Locked Out

I was never good with keys, or mainly remembering keys. Of course, this changed once I began driving, but before that, I never really had a key for anything. My house has a push pad entry on the garage.

I never had a key.

This changed when I moved to Australia and lived with host families. The second family, to be more precise. The McFucks.

The war between myself and this family, or rather, their war against me, was well under way, but had not yet reached the vortex. It was brewing. Just under the surface. I was coming home from somewherethefuck. I cannot remember, nor is it particularly relevant, but it was around 9 o'clock at night. Not late.

It was pouring rain, as in, it was a Melbournian down pour of excessive force and volume, and I had forgotten my key. Where were the family McFuck, you ask? They were all sitting in the family room watching television together. The Mrs, the Mister, and THREE of their four adult children that still lived at home. Yes, THAT family.

I didn't feel it was nessessary to ring the doorbell, as their family room was right off the front door. They could see me, just as I could see them. Instead, I just lightly rattled my knuckles against the metal screen door. "Hello! Sorry, I forgot my key."

There was a paused silence and no one seemed to turn their head towards me. Then I heard Mr. McFuck yell from his recliner, "Well then, yew'd best rememba' it next time, now won'tcha? You, missy, need to learn ya lesson!"

What. The. Fuck?

They weren't getting up to let me in? No. No one.

It was raining. Hard. I was wearing a "water resistant" hooded jacket that was proving to be useless under these extreme circumstances. I was soaking. I didn't know what to say or what to do. I should have left; gone to a friend's house, but I was stunned. Frozen.

I turned around like a rusted tin man and sat on the wet cement porch. I could see the water flowing over the steps like a waterfall, but I didn't care. I could feel the cold water seep through my jeans and my underwear. I sat there and cried. It was an angry cry. Tears of hatred burned down my face and then crashed against the running rain water below like hot and cold cymbals.

I was there for over an hour before they let me in.

I don't know if I "learned my lesson" about remembering my keys, but I never again left the house without my fucking umbrella.

Happy Fuckin' New Year (Part B)

The climax at the house of horrors occurred after New Year’s Eve. I had returned home from spending it with friends and Burt was suspiciously in a good mood and wanted to know about my night. “Did you have a fun New Year’s Eve?” he questioned me with a smile.

“Yes, it was great, thank you.”

He continued, still smiling, “Did you toast in the New Year with some bubbly?”

Of course, I got absolutely shit-faced, but since drinking was against the rules, I would have never revealed that detail, yet still I stupidly replied, “Just a sip, ya know, for the toast.”

His smile instantly turned into an angry frown. “That’s it! You have crossed the final line!” (I was trying to think of the other lines I skipped to get to this final one.) “You are going to be on the next plane home! I am calling your counsellor right now!” It was so utterly bizarre that I wasn’t sure what just happened; it was like entrapment by Dr. Jeckle and Mr. Hyde. Margaret had the most despicable smirk on her face, as if watching her husband try and ruin my life turned her on. Luckily, my counsellor was amazing and was quick to extinguish the fire on that phone call. I could tell that Burt’s lack of power to have me sent home annoyed him to the greatest extent. He looked up at me and ended with, “You are grounded until further notice!”

About 2 long weeks had gone by – being grounded during school holidays was torture in that house, especially when Margaret was there ALL-THE-TIME, ready to degrade me whenever it suited her needs. I actually began to develop suicidal thoughts after awhile. I felt like those 4 months would never end and it would be easier to just kill myself. All I did was get up, eat, check the mailbox, and then go to my room to lay on my bed and stare at the ceiling; I had way too much time to think and I went a little nuts.

Did I mention it was my 17th birthday? Right... it didn't exist, really. Apart from my parents calling, I spent it in my room. My boyfriend delivered flower to the house, which was sweet, but I'm sure that was some kind of punishable offence as well.

After the third week, the student that had gone to my school back home (and became one of my good friends), was arriving home – which happened to be about 2 hours from where I was staying. I mentioned to Margaret that my friend was coming home and she actually sat down with me and helped me plan out how I was to get to my friend’s town. It was probably the only time Margaret ever showed interest in anything I did.

The morning came when I was to go; I had gotten ready early and was on my way out the door when Margaret cut me off. “WHERE THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?”

“To my friend’s welcome home party; it’s today.”

Her triple chin wobbled like a rooster as she yelled at me, “I never said you could ‘actually’ go! Get back to your room! You aren’t going anywhere today!”

WHAT THE FUCK? This woman was seriously sociopathic! I honestly thought that she must suffer from split personality disorder, or something! I couldn’t explain why she got off on being so evil to me. Something inside me snapped that moment. I didn’t get to go see my friend that day, but I did run out of the house and down the street. I could her Margaret yelling at me to get back in the house. She was so furious that her warbling voice was cracking. I needed to breathe fresh air. My heart was pounding and I couldn’t remember ever experiencing such anger and detest for anyone or anything before; it was over-whelming. It must have been a panic attack. After about 10 minutes of pacing around the block, I was able to calm down enough to return back to the house and go to my room. Margaret must have heard me return, as I slammed the door as hard as I possibly could, but she never came after me again... that day.

The week after that, school started and the last few weeks of my sentence with them went a lot quicker. When they delivered me to my next family, I couldn’t get out of the car fast enough. The new family offered them to stay for a coffee and my eyes widened in panic. Luckily, they declined and if was up to me, I would have never seen the pair of those fucked up people ever again in my entire life.

