chapter one?
November 30th,
Introduction
In one month I'll be faced with the same decision that stared me down four years ago.
Do I stock up on top ramen and pack my bags, or do I stay put to enjoy the luxury of being white? Four years ago I chose top ramen. Me and Emmanuel moved out to Santa Ana, Ca. We were two of the few white kids in the neighborhood, and probably the only two people for miles that didn't understand Spanish. We thought we knew what we were getting into: budgeting, top ramen, being broke at the end of the month, maybe having to skip a few meals. We talked it through and it was all tolerable, the worst outcome was going to be tolerable. I would finally have something resembling freedom.
It had been eighteen years of living under someone else's roof, someone else's rules. I had to live the life they wanted as long as I was in their house. This isn't to say that I was much of a rebel. I honestly didn't think I was going to change. I was raised with morals and I had every intention of keeping those morals. My parents poured thousands of dollars into twelve years of private school, confirmation classes, bible study, sunday school, wednesday chapels, and youth group outings to make sure that was the case. I just wanted to get away from the pressure of expectations. After thousands was poured into me, my parents expected a certain result and they felt they had a right to their expectations. Half the time I agreed with them and half the time I hated them. I was beginning to grow out of the conservative skin I was raised in. I didn't feel I had any more of a right to my views than my parents had to theirs, I just couldn't stand feeling like a disappointment if I didn't sacrifice my views for theirs. It was always the little things. The shirts I chose to wear. The color of my hair. It was always something and it was always meaningless, but to them it was everything.
As for Emmanuel he had this way of just letting me be me, and loving me regardless. So when his dad offered to pay half our rent, it was an offer I couldn't refuse. Freedom was mine, and for a cheap price.
We pretended like we were a couple and went looking for a one bedroom... it was affordable, and if we got sick of each other we could always switch off nights on the couch. We started at the cheapest ones. We were both shocked to see that their were one bedrooms for six hundred. But they led us to parts of Orange County we didn't know existed. We never saw the inside of those places as it was agreed that neither one of us was getting out of the car. We found one that was moderately safe... during the day. At night, you are taking your chances. But that was enough for us. It was a beginning for us.
In one month I have an option of beginning again. How I got from that day to this day has been one crazy journey that I honestly don't remember. People tell me stories from that apartment but I've blocked most of it out. I don't remember ever deciding to forget (wouldn't it be convenient if I had that talent) but when I think back it's just a blur. I will revisit those days though. One by one I will take the memories back, they will be mine again. I need to know how I got here and I need to know where I am going.
December 1st,
Memory One
I can't remember a lot about moving into that apartment, but what I can remember is having my first cigarette on the balcony with Emmanuel. It felt like an accomplishment, like I had overcome my parents. They hated that I smoked. My mom smoked all of her life, but god forbid if her little girl followed in her footsteps. She even smoked when she was pregnant with me. Now that's not something you should ever really tell your child "Just so you know, I thought your life was worth taking a chance with". Here is where I will mention that I'm 5'2", 105 lbs. I basically have the body of a thirteen year old, and I wonder if my mom is to blame? I should also mention she didn't smoke when she was pregnant with my older brother. Maybe I was a mistake. Sometimes my mind gets away from me and I think she was trying to get rid of me. But I'm sure that's just a ridiculous manifestation of my insecurity, or at least I hope. None the less, it is all the more reason to never inform your child you smoked cancer sticks when they were living inside you.
My best friend Sara came over and she and I enjoyed the freedom of smoking on my balcony while Emmanuel played video games. And now I remember what was missing, the moving in party. Emmanuel's father bought this apartment for us under the impression that there would be no drugs or alcohol. Emmanuel had just gotten out of rehab, and was working his NA program. What he was in for was ridiulous. Him and I use to do Dex. It in cough syrup. It's actually the chemical that suppresses the cough. It's full name is Dextromethorphan, and it makes you hallucinate if you take enough. It's a bit dangerous, but I always thought if we did it within certain rules, "like only once a week, and no more then twelve pills at a time" we would be fine. Emmanuel is not good with rules. One night he took between twenty and thirty pills, the following night he decided to do shrooms for the first time in his life. That night was crazy. He was living in a dorm room at fullerton college, and he lost his mind. Every time he saw a lightbulb he punched his fist into it. I was scared because his roommates were getting upset. His roommates consisted of three 6'2" buff black basketball players. Emmanuel wasn't a short guy but he was scrawny. He had the body of a female model. At first I was trying to watch out for him, but eventually I had just had enough so I let him run wild. At one point he came stumbling into the room with froth coming out of his mouth. I thought he was dying.
"What happened, what happened, you were fine two seconds ago." I couldn't believe this.
He kept waving his arms trying to calm me down, and after enough froth came out he said, "It smelled like coconut."
I realized then that the froth was bubbles and my genius friend had just drank his roommates shampoo. Next thing I knew he was in the living room sitting next to one of his roommates. conversation went like this:
"Which one are you?"
"What are you talking about"
"I can't tell you guys apart, you all look the same."
