Stripped of Innocence, chapter 1
Riding this subway at 11 p.m at night ain't so comforting. The hot subway cart sped past gray, lonely walls, left to rot like the rest of this world. I looked out the large window next to me; trying to tune out the bums moaning helplessly in their sleep, amongst their own throw up. I then realized when the trolley stopped, that I'm not in a subway in New York. But in Oakland, California. Thousands of miles away from my "family" and my hometown. I didn't know exactly where I was going, but I'm glad I ended up in sunny California, after hitchhiking most of my way to nowhere.
Tapping an imaginary beat on my thighs, I thought of a song that made me want to cry even more. I've cried my whole way to California and I knew there was no way to stop me now. The words of the song were enough to kill me in the state of mind I was in already. I shut my eyes, causing more tears to roll down my flushed cheeks. My face stung from the small action of closing my eyes. Flashbacks of flailing fists meeting my face, made me bruised and cut face ache even more. The doors of the bus opened but all the sounds of heavy breathing from him clouded my hearing senses. I realized I was holding on to the seats rather tightly, when I glanced down and saw my knuckles white.
I smelled a soft perfume fill my nostrils as a woman with dreadlocks and all black clothing passed my 17-year-old body. I wish I could be bold and have the courage to dress like her, in her combat boots and layered black skirt. With the way she walked with such confidence, nose held high, but not in a snotty way. My whole life I have been safe. Too safe rebel, to be different, and to even curse. I have never even broken the law, and I was straightedge. Even with all the bad things that happened in my life, I stayed completely sober, and amiable. I snapped out of my thoughts when I heard her backtrack a few steps so she was standing in the isle, in front of me. She looked down at me, her head tilted to the side as if she were a dog interested in something over their heads. I kept my stare at my hands that were folded nicely in my lap, knowing if I made any sort of contact, it might initiate some kind of conversation.
"You ok, sweets? You look like bloody hell," her voice sang to me. I looked up with tears falling, and my brown stringy hair falling in my eyes, trying to hide the still dark bruises.
"I'm fine. I...really...I am," I stuttered, I just met this young lady, but she seemed like a pretty easy-going person. I won't see her ever again, but the thought of never seeing her agonized me. The bus times stop in about 30 minutes, and I'm sure she'll walk away after this. I'm actually praying she'll just leave so I'm not stuck explaining any of my past. She lifted my head up toward her deep eyes. Grabbing the hair that was in my eyes, she brushed it far behind my ear, reveling all the pain of two men's fists, and another woman's words. She gasped and covered her mouth with the opposite hand. Her eyes traveled along the dry bloody cuts that I had tried to clean, and the purple and yellow bruises that made-up my face. I tried to turn my head away, but she would have nothing of it. Her eyes as big as saucers, she choked on the right words to say.
"What? Oh Jesus...Sweet fuck-" she was cut off by the angry bus driver screaming.
"Sit down or get OUT!" he shouted in a deep, groggily voice, sounding familiar to a grizzly bear just waking up.
She let go of my hair quickly, and turned to the bus driver within seconds. "You can fucking wait, you dickweed! Can't you see we are having an E-fucking-motional moment here! Jesus Christ Man!" she wailed. Sitting down in the seat in front of me, she spun around like a child on a sugar high. Her eyes turned from rageful to sympathetic.
"Sorry 'bout that. But us ladies have to stick up to the asshole men in the world," she chuckled. I smiled a half smile to show her I got the joke, but sorrow engulfed my face, as I knew that it was hard to stick up to men.
"So, what's up?" she asked cheerfully probably trying to perk me up out of my sullen appearance. I kept the stare at my lap and just shook my head no.
"Not one for words are we?" she asked jokingly with a nice smirk across her pale face. I shook my head once more.
The only reason I didn't talk that much was because my voice was all messed up from having an eating disorder, in result hurting my throat. Now, I'm 'pleasantly' plump and don't think I will ever be skinny like all the half-naked girls I see. I didn't want to let it hang out, but I wanted to be comfortable with my weight.
"Why don't you talk much?" she bugged on.
"Because my voice is raspy, and I get told a lot that I sound like a smoker of 20 years. Get made fun of." I suddenly spilled out to this stranger.
She nodded,"I actually think it adds character. Usually these bastards that these monotone voices that make 'em sound like fucking robots. So wanna tell me what happened to your face? And your arms? AND your neck? AND your ankle?" she said gesturing to each body part, making the list seem like it goes on forever.
Should I tell her? She seemed harmless?
