(First, I have to make a comment about this picture. If you consider that the year was 1979, you should be duly impressed that we do not look like people in a picture from 1979. As a matter of fact, I was horrified by the pastels and florals that the poor souls at the prom had draped themselves in. That being said, I'll begin this story.)
I wasn't doing too well in my senior year at high school. I took a ballet class on Thursdays and also worked selling "shoes" at Montgomery Ward. And I NEVER ate food. Oh and the pot. I smoked a lot of pot. My weekday routine was: wake up, shower, get dressed, have about 6 oz. of orange juice, take a vitamin, pack my little glass bong with ice chips, grab my stuff, pick up HS boyfriend, smoke some bowls on the ride to school, arrive at school, tolerate school, get home, smoke more pot, eat a large cup full of ice chips, got to work or if it was Thursday, I went to ballet around 7:00. My Dad and I never really discussed this but we got in huge fights at meals because I would eat about 2 teaspoons and say I was full. I got thinner and thinner and even lied to HS boyfriend's parents when I went to their house for his birthday dinner in mid-November. I claimed that I had forgotten about the dinner and had had a HUGE sandwich just 2 hours prior.
As you can imagine, between the pot and the lack of nutrition, my brain became pretty much glop. And I don't mean glop in a good way. By mid-December I had become so out of it, one morning in my first period Psychology class (ahh the irony), I thought the teacher was fucking with me because it was like the Charlie Brown teacher. Wah-wah-wah-wah-wah? I was looking him right in the face and saying, "What?" (At least I think I was.) After I asked him "What?" a couple of times, he gave me a look of disgust and moved on.
I guess soon after was Christmas break and I really don't remember that Christmas. It must have been the weekend of the 7th/8th of January 79 when I called my Mom in Texas, in tears, and said, "Can I come to live with you?" I had not lived with my Mom since 9th grade. The next part nearly broke my heart into a thousand pieces. She said she would have to talk to Ted and she would call me back. That was a very long 20 minutes. I cried the whole time. Well, she called back and said "Okay." Ouch. Now came the hard part. I went into the living room and asked Dad to come into my room. That was weird enough, because I had never done that. So Dad walks in, sits beside me on the bed and I said, "I want to go live with Mom." So Dad says, "Okay," then gets up and walks back to the living room.
Then I got mad. I walked out there and said, "Get back in here! That's hardly a conversation!" Well, he came back, we talked, he called and made the airline reservations for the 15th. I figured a week was good to get organized. He even came home that Monday with a trunk for me. I love that trunk - it's my daughter's memory trunk now. Well I had planned on hitting each class that Monday to say goodbye. My first period class the psych teacher sees my withdrawal note and says, "Well goodbye, you don't need to be in here." He was such an ass. So I think I hung out in the bathroom until the bell rang and then didn't give the teachers my withdrawal slip until the end of each class.
So the whole week was a party every night with my friends. When my Dad and HS boyfriend said goodbye at the airport that Sunday, I cried like a baby for like an hour. I got some strange looks. Plus I was holding a GIANT yellow stuffed bear. My Mom says that when I walked off the jetway that day I looked like a 12-year-old. I think I weighed 99 pounds.
So it took us a couple of days to find my school and get my shots and all that so I ended up having a free 2-week vacation from my senior year. Oddly enough, I wasn't really that terrified of the new school. I was so tired and burnt out (and not knowing anyone, nor them me) it almost seemed like a vacation. The first day, this guy that looked like the actor in "Greatest American Hero," except with longer hair, was told to show me around and to my classes. I got really lucky. First off, this school had trimesters instead of semesters. The classes were longer but there were only like 4 a day. Secondly, I had 2 classes, Sociology and Government, with possibly the coolest teacher ever. My first day, I had to go up to the front of the class, pull down the map, explain where I was from and describe it. Because I didn't know any of these people from Adam, I wasn't nervous at all. I described the Research Triangle of Raleigh/Durham/Chapel Hill and talked about the intense rivalry of college basketball in the area. When the teacher asked the students to ask me questions, a really pretty blonde asked, "Isn't it really cold up there?" She wasn't paying attention and thought it was North Dakota. That was funny. Oh and by the way, I was REALLY enjoying my Mom's cooking.
I think I'll continue this later. It IS a long story.
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