This isn't really something you should say to a frustrated black man when you are a skinny white kid. I heard the conversation and yelled for Emmanuel to come back in the bedroom. He came settled down for two minutes and said he had to go to the bathroom. When he came back he had a chord sticking out the bottom of his pants. The conversation went like this:
"What the hell is that Emmanuel?"
"What is what?"
"The chord hanging out of your pants?"
"Oh that, umm...nothing..."
"EMMANUEL, What is it?"
"Alright, calm down. My roommates electric razor is in my boxers, I hate that guy."
I made him take it out. He took it out threw it in the corner of the room. Things calmed down for a little while until he went to sit on his bed and decided to start jumping on it. He couldn't have stood up straight on that bed without hitting his head on the ceiling never mind jump. Needless to say he fell, and the window caught his fall. It cracked. We calmed him down and sat him down and gave him his guitar. He started playing it but kept looking at the window. I'm curled in a sleeping bag at this point waiting for the night to end. Just when I'm about to sleep I hear the window shatter, and look up. Emmanuel threw his guitar threw the window. For no reason. Things were getting worse and worse and I was just waiting for the night to end. He reached out the broken window, picked up his guitar, and stood over me on the floor in my sleeping bag with the guitar over his shoulder as i begged him to put it down. He did. Thank God, after five minutes of begging. To this day I don't know if he was joking. I don't care. We never really talked about it. Just forgot it happened.
The following day Sara had picked me up from the dorm, and we hid Emmanuel's keys until we figured out what to do. He was still so out of it he didn't even know I left. We met up with Emmanuel's girlfriend at the party to try to figure something out. By this time Emmanuel had achieved some form of consciousness and was calling every five minutes asking for his keys. He wasn't too happy we hid them. I guess he found them though because the next thing I know he was at the front door of the party. And of course, he was messed up again. He took about twenty pills of dex again. He started spinning in circles like a five year old child in the living room. His girlfriend was hysterical. I had had enough so I put my hand up on his shoulder to stop him from spinning and threw my fist into his stomach as hard as I could. Down he went. No more spinning. He was out of breath for a while so there was finally silence. Then the sobbing and tears came "Why did you do that to me Laura, Why did you do that?" He was on the floor, I grabbed him by the shirt and pulled his head up off the grown so his face was right next to mine and said "You're going to rehab." And so he went. I never thought someone would ever go to rehab for something as foolish as cough medicine, but Emmanuel had this way of breaking stereo-types.
The first day in the apartment was my freedom from my parents, but it was his freedom from rehab.
Introduction
In one month I'll be faced with the same decision that stared me down four years ago.
Do I stock up on top ramen and pack my bags, or do I stay put to enjoy the luxury of being white? Four years ago I chose top ramen. Me and Emmanuel moved out to Santa Ana, Ca. We were two of the few white kids in the neighborhood, and probably the only two people for miles that didn't understand Spanish. We thought we knew what we were getting into: budgeting, top ramen, being broke at the end of the month, maybe having to skip a few meals. We talked it through and it was all tolerable, the worst outcome was going to be tolerable. I would finally have something resembling freedom.
It had been eighteen years of living under someone else's roof, someone else's rules. I had to live the life they wanted as long as I was in their house. This isn't to say that I was much of a rebel. I honestly didn't think I was going to change. I was raised with morals and I had every intention of keeping those morals. My parents poured thousands of dollars into twelve years of private school, confirmation classes, bible study, sunday school, wednesday chapels, and youth group outings to make sure that was the case. I just wanted to get away from the pressure of expectations. After thousands was poured into me, my parents expected a certain result and they felt they had a right to their expectations. Half the time I agreed with them and half the time I hated them. I was beginning to grow out of the conservative skin I was raised in. I didn't feel I had any more of a right to my views than my parents had to theirs, I just couldn't stand feeling like a disappointment if I didn't sacrifice my views for theirs. It was always the little things. The shirts I chose to wear. The color of my hair. It was always something and it was always meaningless, but to them it was everything.
As for Emmanuel he had this way of just letting me be me, and loving me regardless. So when his dad offered to pay half our rent, it was an offer I couldn't refuse. Freedom was mine, and for a cheap price.
We pretended like we were a couple and went looking for a one bedroom... it was affordable, and if we got sick of each other we could always switch off nights on the couch. We started at the cheapest ones. We were both shocked to see that their were one bedrooms for six hundred. But they led us to parts of Orange County we didn't know existed. We never saw the inside of those places as it was agreed that neither one of us was getting out of the car. We found one that was moderately safe... during the day. At night, you are taking your chances. But that was enough for us. It was a beginning for us.
In one month I have an option of beginning again. How I got from that day to this day has been one crazy journey that I honestly don't remember. People tell me stories from that apartment but I've blocked most of it out. I don't remember ever deciding to forget (wouldn't it be convenient if I had that talent) but when I think back it's just a blur. I will revisit those days though. One by one I will take the memories back, they will be mine again. I need to know how I got here and I need to know where I am going.