I still shook my head no, slowly, being ashamed.
"Do you want to write it down then?" she asked, making me feel like a child she had to deal with. I shrugged and looked down at my brown messenger bag, pulling out pen and paper.
I wrote first: Promise you won't pity me?
She looked at the paper and replied, "Of course, sweetie. But I want to help as much as I can."
With that, I began writing fast, letting out all my emotions of what happened to get me all the way in California.
It read:
Well, my father was an alcoholic and left my mom and me when I was 4. I grew up thinking I didn't actually have a dad, and somehow, magically, my mother conceived me on her own. When I turned 16, my father tried to get into my life, whether he was drunk or sober when he made that stupid decision, I don't want to know. But between the gap of 4 and 16, my life was utter hell. My mom brought home new men every week. Her and her boyfriends would rape me on a regular 3-day basis. Sometimes everyday of the week. My mom was also a heavy alcoholic and was never home unless it was to sexually violate me or verbally abuse me. Well, like I said, my father tried to come back into my life at 16. I had had a "boyfriend" at the time, that treated me terribly.
I was at his house and he tried to force me into giving him a blowjob. I refused so he started beating me. I got away for a moment and ran home. He had gotten in his car and hit me with it when I was right in front of my house. My dad was in the garage, discussing something with my mother drunkenly, when my boyfriend hit me. My boyfriend sat on top of me and punched me hard in the face. I was nearly unconscious as my parents watched him kick, punch and touch my bloody, cold body. When he was done with me, my parents stood around me, laughing like hyenas. My mom kicked me hard in the stomach and hissed at me about being useless. My father then proceeded to shove his penis down my throat as I lay there, silently crying. I woke up next with rain pattering down on my fragile body. It hurt so badly, and I remember it all. All of it.
After the woman with the dreadlocks read it, we were both in tears. Hers reading pity, mine reading physical and emotion pain everywhere in my body. Her mouth hung open as she re-reads my past summarized on one small page. She looked speechless and paralyzed to her spot, as if terrified it might happen to her somehow. I told a complete stranger about my troubled life, but it felt incredible to let go of.
She stumbled on the right words to say. "I...fuck...You poor thing. I know I said I wouldn't pity you, but no one deserves that. Especially you, you seem like such a sweet girl. Fucking A, I wish I could fucking kill those fucking pricks. All 3 of 'me." She shook her head as she ranted about something that seemed impossible. She wiped away her tears, me wishing I could wipe my own away so I didn't look so bad.
"So are you moving here? And staying?" she asked as if she could tell I needed a new subject to discuss. I smiled as if to silently thank her.
I shrugged. "I guess, I don't want to hitch-hike this country anymore."
"Where are you originally from?"
"New York," I answered back without hesitation. She nodded as if she knew that already.
"How old are you? Because you look old as fuck not in a bad way. You just look very mature." She rambled.
"I'm only 17. Turning 18 in a couple of months. How old are you?"
"20," she answered simply. I nodded. She had made me talk quite a bit more than usual. And I was talking to a complete stranger, something new and apart from my anti-social behavior.
"So, What's your name?" I heard myself ask; as I was very interested in the first person I've held a conversation with in a few years.
"My name's Adrienne, but everybody calls me Adie. You?" she inquired.
I opened my mouth to speak but the smelly bus driver yelled, "End of the line! Now get off my damn BUS!"
I shoved my pen and the paper I wrote on into my bag while Adrienne told the bus driver to suck it and we would be off in a second. I hoped she would rub off on me after this short encounter, after all she was outspoken and knew how to take care of herself. I gently threw my bag over my shoulders, and fixed the old grey hoodie I had on. As we walked passed the bus driver, Adrienne gave him a death glare and the bird. I giggled lightly to myself. Wow, this was new. The first time a mere chuckle escaped my lips in years.
Stepping off the ledge of the bus, I stood on the sidewalk and took in my surroundings. The cold night air stung my skin through my jacket as the salt infested wind filled my body. My hair loosely flew into my face, but I didn't move my fingers to fix it as I was paralyzed with hope and fear. Adrienne stood beside me, as if she were taking it in for the first time as well. I smiled as I realized the change I was here for, but thinking about what laid ahead of me in my new life frightened me. Miss Safe finally stepped out and did something slightly rebellious, and she was already regretting it?
