I was ready to fight. I called Tanya “Pop Bottle” as her eye glasses were thick as pop bottle glass. The day she called me on, I was ready to kick ass. All alone, I waited for the bitch to show up, here she came with her posse, behind her. I told her I would fight her and her only. I knew If I was winning, the others would jump me and gang up on probably bashing my head in.  What a chicken shit, she called off the fight and the last of the bullying stopped. Over the years, evil eyes, and words exchanged yet, no fists went flying. I never had to chance to punch the mouth that spit on me. My grades were dropping and my attitude was too.


My attempts to get in touch with family came up shorthanded,at that time everybody was embarrassed to say that I was part of their DNA. It really felt as if nobody was there for me and I was only a kid,  a kid making terrible decisions and causing chaos amongst a small town. I’m sure the story spread through the telephone lines gossiping about the latest news. Our family already had it share of people and neighbours looking in wondering what the fuck is going on? How many people in these lives pretend every day that nothing is wrong, everything is wrong. I already knew I wasn’t the same as Bob next-door or Jean down the road. I was my own unique trauma caused by messed up childhood and a kid confused with identity. To me this was normal.


Within the first year of my fostering, i was getting a passport. How cool, my parents didn’t take us anywhere of importance. My Dad as far I can remember driving around new vehicles, loaded with every option. Money wasn’t spent on family trips to enjoy,  I was by the pool in Florida with my foster parents, it was the first time I actually left Canada and was able to see a bit of the world around me. Palm trees really existed, the warm salty air on my sun kissed face was marvelous, the salt on my tongue was exhilarating. I was living, I felt alive. Two amazing humans whom brought me and paid for everything, they took me to the beach so I could pick up seashells, we created memories and I felt accepted. I collected souvenirs, that I have kept to this day. 26 years ago, yet it feels like yesterday,.

I scrounged up enough change to buy my first pack of camel cigarettes,I knew they sent me on my way so they can have some sex in the hotel room and that’s OK. I was already mature enough to handle things on my own. I sat by the pool and smoked my faceoff.
Those are the days I was dressed in leather, big gold earrings and teased hair. I don’t know why I thought I was good-looking but I did. Drugs,cigarettes, vodka shots and oblivious to what that behaviour is telling the boys. I had no clue, but I really was trying to achieve of 14 years old. I was chumming with the older boys, as my friend was dating someone five years older. That was the start of a dangerous road that lead us to a car wrapped around a telephone pole one winter night.


Florida was an amazing trip,I can remember on Christmas day watching Mickey Mouse and Pluto wave to me as I stood on the sidewalks of Walt Disney World. It was weird wearing shorts and a tank top on Christmas.Not once did I worry about the family back in Canada who wasn’t worried about me, as I basked in the Florida sunshine. Foster care wasn’t so bad, I had humans to take very good care of me, and at dinner time we always make sure we shared stories about our day. I looked up to Cheryl, she was stunningly beautiful Her make up was perfect every morning and her hair was naturally curly, she was almost to human Barbie in my eyes. Although she could never take the place of a mother or even close, she was nurturing me in the best way she could. The one thing I learned about them is they loved me for my troubles, although it wasn’t fair to them what I was about to put everyone through. I doubt they had any idea whatI really was doing when I went out after school or even on the weekends. Parties and hanging out at her place, where we could do whatever we wanted, as long as we were safe. That was all her sister cared about. I respected that, they to have been on their own for quite some time so they knew exactly what I was going to really.I think about it how is that good for any 14 or 15-year-old to be partying, smoking pot and drinking vodka shots at that age? I can remember being so sick after doing shots of vodka to AC/DC’s TNT blaring from the boom box. I didn’t stay the night, that night walking home drunk crossing the railroad tracks in the dark, never worried about danger. Thank God, I never got hurt in those adventures. I can remember vomiting so strongly that night, Vodka did not win a place in my heart.

