My 10th grade has already started. Students were all going to school, meeting up with their friends whom they haven’t seen all summer, meeting their teachers for the first time. All except a select few. I think I’m one of those select few.
The dugout is my class, my new teacher, it’s my way of learning. There’s no easy way of learning the things you need to learn, not in my world. Who needs classes? Who needed teachers? I didn’t. I just needed my new friends and their teachings.
I learned a lot. I learned how to take a proper hit off of a joint. I learned when you took a hit off of a joint, you held it in, then released the smoke. I learned how to use a bong, taking the hit the same way as you would a joint. I learned you got a much bigger hit with a bong than with a joint. I was learning so much. I learned you only had to go to two classes a day, to be marked as ‘ in school’. So I was in school, right? Wrong! So that’s what they said to my grandmother during a conference. “Patty is NOT attending school, she is failing.”
Life goes on with my teachers, until I finally stopped going to those dreaded to classes, the ones that marked me as, in school.
Now I’m learning other things like, how to drop acid. I was never a fast learner, I had to get ripped off a few times to learn the correct way to do that. I’m learning these people, my so-called friends are not my real friends. They are people just like me. ‘LONERS’. I learned, you find another more reliable person to buy from. I learned don’t buy liquid acid that’s been put on sugar cubes, it’s more than likely JUST sugar cubes.
Once again, i am learning. Learning so much stuff I can take out to the real world as an adult. NOT! I’m learning how to be street smart.
“If only I could turn back time.” I can’t? so I won’t try. My life still at 47 will move forward.
Yet for now, my learnings continue. Oregon and my new friends continue to teach me. But all good teachings must come to an end and they did. I ended it about one week before Thanksgiving.
I came home to my grandparents early one morning after they had stayed up worrying about me. I sat down at the kitchen table with them and explained to them, I had to go back to California. I told them the truth, I said I was doing more things in Oregon to get me into trouble than I was when I left my home State. Plus, I didn’t want them to continue to have grief. Grief from their granddaughter. The three of us agreed. Now it was time to get Kathy on board. She would be the tough one, she was the decision maker. She was the HNiC. :I can’t fully remember what she said, all I know is I went back, back to my small hell: On another bus trip back to my old friends, back to California.
Get back home to my living hell, with her. Life isn’t everything that it could be. Now I’m missing my boyfriend. I talk to him daily for about four months. Just small chit chat, telling him I miss him, telling him I haven’t had my period. WHAT? YOU HAVEN’T HAD A PERIOD AND YOUR ONLY 15? Oh lord please save me. I can’t be pregnant.
I’M PREGNANT! Still in denial, yet I’m getting bigger in my belly, not a whole lot, but I am gaining weight.
I tried ridding myself of this pregnancy. I tried with a metal hanger and I just couldn’t do it right. Because over the coarse of two months I got bigger. I still haven’t told Kathy and I have no plans to tell her I’m pregnant.. She had to have known something, but she never let on. Eventually her and I were at each other and I ran away. I ran away to my girlfriends house. I wasn’t there very long before Kathy came and got me or I came home after talking to her.
She found out I was pregnant! Pregnant with her first grandchild.
It wasn’t your typical pregnancy. There was nothing typical about this whole situation.
My whole life nothing was typical and I mean NOTHING!
Feeling No connection
Feeling pregnant at 15
I am Patty