First Mistake

It seemed as though the couple months I had left in the 10th grade came and went, after my running away. My mother drove down from Washington, D.C. to get me and I literally left behind the good, the bad, and the ugly that I had grown to know in Clemson, S.C.

I remember hugging my grandmother the tightest as my mother and I packed up the rest of my things to put into the car. I had apologized to my grandmother and gotten myself halfway back into her good graces before I left. My grandmother was always such a forgiving  and understanding woman and I appreciated that about her. No matter what bad I had done or how much pain I caused her, she never judged me. That, too, I appreciated.

The ride back was, semi-horrible. My mother smokes cigarettes. I have asthma. We were in a car for hours together and I remember trying to hold my breath so I wouldn’t have to complain to her so often. All the while, I thought to myself, I’m going to have to relearn my own mother. I’m going to have to know what kind of person she is, all over again, but more importantly, what kind of mother she’ll be to me, which I could tell right away would be differently than what I grown used to with my grandmother.

A quick 7 1/2 hours later, which is the norm for my mother, we were back in D.C. I didn’t know that my sleeping arrangements or where I was going to go to school weren’t even set in place prior to me coming back. So many things crossed my mind. Had I left South Carolina too soon? Did I really make the right decision? I battled these thoughts daily, which cannot be good. I was here. Back where I wanted to be, despite some family members trying to convince me otherwise, I was back “home“.

The first thing to do was see my sister and her two girls and son; my beautiful nieces and adorable little nephew. I’d missed them. I’d missed all of them. I enjoyed when my sister and the kids came to visit, and our talks. I remember my sister and I talking about how my mother was never home and when she was, she was sleeping.

I had to get used to a lot. The house I lived in consisted of me, my mother, her boyfriend, and his grandmother, whose house it was, about a millions cats (I hate cats), and a dog out back that never came inside. A full house, to say the least. That two bedroom house housed us all. My mother would be sleeping with her boyfriend all day until he went to work at night, then that’s when I could have the bed and sleep. My mother wasn’t ever there to sleep with me but she liked to “run the streets”. She’d have her boyfriends car all night and be out while I sat in their room, full of over a hundred of his comic books and her collection of plastic cups that sat near the small TV on the floor. I could not believe that this had now become my life. Moving from S.C., mistake numero uno. 

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