December 1st,
Memory One
I can't remember a lot about moving into that apartment, but what I can remember is having my first cigarette on the balcony with Emmanuel. It felt like an accomplishment, like I had overcome my parents. They hated that I smoked. My mom smoked all of her life, but god forbid if her little girl followed in her footsteps. She even smoked when she was pregnant with me. Now that's not something you should ever really tell your child "Just so you know, I thought your life was worth taking a chance with". Here is where I will mention that I'm 5'2", 105 lbs. I basically have the body of a thirteen year old, and I wonder if my mom is to blame? I should also mention she didn't smoke when she was pregnant with my older brother. Maybe I was a mistake. Sometimes my mind gets away from me and I think she was trying to get rid of me. But I'm sure that's just a ridiculous manifestation of my insecurity, or at least I hope. None the less, it is all the more reason to never inform your child you smoked cancer sticks when they were living inside you.
My best friend Sara came over and she and I enjoyed the freedom of smoking on my balcony while Emmanuel played video games. And now I remember what was missing, the moving in party. Emmanuel's father bought this apartment for us under the impression that there would be no drugs or alcohol. Emmanuel had just gotten out of rehab, and was working his NA program. What he was in for was ridiulous. Him and I use to do Dex. It in cough syrup. It's actually the chemical that suppresses the cough. It's full name is Dextromethorphan, and it makes you hallucinate if you take enough. It's a bit dangerous, but I always thought if we did it within certain rules, "like only once a week, and no more then twelve pills at a time" we would be fine. Emmanuel is not good with rules. One night he took between twenty and thirty pills, the following night he decided to do shrooms for the first time in his life. That night was crazy. He was living in a dorm room at fullerton college, and he lost his mind. Every time he saw a lightbulb he punched his fist into it. I was scared because his roommates were getting upset. His roommates consisted of three 6'2" buff black basketball players. Emmanuel wasn't a short guy but he was scrawny. He had the body of a female model. At first I was trying to watch out for him, but eventually I had just had enough so I let him run wild. At one point he came stumbling into the room with froth coming out of his mouth. I thought he was dying.
"What happened, what happened, you were fine two seconds ago." I couldn't believe this.
He kept waving his arms trying to calm me down, and after enough froth came out he said, "It smelled like coconut."
I realized then that the froth was bubbles and my genius friend had just drank his roommates shampoo. Next thing I knew he was in the living room sitting next to one of his roommates. conversation went like this:
"Which one are you?"
"What are you talking about"
"I can't tell you guys apart, you all look the same."
This isn't really something you should say to a frustrated black man when you are a skinny white kid. I heard the conversation and yelled for Emmanuel to come back in the bedroom. He came settled down for two minutes and said he had to go to the bathroom. When he came back he had a chord sticking out the bottom of his pants. The conversation went like this:
"What the hell is that Emmanuel?"
"What is what?"
"The chord hanging out of your pants?"
"Oh that, umm...nothing..."
"EMMANUEL, What is it?"
"Alright, calm down. My roommates electric razor is in my boxers, I hate that guy."
I made him take it out. He took it out threw it in the corner of the room. Things calmed down for a little while until he went to sit on his bed and decided to start jumping on it. He couldn't have stood up straight on that bed without hitting his head on the ceiling never mind jump. Needless to say he fell, and the window caught his fall. It cracked. We calmed him down and sat him down and gave him his guitar. He started playing it but kept looking at the window. I'm curled in a sleeping bag at this point waiting for the night to end. Just when I'm about to sleep I hear the window shatter, and look up. Emmanuel threw his guitar threw the window. For no reason. Things were getting worse and worse and I was just waiting for the night to end. He reached out the broken window, picked up his guitar, and stood over me on the floor in my sleeping bag with the guitar over his shoulder as i begged him to put it down. He did. Thank God, after five minutes of begging. To this day I don't know if he was joking. I don't care. We never really talked about it. Just forgot it happened.
The following day Sara had picked me up from the dorm, and we hid Emmanuel's keys until we figured out what to do. He was still so out of it he didn't even know I left. We met up with Emmanuel's girlfriend at the party to try to figure something out. By this time Emmanuel had achieved some form of consciousness and was calling every five minutes asking for his keys. He wasn't too happy we hid them. I guess he found them though because the next thing I know he was at the front door of the party. And of course, he was messed up again. He took about twenty pills of dex again. He started spinning in circles like a five year old child in the living room. His girlfriend was hysterical. I had had enough so I put my hand up on his shoulder to stop him from spinning and threw my fist into his stomach as hard as I could. Down he went. No more spinning. He was out of breath for a while so there was finally silence. Then the sobbing and tears came "Why did you do that to me Laura, Why did you do that?" He was on the floor, I grabbed him by the shirt and pulled his head up off the grown so his face was right next to mine and said "You're going to rehab." And so he went. I never thought someone would ever go to rehab for something as foolish as cough medicine, but Emmanuel had this way of breaking stereo-types.
The first day in the apartment was my freedom from my parents, but it was his freedom from rehab.