"Love the slums," Adrienne spoke, shattering the peaceful silence of any living life. I nodded as a frown formed its way across my broken face. I realized I had to find a clean, decent hotel to stay in for the night or until I know what I'm going to do in Oakland. This place was the opposite. Bums every 10 feet. Empty alcohol bottles. In a weird way, it made me feel safe. It felt like hope. I turned and looked across the street to see no sight of a hotel. I sighed and turned to Adrienne.
"Know any good hotels?" she pondered for a moment then said, "Ah...Yes. Hotel El Adie and Boyfriend Billie Joe. Nice place." She linked arms with me and winked.
"Shall we?" She said formally. I smiled a small smile, almost blushing.
"I don't want to burden, Adrienne. It enough that you listened to my problems. I don't want my depression to affect you any.
She started walking down the streets of lights, leading me to somewhere I've never known. Our shadows cast eerie signs of life across the forbidden street.
"Oh, no problem meh dear! We have a shitload of room. It's like a fucking apartment. And my husband is working on a new album that I'm sure as fuck will give us some dough." she said nearly bouncing in place as we turned a corner. I peered deep into the distance to see a dead end in our future.
"I never got your name, Mystery Chick?" she chuckled.
"Oh sorry. My name's Noelle. But people can't seem to remember that, so you can call me whatever you want. My parents called me, 'Girl'," I stated sadly drooping my head lower.
"We'll fix your nickname. But I think Noelle is a kickass name. Like...Christmas."
I let out a laugh, I've heard that many times. "Adrienne, you have no idea what you're doing for me. Thank you so much. Letting me stay with you and listening to my problems. And you got me talking more. I can never thank you enough." I said gratefully.
She turned as we were walking and gave me a side hug, being gentle as she knew I was still fragile. "Of course hun."
We walked in silence arms relinked, warming only the small part of our inner arms. I smelled chemicals of surrounding power plants from Rodeo that I caught a glimpse of on the way here. I studied my surrounding as we entered a small middle class neighborhood. It really reminded me of my old neighborhood in NY, apart from the music blaring from each house. This would be my new home for now. As far as I know, this could be my present, future, and forever.
She led me up a houses walkway, brown paint on the wooden planks chipping off, weeds growing up the side of the house, and the grass up to our ankles. I surprisingly loved it. As we neared the door, I heard a guys squeaky voice say," Hey, fuck you Mike!" followed by fits of laughter.
We stopped in front of the door as Adie's arm fell out of my own. "Ok, someone really nice lives here. Well, two not counting Billie. But a certain one I think you'll like a lot. He can make the pope laugh about someone dying. I haven't met someone funnier than him. You're going to love him. His name is Frank, but everybody calls him Tre."
Tapping an imaginary beat on my thighs, I thought of a song that made me want to cry even more. I've cried my whole way to California and I knew there was no way to stop me now. The words of the song were enough to kill me in the state of mind I was in already. I shut my eyes, causing more tears to roll down my flushed cheeks. My face stung from the small action of closing my eyes. Flashbacks of flailing fists meeting my face, made me bruised and cut face ache even more. The doors of the bus opened but all the sounds of heavy breathing from him clouded my hearing senses. I realized I was holding on to the seats rather tightly, when I glanced down and saw my knuckles white.
I smelled a soft perfume fill my nostrils as a woman with dreadlocks and all black clothing passed my 17-year-old body. I wish I could be bold and have the courage to dress like her, in her combat boots and layered black skirt. With the way she walked with such confidence, nose held high, but not in a snotty way. My whole life I have been safe. Too safe rebel, to be different, and to even curse. I have never even broken the law, and I was straightedge. Even with all the bad things that happened in my life, I stayed completely sober, and amiable. I snapped out of my thoughts when I heard her backtrack a few steps so she was standing in the isle, in front of me. She looked down at me, her head tilted to the side as if she were a dog interested in something over their heads. I kept my stare at my hands that were folded nicely in my lap, knowing if I made any sort of contact, it might initiate some kind of conversation.
"You ok, sweets? You look like bloody hell," her voice sang to me. I looked up with tears falling, and my brown stringy hair falling in my eyes, trying to hide the still dark bruises.
"I'm fine. I...really...I am," I stuttered, I just met this young lady, but she seemed like a pretty easy-going person. I won't see her ever again, but the thought of never seeing her agonized me. The bus times stop in about 30 minutes, and I'm sure she'll walk away after this. I'm actually praying she'll just leave so I'm not stuck explaining any of my past. She lifted my head up toward her deep eyes. Grabbing the hair that was in my eyes, she brushed it far behind my ear, reveling all the pain of two men's fists, and another woman's words. She gasped and covered her mouth with the opposite hand. Her eyes traveled along the dry bloody cuts that I had tried to clean, and the purple and yellow bruises that made-up my face. I tried to turn my head away, but she would have nothing of it. Her eyes as big as saucers, she choked on the right words to say.
