Catching Up:Memoir of my Childhood.

I stood on the corner of Van Buren and 29th street. I was horribly cold, the chill causing my knee to throb to a tune only it heard. My luggage was in a shopping cart next to me, soaked through with the rain that fell like blades of ice. I had left home only a hour before, after a long drawn out argument with my parents that involved thrown objects, harsh words and finally ended with my decision to leave. How does a thirteen year old end up standing on the side of the road soaked through, in pain and terrified? Very easily, it seemed.

I had always had problems dealing with my mother and step-father. My mother was addicted to speed, a drug that takes control and changes once loving people into horrid monsters. My step-father was militant German alcoholic. His father was abusive, so in turn he was abusive. What parents who make wrong decisions do not realize is that the choices they make affect their children as well. Thirteen was the age I finally had enough. It started simply enough, my mother asking me to empty an ashtray and I put it off till the last minute. As I rose to empty the ashtray, I was caught off guard by an hair brush that whizzed by my head and struck the wall next to me. From there, argument degraded into me refusing to be treated like a maid and my father detailing what "living under his roof" entailed. My final answer was "Fine, then I won't live here anymore."

I gathered my things, bade goodbye to my younger equally terrified brother and walked out the door. When I left, my entire life fit one garbage bag. I had a couple sets of clothes, twelve dollars and a skateboard. Filled with uncertainty, I headed down the street, past prostitutes, rubble-filled lots and a pair of mutts nosing through a pile of trash left on the sidewalk. As if on queue, the already chilly morning and the depression hanging over my head was punctuated by the slow drizzle of rain. It was easy to tell myself I would not cry, that I would be brave and face the future. I learned very quickly that rain does an adequate job of hiding tears.

Thinking back now, it seems odd that despite a multitude of people walking down the streets and hanging out on corners no one noticed a small teen alone, carrying his life on his back and sobbing and it reflects on how the majority of every day people just do not want to get involved. Only a year before, I had been struck by a truck while crossing a street. One of the few things my mother successfully taught me was to approach each intersection as if it was a dangerous river. Despite her teaching and the fact I had carefully looked both ways and crossed when the light directed. I wasn't prepared for the hurtling mass of metal that came screeching around the corner and I ended up lying in the bed of the truck. I came out with no broken bones, seventy some odd stitches and a piece of windshield safety glass buried under my kneecap.

Back on the street in the rain my knee began to pain me. I wanted warmth and light, anything to get away from the terrible storm on the horizon. A cool drink of water was also on my mind as I entered the convenience store. The bright light reflecting off the linoleum flooring disoriented me at first, causing me to stop in the entrance and wait for my eyes to adjust.The clerk was a kindly old lady who often saw me in the store after school buying candy and soft drinks. She immediately noticed my distress and ushered me behind the counter. I still remember her frizzy white hair and blue-green eyes that seemed to twinkle when she smiled. She was one of the few people who I believe to be an angel set on earth. That day she set me in a chair behind the counter and listened to my story. Soon, I had a cup of hot chocolate in hand and a soft warm hug. I remember her words as she let my tears soak her blouse.

"Hon, there ain't no reason why a smart boy like you need to be on the streets. You tell me who to call. You got a grandma right?"

My family was estranged from the rest of the clan, so I shook my head slowly. My tears had dried and I was suddenly overcome with an emotional numbness. Everything seemed surreal. Colors where muted and my eyes hurt. I was well into the throes of shock.

"Ain't no thing. You got a friend? Someone you can stay with?"

My head spun, and my heart skipped a beat. I did have a friend! Not only that but a good friend who just weeks earlier, while spending the night, had offered his home. "If, ya know, you need to get out."

I couldn't believe my stupidity. Here I was cold, sobbing and depressed when I had someone who was only a phone call away. I nodded and soon I was on the phone with Bobby. Bobby was the type of kid everyone wanted to be like. He was fifteen, two whole years older than me, lived with his mom who had cancer and had already dropped out of school to help with his mom's sickness. He was the definition of cool. Not only that but he had a car. His mother couldn't drive and despite not being able to get a license for a whole year, he was the exclusive driver of his family.