The drama with them didn’t end that day, however. Their vendetta against me continued long after I had left their house. Why? Where their lives that pathetic? Apparently so! When I was away on a school trip, they had gone behind my counsellor’s back and called an emergency meeting with the Board. They told the Board that I was a dangerous person that tried to stab them with a knife and threw furniture at them! I’m not exaggerating – these were real people! My counsellor had revealed all this drama to me after I returned from my trip. Luckily, only the two of them were insane, and the Board didn’t believe them, nor did they appreciate their sneaky methods by going over my counsellor’s head, but still – what was wrong with these people?!

I had to see Burt every week at the club meetings, but I only ever saw Margaret once more. It was at a dinner function and usually she was very calculated at hiding her true nature in public, but I guess she hated me so much that she slipped up this time. I was sitting at a circular table with 7 other adults from the club when she came over and forcefully flicked some letters right at my face - trying to physically hurt me with paper. With a tone of repugnance, she simply snarled, “Here’s your mail!” Everyone’s jaws at the table dropped in silence. FINALLY! It took her own doing, but finally there was proof (apart from the hearsay sobbing of a 16 year old) that this woman was deranged.

Sometimes I think that having to live with them was karma punishing me for falling in love with my host-brother at my previous house. Does it work that way? Who knows! What I did know was that no one knew about my relationship with Jim – not even my counsellor (at that point), so I still had no explanation as to why this certifiably insane couple agreed to take me in. I was going to mail them some pamphlets on schizophrenia as a joke, but I chickened out. I told my counsellor that what was done was done, but that he had to promise me that they would NEVER be allowed to host another student, NOT FUCKING EVER! He undoubtedly agreed.

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Re-posted for Wicked Wednesdays, Dec 29, 2010

A 4 Month Sentence (Part A)

They were technically my host-parents, but having the word ‘parent’ in the title is insulting to my real parents, and even the term ‘housemate’ implies that they were my friends; let’s just say they were people that I had the extreme misfortune of cohabitating with for the longest 4 months of my life. The husband, Burt, was of a medium build with bushy everything; his hair was so full it looked like an ill-fitted wig and his eyebrows and moustache appeared to be 3 giant hairy caterpillars that were devouring his face. Margaret was about 5 foot nothing in both directions – almost perfectly round – with a hooked nose and beady eyes. Even to look at them wasn’t a pleasurable experience.

The first thing they showed me was a framed photograph of a previous student that they had taken in a few years prior. They almost salivated when talking about her and pointing to the photo on the wall. It was particularly odd since I knew they had 4 grown children – to which none of them owned any photographic real estate on their walls. I should have known right then that I was never going to live up to this apparently perfect girl they had live with them previously. It was downhill from the moment I walked through the door.

The strange part was that I hadn’t even done anything to trigger the hatred that was focused upon me, except for being Canadian, apparently. Burt hated all things American – and to him, I was guilty by association. (Why they hell would you agree to take in a student from a part of the world you hate in the first place?!) I wasn’t allowed to watch anything on TV that was American, which didn’t really leave much to watch apart from ‘Neighbours’ and the Cricket. I think even hearing my accent angered him, because he would snap at me and cut me off mid-sentence whenever he got the chance. The ironic part was that he was the nicer one of the pair!

Margaret was the one that was home the most, and the one I would unfortunately have to go to for permission to do anything. After a few verbally abusive confrontations early on in my stay (for things as simple as asking for a ride to my basketball game), I quickly learned that I needed to give them at least 3-4 days notice if I required anything from them. Knowing that, this one instance I did give the allotted 4 days notice and it still wasn’t enough. Margaret huffed and grunted the entire way to the car, muttering angry things under her breath just enough that I couldn’t decipher it. After she squeezed herself into the car and we were about ½ way to the gym, I realized I miscalculated and was 5 cents short for my admission fee... 5 CENTS! Oh crap! I dreaded having to ask her, but I had no other choice.

“FIRST YOU MAKE ME DRIVE YOU ALL THE WAY TO YOUR GAME AND NOW YOU WANT ME TO GIVE YOU MONEY? WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? YOU THINK THE WHOLE DAMN WORLD REVOLVES AROUND YOU, MISSY, BUT IT DOESN’T! YOU ARE THE MOST SELFISH, UNGRATEFUL GIRL I HAVE EVER MET AND YOU DISGUST ME!”

I started to cry and I knew she was taking pleasure in that. She violently rummaged into her purse when we arrived at the sports’ complex and threw a 5 cent piece at my face. In defence, I turned my face away so it would hit my cheek and it fell to my lap. Can you believe it? I even said, “Thank you!”

There were parts of their home life that were fucked up long before I came around as well. The fridge was full of food that was all labelled as to whom it belonged to – even the fruit! Shockingly (sarcasm), nothing ever had my name on it. The only thing I was allowed to eat was what was put on my plate. I made the catastrophic mistake of drinking one of Margaret’s diet sodas one day – and she made me go and buy SIX to replace the ONE I drank.

I was stuck with this family during the worst part of the year – which included Christmas, New Years and my birthday. It was so depressing! I missed my mom so much! I shared a room with their second youngest daughter, who was 23, and she was a complete mental case as well – a whole other story! During the holidays, I spent as much time as possible at friends’ homes. One night I forgot my house key and although 4 of them were sitting in the living room watching TV, they made me sit on the porch for 2 hours to ‘teach me a lesson’; it was pouring rain.

to be continued...