The Fourteen Years War - 1992 - Volume III

This was also the time that my relationship with my parents grew rockier and rockier as they tried to rein me in as I was attempting to spread my wings and old issues popping up between my mom and I, I did start a short-lived downward spiral. I say short-lived because of two incidents. I had headed out early, stopping at Beki’s apartment, hit the water bong with her, her roommate, and her roommate’s boyfriend, then popped a few speed pills, drank a beer or two, and then went out dancing. I hit a joint behind the club with the bartender and proceeded to drink even more beer and probably a few B-52's. Had a few more pills, toked up, had a few more beers. By quitting time, I was trashed, but eerily sober, somber, and paranoid. AZ was working midnight shift at the radio station, and although I had often snuck into the other radio station to sit with him, not to mention that little tryst in the sound-proof room, this was a different story. I called him from the bus station crying, practically hysterical, because I couldn’t find him. He ordered me to get back in my car, lock the doors, and drive forthwith to his apartment and wait for him there. The bus station at 4 a.m. dressed like an 80's band whore, not exactly my glowing moment. Did I mention it was snowing? Did I mention how short my hot pants were? Did I mention I didn’t have a jacket? I did make it to AZ’s house in one piece, now more than just upset but also terrified because I had freaked out. It had to be hard for AZ to wait out his shift, not knowing whether I had actually made it to his place or not. It was I who was bleary eyed and disheveled as he angrily jerked up on the door handle of my car and then strode away in the pre-dawn light. It was cold and I was shaking from chills and coming down whatever I had put in my body that night. One of his friends came by and they talked while I shivered and dozed on the couch. Eventually, his friend left and AZ practically picked me up off the couch and carried me to the bed. He was angry and had basically let me lay on the couch shivering as penance. He didn’t say a whole lot but I knew he was upset and that bothered me. Fast forward a couple of weeks. Almost same scenario, I just didn’t call him this time. I was just asleep in my car when he got home from work. The same angry jerk on the door handle, this time, more vocal, as in, “Get your ass out of the car and into the house. Have you ever thought about what would happen if it wasn’t me who was pulling on your door handle? What if it was the cops or someone else?” I didn’t answer, I just followed. As I got to the doorway, he turned and said, “Don’t come in here with those clothes on. Go get some other clothes out of the car.” I hated him very briefly in that moment. I trudged back out to the car, got some clothes, and with attitude, changed. Petulant was I, oh so petulant. He was waiting for me in the living room. His bottom lip drawn up, eyes glittering, that “stop fucking with me” aura seeping out of his pores. I wasn’t so petulant then, I was back to terrified. I really expected him to tell me to get the fuck out and never come back. I expected him to yell at me to stop sleeping in front his house and just stop, stop everything, just get out and never come back. I expected the worst. I expected the yelling and insults to rain down on me. That’s what I was used to, having shit thrown back in my face. I’m not sure now if he met me in the middle of the room or if I sat beside of him, I just don’t recall. I do remember his words though. “Nanner, you’re very beautiful and you don’t need to dress like that to get attention.” As you know, that is not what I had been expecting. It floored me and I’m pretty sure I started crying and I’m pretty sure he hugged me and I think he said something about, “Please don’t ever do this again.” *Laugh* And since it was probably 7 a.m. in the morning, we went to bed. After gathering my courage and petulance back, I grumbled, “Why did you make me change my clothes if you were just going to take them off of me again? You pissed me off.” A smug grin played out along his face, “I know.” How could I do anything but laugh? He got me and I never did that again. Once you start getting to know someone, you start developing patterns. Now, the wild drinking, semi-drugging, wasted phase didn’t last long (relatively speaking), but the dancing and laughing and fussing, it continued. I would describe us as “unstable” at that time. Not just because of me but also what AZ was dealing with, those things I didn’t find out about until later. For some reason, we kept coming back around to each other. Even after I ripped his picture to shreds. Yes, I did. That’s how much he pissed me off. But, when I would go to his house in the afternoons, we would lay in bed, kiss, and snuggle, I would give him a whole body massage and he would say, “Tell me a story,” and almost every time, that story would start, “Once upon a time, there was a big, grouchy bear named AZ.”