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Chapter 13

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Chapter 13
Hopeless and Homeless

In the second day after I left the Navy base in Filthydelphia, one of my friends (whom I’d had a crush on almost since I got there) called me. To my surprise, he told me that he wanted to marry me, and would I go stay with his family in New Mexico until he could send for me? I agreed, and off I went.

Bill’s family was wonderful. They let me live there, while I job searched all over the town and the surrounding towns. For months, I searched, and waited for word back from Bill. But jobs were scarce, and no one hired me. I can’t remember how many applications I put in, but I went everywhere, even places that didn’t claim to be hiring. Bill never called. He didn’t answer my letters.

Eventually, he did, though. To tell us all that he wasn’t going to marry me. So I left, as not to be a burden. I had gotten an offer from a lady to come stay with her. She was a Scientologist, but needed a roommate. It was far more likely that I’d be able to find a job in Albuquerque, so she didn’t mind taking me on. But when I got there, bags in hand, she said that her Scientologist counselor or whatever they’re called, had told her not to get a roommate. She shut the door in my face and didn’t even respond to my entreaty to use her phone.

I walked to a gas station down the street and sat down with my bags. I was officially homeless. Nowhere to go. No money at all. No home. Nothing to my name but a few bags of clothes. I wasn’t as depressed this time, though. I was confused, alone, unsure, but I didn’t have it in me to care. I didn’t even cry. I sat and stared at my feet. I was resigned. Whatever life threw at me, I figured, I would have to endure.

I sat there for several hours. I couldn’t even afford a candy bar.

Then a guy came along and asked me what was wrong. I lied, and he left. But soon, he came back and sat down beside me. He told me that he figured I was lying because of my luggage, and was I sure I didn’t want to talk about it. So I told him the short version– my ‘fiancĂ©’ that wasn’t, the roommate that wasn’t. He invited me to his house to see if we could find a shelter I could go to. I went. Why not, I figured.

I ended up staying for months. After a while, we became lovers. I guess I’d say he was my first genuine boyfriend. He was a good guy, but things went bad when he wanted to try anal sex and didn’t stop when I asked him to. He didn’t realize, he said, and I believe him. But the pain was now associated with him, and we started to drift apart. Then he got the great idea that I should get a job at a ski resort in Colorado.

I got the job, and he took me up and dropped me off at the dorms they have there. Then he left and called me every couple of weeks. We’d talk for a few minutes, and then he’d hang up. That was that, I figured it was over.

I dated a bit there, but nothing very serious. I didn’t want anything to do with guys, really. I worked out pretty seriously, and worked at my job, and tried to save money. I got a promotion (my first ever), and it was awesome. My life was peaceful again. I met a guy that I really adored. Sadly, he stood me up the day after we finally had sex.

Then another guy pursued me, and I finally had sex with him mostly because I thought it was what I was supposed to do. I soon told him no more, though, when I realized that he was a jerk. Not long after that, his friend arrived. His friend’s name was Alex, and Alex decided that he HAD to have me. I was one of the more attractive women there, since the ration of men to women was literally 40 to 1. And most of the women there didn’t care for themselves. So Alex felt I was a status symbol, and pursued me heavily. No matter how often I refused him, he kept coming back and coming back.

In the end, I dated him because I was deeply attracted to him. I quit fighting it simply on the basis that he was far too attractive to REALLY be attracted to ME. I finally accepted the idea that maybe he was attracted to me after all.

I was naive. He even told me that, and he was right. He was out getting laid in the town. He was 21, and I was 19, so he went to bars with his buddy and they nailed anything they could find. He didn’t care about me at all, didn’t even like me. But naive and young as I was, I didn’t see it. I believed him when he said he wasn’t cheating. I believed him when he said he didn’t care.

My first real clue that he didn’t care about me at all was when I drove 40 miles in a blizzard to get him a pool cue for Christmas. When I gave it to him, even though he knew that, his comment was, “Thanks, but blue’s really not my color.” I tried to end it then, but he threatened me with violence, and so I stayed with him.

In an uncharacteristic surge of courage, when he asked me for a threesome with his buddy, I said no, and I stuck to it. Terrified, feeling like I was going to be raped any minute, I still managed to say no. I know. Nothing to be proud of. Just what you should do. But it took courage for me. It took tremendous courage for me.

The guy I’d lived with in Albuquerque called me again. Then he was upset that I’d found someone else. I felt guilty, though now I understand that it was reasonable to move on under the circumstances.

Alex kind of lived off of me at that time. I didn’t do much about it. I should have, but I didn’t. That went on ever after he left Keystone.

But one night, I had a dream. It was very vivid, very powerful. In the dream, I was holding a little boy. I sat him down willingly, but with great sorrow. He ran off to play. But then he was thrust back into my arms, and I held him tightly. I loved and protected him and cradled him. I realized how precious and sweet he was to me. Then, he was removed from my arms, and walked away, holding someone else’s hand. He looked back at me and smiled. I woke up and cried. I was bereft. The feeling was beyond words. It was that same feeling, the familiar feeling from when I lost my mother.

I went to find Alex, I was so distressed. He sent me away, until he came to my place later and demanded sex. He left within the next week, and took my TV with him. Then he called a couple of times to beg for money. I sent it, because I was stupidly in love with him.

The woman who was my boss suggested that I was pregnant when I broke down into sobs at work over pretty much nothing at all. I knew I couldn’t possibly be pregnant. I had extensive scarring inside from when I had been abused. I’d known since I was 9 years old that I would never get pregnant. Ever. It was impossible.

Or was it?

Written by sandit4glp

July 30, 2010 at 1:34 pm

Posted in Chapter 13