DISCLAIMER: This entry involves experiences of bullying, sexual misconduct and/or assault, and self-hate and could possibly trigger a reader who may have (or is still) struggling with any of those issues. Please be cautious.
As with all of my entries and stories, each piece of writing I post here is from my personal perspective, experience, logic, and truth. I do not, and nor will I ever claim, that I know best, or all there is to know, about any topic or experience another individual may have experience(d). These are my words, my thoughts, my feelings, my truth.
Maggie had caught my friend and I trying to get older boys’ attention across the food court at the mall one day. So embarrassing. But when my friend stopped being my friend, I went alone and Maggie walked over and started talking to me. She was so cool. And beautiful. And smart. At least, she was to me. I was still a lanky and pathetic thirteen year old, but she was so mature, being all of sixteen. She already had a full chest and curvy hips. She wore flawless make-up and had pin straight hair I was so jealous of. She was short, but already looked like a real woman to me. She carried herself with such confidence, I was envious and prayed that it would rub off on me. And she was so nice to me. She treated me like a little sister, but was never condescending or mean. She was fun, crazy and we loved so many of the same things. It felt, to me, as though we were meant to be.
Once we started hanging out together, I feel like my life was consumed with her. I was obsessed. I wanted to be around her all the time. When I wasn’t with her, I was wondering what she was doing. I called her a lot, but she never seemed to want to talk on the phone. I thought it strange. She always wanted to be out, whether it be to the mall, walking around, or just hanging in the streets. She hated being at home. When I finally went to her house the first time, I understood why.
She lived in the rich area of my old town. The houses were larger and near the river. I just remember everyone talking about wanting to live there when they were rich and grown up. I walked up to her house the first time and was just in awe. It was huge. And when we walked in, it was so pretty. Everything matched, and it was so clean. I felt like I was walking into a movie. I almost didn’t want to touch anything for fear of messing it up. When we went into the kitchen to get a drink, a woman stood before the open fridge. She was wearing a bra and thong underwear that could be seen through her lace “housecoat”. I hesitated, thinking we’d walked in the wrong room or something, but Maggie didn’t even stumble. She just walked by and grabbed a drink out of the fridge. I couldn’t help but stare at the woman. I guess I never assumed it was her mom because honestly, who had a mom that looked like that? She looked like something straight out of a sexy magazine. Long legs, large breasts, thin waist, and long blond hair flowing down her back. She said hi to me, and I waved. Maggie poured our drinks and then walked past me. “Come on,” she told me, so I followed.
We went into her room upstairs. It was big, with a big bed in the middle. It looked like a princesses room. Not what I was expecting for Maggie at all. I’d asked her if that was her mom and her eyes widened. “Far from it!” She’d laughed. I didn’t understand and likely looked confused. She said something to the effect of “She’s just my dad’s latest whore.” I was even more confused and so didn’t press the issue. It was clear to me though, that her home life wasn’t as perfect as I’d imagined it to be.
We hung out in her room for a while and then her door swung open. “Mags?” It was her father. Maggie didn’t even look up at him. He smiled at me and asked me if I was staying for dinner. Before I had a chance to respond, Maggie told him I wasn’t. He seemed to stare after Maggie for a very uncomfortable moment or two, then he left. I remember feeling a pang of jealousy and anger. To me, it seemed as though her father was caring and wanted to talk to her, and she simply brushed him off. I couldn’t remember one moment where my father had even stepped into my bedroom. At least hers wanted to be near her. But, I didn’t say anything.
Over the next while, if I wasn’t with Maggie, I may as well not have been alive. I don’t remember anything else during that period except for hanging with Maggie and having a great time. We would do stupid shit like walk around, vandalize property, heckle younger kids in the parks. I pretended I didn’t know any better but the truth was, I just wanted Maggie to think I was cool. I wanted her to like me. And honestly, it felt cool. Being a shit disturber made me feel some kind of false power, for whatever reason. It was stupid.