My foster parents I cannot remember any time giving me a talk about the use of drugs or alcohol and if they did I ignored it. They also had lives to lead and careers to go to and raising a troubled teenager, wasn’t on their priority list. They had a beautiful home and that is where I fell in love with the Jacuzzi tub, cathedral ceilings and open was the kind of house I would buy if I was an adult in the market for a home to live in.
It started off any typical night, I will get dressed to the nine’s and make my way to my girlfriends house. I was no stranger to walking blocks in the freezing snow with tiny shoes just to look good at the pool hall where we used to hang out. That’s where you find your connections to the good weed in town, and those kids from disconnected homes or troubled families would hang out there too. I chased a few of those bad boys around over my high school years, none who didn’t really want to return the favour.
We were heading down to the pool hall, there must’ve been about 4 feet of snow and everything was covered it was cold and we laughed and giggled as we headed to our favourite spot.


As I smoked my Export A Light cigarettes and she smoked her DuMarier, we noticed a car that was running parked on the side the road and nobody was in it. We kind of joked about getting in and warming up, or maybe even taking it for a ride around the block. I had no idea about the law or what I was about to get into. I cant describe the thoughts and why they go through your head, really steal a car? The boy she was seeing was playing hockey down in the east end of town, neither of us had driven a car before but we got in and away we went like the wind. We weaved down little side streets to avoid anybody recognizing the car, as we drove carefully to the hockey rink. We yelled his name , and he got in the car. “what the fuck are you doing ? Stunned, speechless , he was able to get out of his mouth “You need to return the car immediately : before the police find you.” Little did we know, the police scanners throughout the town we’re on fire about the stolen car. I don’t know what went through our heads at the time, how can we be invisible? I was the one who drove the car away, we swamped turns for the way back. The fucked up excitement of true rebelism, it was rushing through our blood, we had no clue our New Years Eve, was going to be a quiet one. It wasn’t long the police had their sirens on,  we were in full chase.


“Gun it” as I screamed, the chemicals of adrenaline running through my veins was enough for me to learn how to run fast. It all happened so quick, she lost Control of the wheel and we were going to fast we ended up on a seven or 8 foot snowbank against the telephone pole. I jumped out of the car and I could remember breathing so heavy I didn’t know if anyone was following me. I didn’t look back, my heart was pounding and a chance I could get away. I have ripped my jeans and had a puncture a hole in my thigh from an old mail after scaling a fence. I was alone I didn’t know if tan you have been caught or if she was on the run. I frantically knocked on the door hopping and popping telling them somebody was chasing me, a big man I told them. I was hiding in the bathroom and they were helping me clean up the blood dripping from my leg. Of course I never told him I was running from the cops or there’s a smashed up car I just stolen up the road. There’s a knock on the door, a police officer looking for a young girl who might’ve run in. They were forced to give me up, and as I was handcuffed and put into the backseat of a cruiser. All I can remember is the darkness of the car and the red lights  on the dashboard. It reminded me of the ZZ Top concert, and the dashboard was the backdrop at a concert I attended as a kid.  As I came from out from the other side, I was handcuffed.



I remember having my rights read to me, by a police officer by the name of Mr. Vittie. I lowered my head in my lap as I realize he knew my dad, he knew my family as he lived only blocks from where I grew up. I’m sure I was not the one he wanted to see you at that time. A young disturbed teenager. I can remember being at the Police Station. Sitting in the cold white concrete room with blue stripes, having my fingerprints taken, and my foster parents were called to come get me. It still never sunk in how messed up those 2 hour happened, and that’s when people point fingers. Things were going to have to change, they were going to be rules and boundaries in place between our friendship.

It wasn’t even a week later another car was stolen, and as the headlines road in the paper another “JoyRide” The police were knocking down the door again. I was grounded this time, I had no contact unless I was at school. I was questioned by the police at the dining room table if I had any involvement with the latest car theft. I sat there in my pyjamas and promised him it wasn’t me, he was that authoritarian figure, intimidating demeanour. He went on to say that my finger prints would be run from the fingerprints found on the car.
I was cleared, but I wasn’t out of trouble yet.


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Cannabis Enthusiast : Craft Edible Creator : Recreation and Leisure Professional : Blogger
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