“That’s a nasty limp you have there, Amber, did you get that playing softball?” she would ask.
If I said yes, then she would reveal that the coach ratted me out and told her that I had stopped coming to practice. If I said no, or that I didn’t know how I had gotten hurt, she would just ask more and more questions. I don’t know how she found out that I was staying over with friends all the time, but that added more fuel to her fire. She was convinced that I was living in an abusive household and that I needed help. In a way, I guess I was. But my abusive household was the house itself.
Maybe if she had been older and more experienced, she wouldn’t have pressed as hard. This lady wanted to be my savior. I was the poor kid being victimized by my parents and she was determined to ride in on her white horse and save me. The only thing was that I wasn’t poor and my parents didn’t victimize me. Those things didn’t matter. She came poking around and suddenly I wasn’t allowed to stay over at my friends’ houses anymore. I had to stay at home for appearances and that meant that I had to behave all the time so that the house wouldn’t give me any more bruises or sprained ankles.
It didn’t matter how good I was though. If any of us acted up, the house would take it out on all of us. A shouting match in the living room might lead to a nasty shock the next time I plugged in a radio, even if I wasn’t the one shouting.
I felt like a prisoner. I couldn’t talk to anyone else. The few times I tried, that’s when I found out that the rest of the world would consider me crazy if I told my story. My parents wanted me to pretend that everything was okay so the guidance counselor wouldn’t show up at the house again. That put me into the role of arbiter. If I didn’t want the house punishing me, then I couldn’t let any fights happen in the house because that’s mostly what would make it angry. Whenever my parents would start to get worked up, and they loved to argue, it would be my job to get them separated and stop the fight before it could happen. I was miserable all the time until I just couldn’t take it anymore.
The first time I ran away, that’s when things got really bad.
# # #
When Amber paused again, Ricky knew he couldn’t stay silent.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he said.
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
“I don’t need you to explain my life to me,” Amber said.
“Are you sure?”
Even though it was too dark to see her clearly, Ricky could feel the anger coming off of her in hot waves.
“Amber, the way you’re telling your own story, you put yourself at the root of all the issues. It wasn’t your responsibility to keep the guidance counselor off your back. Your parents weren’t justified in saying that you couldn’t go stay with friends, and it certainly wasn’t your job to make peace in the house. You’re telling yourself that you’re not taking the blame, but the way you tell your own story is pretty revealing.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do, just cry and weep because I was a victim, or take control of my own fate? Control comes with blame. I would rather take the blame than surrender control.”
“Sure. I get that. But you also have to recognize that your parents had a responsibility to provide you with a safe and secure home. They didn’t do that. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I know.”
“Sorry to interrupt. You ran away?”
“Yes. I ran away. That’s the end of the story.”
“Come on,” Ricky said. “Tell me the rest.”
“Nope—no need. You figured it out, Ricky. My parents were horrible and I ran away and that’s it.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
The waves crashed and hooves pounded on wet sand. She didn’t say anything. Amber didn’t accept his apology or admit that he was at least partially right. Part of Ricky wanted to apologize again and keep apologizing until she finally accepted or acknowledged it. He couldn’t. He wasn’t as stubborn as Amber, but he was stubborn enough that he had no intention of begging her for forgiveness when his only crime had been to tell her what she claimed to already know.
Eventually, she continued.
# # #
I ran away. I guess I figured that if I was going to have to shoulder all the responsibility for keeping myself alive, I might as well do it on my own. At least that way I wouldn’t have to worry about everyone else at the same time.
The first night away, a giant weight had been lifted off of me. I hiked to the highway and I found a ride that got me most of the way to Raleigh. I was careful and it didn’t seem dangerous at all—not compared to tiptoeing around my house where anything could kill you at any time. I found my way to the apartment of my friend’s older sister. I should have known to keep moving. They found me fast enough. Mom was panicked on the phone. She wasn’t worried about me, she was worried about herself and Dad. With me gone, the house wouldn’t leave them alone. That’s not the way she put it, of course.
It needed us there for some reason. I don’t know why. When I left, the house began to torture my parents
