Dark Secrets

We all have secrets, some more shocking than others, some lame beyond stupidity. We all tell lies. Little white lies, medium brown lies and huge black lies. But a lie is a lie and we don’t want anyone else to know that we have lied.

I learned to lie at a very young age from my father, my father that convinced me that if I told the truth about what went on in our house that people would blame me, punish me, take me away to a horrible place.

The first time I remember telling a lie was when I was about ten years old. I fell on the playground. I fell from the top of the jungle gym breaking my arm. The nurse made me remove my long sleeved shirt to examine my arm. She asked me about the bruises covering my back and sides. I told her I fell a lot.

Not being able to contact my dad to take me to the hospital, she took me herself. She and the doctor stood in the corner whispering and glancing at me. They didn’t believe me. They were going to take me away and punish me.

I jumped down from the bed and took off running, leaving my shirt behind. I found a closet and ran in, crying with the pain in my arm. I don’t know how long I sat there. When the door opened, I resigned myself to take what I had coming to me.

It was a black teenage boy with his finger to his swollen lips. He looked around, coming in, closing the door behind him. I tried to shrink into the corner, but could go no further.

He shook his head, placing his hands in front of him. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a Coke, gently cracking the top on it and handing it to me. He pulled out some cookies and opened them, laying them by my foot.

He took off his jacket and removed his T-shirt, twisting it from neck to hem. I couldn’t help but stare at the thick wide scars racing across his chest and stomach. He signaled that he wanted to wrap the shirt around me. I don’t know why, but I trusted that he would not hurt me.

He bent my arm at the elbow across my chest and tied the shirt around me, securing my arm. The pain instantly eased up. He smiled a crooked smile, the best he could with two busted lips. Gently stroking my face, he kissed me. He ran his hand down my broken arm to my leg and rubbed between them. Then he was gone. I’ve never seen him again.

I was eventually found, as was my father. A lot of lying later, we left the hospital. My broken arm was nothing compared to what I got when we got home.

I soon learned to be very careful of everything I did, watched every step and every word. I became a loner, always stayed in the background, never letting anyone in. Never spoke unless absolutely necessary.

Out of boredom, I took up shoplifting. Never once got caught. In high school I graduated to stealing cars right out of the school parking lot, then I would gather with the others and watch the poor sucker cry that their parents were going to kill them.

If only I were so lucky.

If I came home late, I would get a beating. At sixteen, I quit coming home. I found abandoned buildings with open arms inviting me in for the night. Whenever I saw a cop, I would duck in an alley or store and watch them drive by.

I had just lifted supper for the night when I saw a woman pumping her gas. I watched her go in to pay and I took my chance. I jumped in and had the car wired in ten seconds flat, I sped away with a hot dog dangling from my teeth.

I laughed like a crazy woman, jacking the radio up and singing along with a mouthful of hot dog. I had been wanting to do this for a long time, and I did. One more slash in my book of adventures.

I drove for hours, keeping an eye behind me.

I had no idea where I was going, just going forward. The adrenaline wore off and I started looking for signs indicating a town close by. I finally pulled into a bustling city. It was crazy even so late at night. I found a good place to park and left the car sitting.

I finally found a building under construction and made my way in, nesting down in a corner and calling it a night. The next morning, the voices of the men preparing for work woke me up, and I slipped out the back unnoticed.

I walked around for hours scoping out places that would be good targets. Finding a few, I went to work. I lifted a change of clothes, even snagging a store bag on the way out to put them in.

Next, I hit a small grocer, I even smiled and greeted the clerk who would rather be anywhere but here. I snagged a summer sausage and a block of cheddar cheese, shoving them down my pants. I have even come up with some fake brands of food, that they did not carry, of course. Using it as an excuse for not buying anything.

I found a park with benches and found one away from everyone, retrieving my lunch and a small pen knife. Stomach full, I stretched out on the bench for a quickie nap in the sun.

A loud rapping on the bench had me bolt straight up. I looked up into the face of a cop. He told me with a smile that I couldn’t be sleeping there. I smiled sweetly and told him I just couldn’t resist the beautiful warmth of the sun.

And that’s how I lived my life from one day to the next.

One night I was resting on a bus bench trying to figure out where I was going to sleep that night. This town was packed up pretty tight.

A car rolled to a stop and the window rolled down. A man called out asking me if I was interested in a little fun. I looked at him and his car. I had never hooked before, but hey, another slash in my book of adventures. And if I could get a couple of bucks, what the hell.

It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I’ve heard horror stories about how these women get mistreated by the john and their pimps. Maybe it’s something I could do out of sheer necessity.

I rented a room that night and took a long hot bath, washing my clothes. I can’t remember the last time I had a real bath, not rough ass paper towels and hand soap in a bathroom somewhere. The bed was heavenly, although I could have done without the cockroaches.

The next slash in my book was by accident, but I own up to what I did. I was with a client, everything was going good until he reneged on the pre-arranged price. He wanted to cut me by half. I was not going to let him take my fucking money!

We scuffled and he punched me. When the stars cleared, I dove for my bag and pulled out an eight inch blade, slashing at whatever I could hit. Lucky for me it was across his gut. The fat bastard won’t die from it. But then again.

I found his keys.

I cleaned him out for everything he had, even the change and an open pack of Dentyne chewing gum. I quickly washed up, got dressed and popped two pieces of gum in my mouth. I looked down at him and smiled, told him thank you and walked out. The car wasn’t anything fancy, but it wasn’t a piece of shit either.

I slipped in and slipped away.

I no longer slept in abandoned buildings or cars. I was able to make enough hooking to keep me off the streets and actually buy things, although old habits are hard to break.

I always stayed on the move, never in one place more than a couple of days. I never knew where I was going, just going.

Everything becomes easier, the lifting, stealing cars, the lying. It’s all second nature now.

I have often thought about buying a car, but I would need a drivers license, it would need to be registered to get tags, and someone could ID it as being me. A risk I can’t take.

So, I get the cars the easy way.