Saturday Stories #3

If you are reading this and you know me personally, please know that it is not my intention to hurt, harm, or disrespect anyone.  These are events the way that I remember them, the way I lived them, how I felt about them. This is only about me.  Nobody else. This is my story.

I think I can.  I know I can.  I will.

She’s a Little Runaway Part 1

Oye I really do not even know when to start with this part of my story.  I guess at the beginning.

My cousin Debbie – the only female first cousin I have on my Dad’s side – is the same age as me.  She was a handful and I was the good girl. That summer evened us out a little.

Before I go any further I need to refer you back to the first Saturday Story about my Grandma’s place at The Lake.  My parents, as well as my Dad’s brother and sister, all had their own homes on my Grandma’s property.  My Auntie Denise, Uncle Don and my cousins Debbie and Calvin lived in their spot all year round from about the time I was about 13.  Debbie and I never got along very well.  We played together because we were put together but she lied and cheated and stole and was selfish and bossy.  Even as a small child she was not very nice and we did not see eye to eye most of the time. The summer of 1988 was the only time in my life when I ever felt any sort of commradery with her.

One summer my Grandma (God rest her messy soul) made a deal with us to clean her house for a flat of strawberries each.  While cleaning, Debbie decided to help herself to some of my cousin Paul's money.  She blamed me.  It was a disaster - typical of our relationship.  Needless to say, goodbye strawberries.  Honestly she was horrible.  She still is.  And I am not a person who says this about most people.  I would rather believe that people are good and that if they are acting horribly there is a reason.  In this case, I think the reason is way to deep set into her and she is just horrible, plain and simple. Anyway,

Debbie was a party girl.  My Aunt and Uncle were at work and she was smoking and drinking with her friends on their patio every night of the week.  The first few days I was out there asking them to please not swear and lecturing them on the evils of smoking (oh yeah, I was a 15 year old goody-two-shoes).  By the second week of this I was making plans to sneak out with them.  One of them in particular.

Honestly, I do not even know how it happened. It was one of those things where after the dust has settled you are standing there going - what the heck was that??? It was a long time ago, perhaps I too many of the details are foggy not for me to remember everything.  I do remember being excited - in a freaked out brave sort of way.

So, lets see what I can remember.  Debbie and I planning our way out my bedroom window, or wherever I was sleeping, for several nights in a row....  The night I got caught, what do I remember?  My parents suggesting I sleep in the tent.  Keeping my clothes on under my pajamas.  Putting my alarm clock under my pillow just in case I fell asleep before I got the signal.  Telling my Mum I loved her.  Hearing the pebbles hit the tent.  Taking off the pajamas and shutting off the alarm and sneaking out of the tent and around the corner with my shoes and jacket in my hands and coming face to face with my Mum.  Turning around and seeing my Dad.  Running in the only other direction I could run in.  My Dad chasing me - and catching me.  My Mum interrogating me while my Dad searched the neighborhood for the peddle tosser...

Until next week ~

:o) Tina