Maggie seemed so popular. Everywhere we went, if there were boys (sixteen and older), they knew who she was. The ages ranged from sixteen to twenty-five, which made me just think her all the more amazing. And they all showered her with affection of some kind. Hugs, kisses, pet names, they seemed to adore her and I wanted that too. She was fun and free, yet comfortable all at the same time. She could kiss a boy and it meant nothing to her. I was too nervous to kiss anyone. Though I’d done it before of course, it had always been with a boy in my class or grade. Other than Kevin, I’d never really done anything with a “man”. And even with Kevin, I’d given each kiss and each partner a much deeper meaning than warranted. I stupidly believed in fairy-tale-true-love. And even more stupidly, I believed I could find it at thirteen years old.
I’m not sure when I finally understood the full scope of Maggie’s home life, but I feel it important to the story. Maggie’s biological mom had been an escort. She was a business woman, and had met Maggie’s dad through her business. Maggie’s dad was a successful business man who didn’t have time for a relationship. I think the two had a standing arrangement when it accidentally led to the creation of Maggie. I think her dad had convinced and paid her mom to have her, but right after she was born, her mom moved on.
Maggie described her dad’s “whores” as “being on the payroll”. He’d essentially pay women to live with him and play the role of Maggie’s mom. Maggie often joked that it was even more honest than a marriage, but I don’t know that she really believed that. I knew I didn’t. The unfortunate thing was the facade was so poorly played out, Maggie had realized it’s dishonesty very early on. She knew what was really going on and I think it messed with her psyche. I didn’t realize it then, but looking back, it was clear Maggie had a warped sense of sex, love, and sexuality. She was so lost. Poor girl.
A lot of our fun included getting drunk and high. I never did too much of it in comparison to others, but I was only thirteen and honestly shouldn’t have been doing any of it at all. But within that crowd, I was introduced to beer, hard liquor, acid, cocaine, and ecstasy. Most times we were together, I just drank and smoked weed. I was too scared to try the harder stuff.
It’s funny. Looking back, it feels like this was such a long and strong period of my life, but I know that isn’t true. I mean, how could I have gotten away with this kind of stuff without my parents knowing? The truth is, I can’t explain it. I know I lied about where I was going all the time. I would tell my mom and dad I was going to a certain friends house, but then I’d go to Maggie’s. And then, from Maggie’s, we’d go to Rob’s place. Rob was a twenty-five year old guy whose house had a perpetually revolving door and a constant party inside. Sometimes the parties were small, just a handful of people plus Maggie and I. And sometimes the parties got out of hand.
It was at Rob’s that Maggie and I met KC and Karl for the first time. They were eighteen, tall, had tattoos, drank, smoked, and even had jobs. I thought KC was so hot. I wouldn’t stop talking about him so Maggie, being Maggie and unafraid to do anything, walked up to them and introduced us. The four of us hit it off. From then on, whenever we saw each other, we would hang out. Even if we were at a party with dozens of other people, the four of us would be off in our own little corner. I didn’t even notice when we split into couples, Maggie and Karl off on their own, leaving KC and I alone. It was then he’d confide in me about his awful home life, terrible childhood, and ex-girlfriends that had broken his heart. My heart would just bleed for him. I wanted to feel safe with me. I wanted him to know he could trust me, that I would never do anything to hurt him. He started buying me things, booze, trinkets and jewelry I’d keep at Maggie’s. He let me smoke his weed without paying for it. I thought he was so generous. It wasn’t long before he told me he loved me. He admitted that he knew it was wrong because of our age difference, and that it was likely no one would understand, but he couldn’t help it. And to me? Well, that was just like catnip to a kitty. I was overjoyed and felt so special because of it. Not only did he love me, but he did it despite the challenges and difficulties he might have to face in doing so. To me, it was all so romantic. It wasn’t long before I was ready to walk down the aisle with him. I was so foolish, naive, and lost. I thought I was on top of the world. But if any of it had been real, it only lasted a second, and the fall down was long, painful, life-altering, and traumatic.
Stay tuned for PART THREE of BEFORE
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