"What? Oh Jesus...Sweet fuck-" she was cut off by the angry bus driver screaming.
"Sit down or get OUT!" he shouted in a deep, groggily voice, sounding familiar to a grizzly bear just waking up.
She let go of my hair quickly, and turned to the bus driver within seconds. "You can fucking wait, you dickweed! Can't you see we are having an E-fucking-motional moment here! Jesus Christ Man!" she wailed. Sitting down in the seat in front of me, she spun around like a child on a sugar high. Her eyes turned from rageful to sympathetic.
"Sorry 'bout that. But us ladies have to stick up to the asshole men in the world," she chuckled. I smiled a half smile to show her I got the joke, but sorrow engulfed my face, as I knew that it was hard to stick up to men.
"So, what's up?" she asked cheerfully probably trying to perk me up out of my sullen appearance. I kept the stare at my lap and just shook my head no.
"Not one for words are we?" she asked jokingly with a nice smirk across her pale face. I shook my head once more.
The only reason I didn't talk that much was because my voice was all messed up from having an eating disorder, in result hurting my throat. Now, I'm 'pleasantly' plump and don't think I will ever be skinny like all the half-naked girls I see. I didn't want to let it hang out, but I wanted to be comfortable with my weight.
"Why don't you talk much?" she bugged on.
"Because my voice is raspy, and I get told a lot that I sound like a smoker of 20 years. Get made fun of." I suddenly spilled out to this stranger.
She nodded,"I actually think it adds character. Usually these bastards that these monotone voices that make 'em sound like fucking robots. So wanna tell me what happened to your face? And your arms? AND your neck? AND your ankle?" she said gesturing to each body part, making the list seem like it goes on forever.
Should I tell her? She seemed harmless?
I still shook my head no, slowly, being ashamed.
"Do you want to write it down then?" she asked, making me feel like a child she had to deal with. I shrugged and looked down at my brown messenger bag, pulling out pen and paper.
I wrote first: Promise you won't pity me?
She looked at the paper and replied, "Of course, sweetie. But I want to help as much as I can."
With that, I began writing fast, letting out all my emotions of what happened to get me all the way in California.
It read:
Well, my father was an alcoholic and left my mom and me when I was 4. I grew up thinking I didn't actually have a dad, and somehow, magically, my mother conceived me on her own. When I turned 16, my father tried to get into my life, whether he was drunk or sober when he made that stupid decision, I don't want to know. But between the gap of 4 and 16, my life was utter hell. My mom brought home new men every week. Her and her boyfriends would rape me on a regular 3-day basis. Sometimes everyday of the week. My mom was also a heavy alcoholic and was never home unless it was to sexually violate me or verbally abuse me. Well, like I said, my father tried to come back into my life at 16. I had had a "boyfriend" at the time, that treated me terribly.
I was at his house and he tried to force me into giving him a blowjob. I refused so he started beating me. I got away for a moment and ran home. He had gotten in his car and hit me with it when I was right in front of my house. My dad was in the garage, discussing something with my mother drunkenly, when my boyfriend hit me. My boyfriend sat on top of me and punched me hard in the face. I was nearly unconscious as my parents watched him kick, punch and touch my bloody, cold body. When he was done with me, my parents stood around me, laughing like hyenas. My mom kicked me hard in the stomach and hissed at me about being useless. My father then proceeded to shove his penis down my throat as I lay there, silently crying. I woke up next with rain pattering down on my fragile body. It hurt so badly, and I remember it all. All of it.
After the woman with the dreadlocks read it, we were both in tears. Hers reading pity, mine reading physical and emotion pain everywhere in my body. Her mouth hung open as she re-reads my past summarized on one small page. She looked speechless and paralyzed to her spot, as if terrified it might happen to her somehow. I told a complete stranger about my troubled life, but it felt incredible to let go of.
She stumbled on the right words to say. "I...fuck...You poor thing. I know I said I wouldn't pity you, but no one deserves that. Especially you, you seem like such a sweet girl. Fucking A, I wish I could fucking kill those fucking pricks. All 3 of 'me." She shook her head as she ranted about something that seemed impossible. She wiped away her tears, me wishing I could wipe my own away so I didn't look so bad.