"Bobby, Dude. I need a place to stay.'' I conspiratorially whispered into the phone shooting glances at the patrons in the line.

I heard a sigh on the other end. "Hold on man." The phone was set down and I heard talking on the other end. Although I couldn't make out the words, I knew from the tone Bobby was arguing with his mom. I held my breath in fear that he couldn't do it. What would I do then? Walk back home and deal with the consequences? I was sure this time they would kill me. Only a few moments had passed before the rustle of the phone brought my attention back to the present.

"Yeah man, you can stay here a few weeks. Where are you?"
I breathed a deep sigh of relief and gave him directions to the store. He couldn't figure out where exactly I was so I agreed to meet him on a corner about twelve blocks down. I quickly thanked the lady, grabbed my things and headed back out into the rain. Luckily, I found a shopping cart in the parking lot and was soon pushing my stuff down the street in it. I took a long time reaching the pick up point, but Bobby still wasn't there. I waited for about another fifteen minutes before he pulled up in his rust colored beetle, a cloud of smoke belching from the exhaust. I put my soaked bag in the back seat and settled into the front. Bobby leaned over and switched the Pantera song off before pulling away.

"Details?" He enquired softly as he lit up a cigarette then offered it to me. I took it from him and dragged a long tendril of smoke into my lungs.

"Not much to tell man, I just left." Bobby simply nodded sagely and lit his own cigarette. "Watcha gonna do about it? Like, you gonna stick around school?" He rolled down his window a crack. "I mean, you're smart man. You could make it in school."

I just shrugged; it was far too early to start thinking about my future. I was just beginning to warm up and my stomach was complaining loudly. "I dunno, I'll probably stick with it." It was the only thing I could think of as a reply. "You think we could stop somewhere and eat?"

Three minutes later we sat in Denny's waiting for our food. Bobby kept questioning me as I sipped my cappuccino. What would I do for money? How would I feed myself? The questions continued up until our food arrived. I began to eat ravenously. The stress of the past few hours had driven me to near exhaustion. When I was done, Bobby looked at me with a smile on his face.

"I got it man, You could work for my uncle with me. Strictly on the down low." He crushed the cigarette he had been smoking and stood up before I had a chance to reply. "It's settled then, you'll crash with me, then after school we'll go fix up pool decks and shit."

That first night I couldn't sleep. Bobby's house had a guest bedroom that sat on a corner in the house. All the rooms where connected by a long hallway and it was easy to hear when a person coughed or moved down the hallway. Bobby's mom cried at night and Bobby sat with her the whole time. It was my first experience with cancer but not my last. I remember feeling a terrible ache for her that shadowed my own pain from being away from home. Once the medication took hold she finally quieted and I drifted off into a troubled and fitful sleep.

Over the next few months, I juggled school and work. In the mornings, I would go to school attend my classes. When noon came, I would ditch P.E and head out to the job site. The job required me to smooth concrete as it was poured. It was terrible on the back and the knees despite the back brace and kneepads Bobby's uncle provided. I was paid thirty bucks a day, not bad considering I was fourteen and had no bills. Most of my money went to helping Bobby take care of his mom. What little I had left I hid inside the mattress of my bed. I was saving it for my own place. I foolishly thought that I could rent an apartment at my age.

When I finally moved into my own place I would spend the next four years battling with suicidal depression, alcoholism, drug use, promiscuity and dead end jobs. It wasn't until I was contacted regarding a storyline script that my life began to straighten out. Soon I was starting my own game development studio, promoting and managing independent musicians and as of this moment creating a specialized social network for musicians.
People often pity me when they learn of my past, the abuse, the loneliness and the hardships. What those people fail to understand is that my past is the direct cause of allowing me to begin catching up with my dreams.