"So are you moving here? And staying?" she asked as if she could tell I needed a new subject to discuss. I smiled as if to silently thank her.
I shrugged. "I guess, I don't want to hitch-hike this country anymore."
"Where are you originally from?"
"New York," I answered back without hesitation. She nodded as if she knew that already.
"How old are you? Because you look old as fuck not in a bad way. You just look very mature." She rambled.
"I'm only 17. Turning 18 in a couple of months. How old are you?"
"20," she answered simply. I nodded. She had made me talk quite a bit more than usual. And I was talking to a complete stranger, something new and apart from my anti-social behavior.
"So, What's your name?" I heard myself ask; as I was very interested in the first person I've held a conversation with in a few years.
"My name's Adrienne, but everybody calls me Adie. You?" she inquired.
I opened my mouth to speak but the smelly bus driver yelled, "End of the line! Now get off my damn BUS!"
I shoved my pen and the paper I wrote on into my bag while Adrienne told the bus driver to suck it and we would be off in a second. I hoped she would rub off on me after this short encounter, after all she was outspoken and knew how to take care of herself. I gently threw my bag over my shoulders, and fixed the old grey hoodie I had on. As we walked passed the bus driver, Adrienne gave him a death glare and the bird. I giggled lightly to myself. Wow, this was new. The first time a mere chuckle escaped my lips in years.
Stepping off the ledge of the bus, I stood on the sidewalk and took in my surroundings. The cold night air stung my skin through my jacket as the salt infested wind filled my body. My hair loosely flew into my face, but I didn't move my fingers to fix it as I was paralyzed with hope and fear. Adrienne stood beside me, as if she were taking it in for the first time as well. I smiled as I realized the change I was here for, but thinking about what laid ahead of me in my new life frightened me. Miss Safe finally stepped out and did something slightly rebellious, and she was already regretting it?
"Love the slums," Adrienne spoke, shattering the peaceful silence of any living life. I nodded as a frown formed its way across my broken face. I realized I had to find a clean, decent hotel to stay in for the night or until I know what I'm going to do in Oakland. This place was the opposite. Bums every 10 feet. Empty alcohol bottles. In a weird way, it made me feel safe. It felt like hope. I turned and looked across the street to see no sight of a hotel. I sighed and turned to Adrienne.
"Know any good hotels?" she pondered for a moment then said, "Ah...Yes. Hotel El Adie and Boyfriend Billie Joe. Nice place." She linked arms with me and winked.
"Shall we?" She said formally. I smiled a small smile, almost blushing.
"I don't want to burden, Adrienne. It enough that you listened to my problems. I don't want my depression to affect you any.
She started walking down the streets of lights, leading me to somewhere I've never known. Our shadows cast eerie signs of life across the forbidden street.
"Oh, no problem meh dear! We have a shitload of room. It's like a fucking apartment. And my husband is working on a new album that I'm sure as fuck will give us some dough." she said nearly bouncing in place as we turned a corner. I peered deep into the distance to see a dead end in our future.
"I never got your name, Mystery Chick?" she chuckled.
"Oh sorry. My name's Noelle. But people can't seem to remember that, so you can call me whatever you want. My parents called me, 'Girl'," I stated sadly drooping my head lower.
"We'll fix your nickname. But I think Noelle is a kickass name. Like...Christmas."
I let out a laugh, I've heard that many times. "Adrienne, you have no idea what you're doing for me. Thank you so much. Letting me stay with you and listening to my problems. And you got me talking more. I can never thank you enough." I said gratefully.
She turned as we were walking and gave me a side hug, being gentle as she knew I was still fragile. "Of course hun."
We walked in silence arms relinked, warming only the small part of our inner arms. I smelled chemicals of surrounding power plants from Rodeo that I caught a glimpse of on the way here. I studied my surrounding as we entered a small middle class neighborhood. It really reminded me of my old neighborhood in NY, apart from the music blaring from each house. This would be my new home for now. As far as I know, this could be my present, future, and forever.
She led me up a houses walkway, brown paint on the wooden planks chipping off, weeds growing up the side of the house, and the grass up to our ankles. I surprisingly loved it. As we neared the door, I heard a guys squeaky voice say," Hey, fuck you Mike!" followed by fits of laughter.
We stopped in front of the door as Adie's arm fell out of my own. "Ok, someone really nice lives here. Well, two not counting Billie. But a certain one I think you'll like a lot. He can make the pope laugh about someone dying. I haven't met someone funnier than him. You're going to love him. His name is Frank, but everybody calls him Tre."
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