“You won’t be eating with the others tonight. You’re dirty. You’ll eat in the mudroom, on the floor with the dog.”
“I just took a cold shower,” I replied.
“You didn’t have a shower this morning. You’re only allowed to shower in the morning.”
“I was tired and feeling sick,” I said.
The worker handed me my supper and led me to the mudroom. At first this was upsetting. The dog and I ate supper together. This ended up being the best supper I had had in years!
Several nights later, I had a severe drug reaction. I was rushed into the emergency room and immediately given a drug to counter the reaction.
I attended a daily program for troubled teens, which lacked proper schooling. English and math courses were made available through correspondence only. The greater part of my day was usually spent in a so-called therapeutic group. The group discussions were generally silly, fruitless, unintelligent and based on sexual topics. The leading therapist would come into the room and take a seat.
“What would you like to discuss today?” Peter the therapist asked the group.
“Sex,” the group would always answer.
The program offered a designated smoking room/lunch room. Every lunch hour or break was spent in this smoke filled room. Being a non-smoker and severely allergic to smoke didn’t help. One time I bit into my sandwich to discover someone had filled it with cigarette ashes.
A handful of teenagers were struggling with mental illness. They were treated badly and abused by the bullies on a daily basis, behind the backs of the staff. A couple of us were misplaced. Most of the kids were young offenders.
I would often be bullied into handing over my clothes or any personal possession they desired. Some of these teenagers resented me. They considered me a goody two shoes for two reasons; I was a virgin and had never smoked drugs. I wasn’t one of them.
One day after returning from the program, I was invited for the first time to join two of the four girls that I lived with in the group home. Being lonely, I accepted the invitation. Within minutes, I joined Lois and Jennifer in their room. They quickly shut the door and secured it with a dresser.
“You need to prove you’re worth having as a friend through our initiation. We thought about bursting your cherry today, but we’ll spare you that,” Lois said.
“Laura, you’re to sit in this chair and let us do your hair. You won’t be able to look until were done,” Jennifer ordered.
Lois and Jennifer were giggling excessively as they did my hair. I sat quietly hoping they wouldn’t hurt me. About half an hour later they finished.
“Laura, we’re going to let you take a look at your new hairdo, but you’re not to tell on us if you don’t like it,” Lois said.
Jennifer handed me a mirror. I took a quick glance at my shocking new appearance. Of all things I had a Mohawk to contend with. Thank God hair grows!
“How do you like it?” asked Jennifer. “Cool!” I responded.
The following week, a visit was scheduled with Mother. I didn’t look forward to seeing her, especially not this time. I stepped into the office where teens visited their parents, always accompanied by a staff member. Mother’s jaw dropped the moment she saw me. Right away she demanded that the ridiculous cut be removed and my head be shaved.
“Why did you do this?” Mother asked. “Because,” I answered.
The following day I was taken to a salon and where the remaining hair was shaved off. The huge earrings I had would compliment this newest style.
Shortly after turning sixteen, while attending the program, two of my roommates jumped me and attempted to choke me. They were pulled off by staff and hauled off to a lock-up facility by police.
A few months before my eighteenth birthday, I’d had enough. Earlier in the day I was sent on an outing with my roommate. We were supposed to be shopping for grocery items to make a special supper for the group. She met up with her pimp and introduced me. I didn’t want anything to do with these people.
The following morning, I packed an extra change of clothes in my big purse. I walked out the door and never returned. I hitchhiked to the west coast. I stayed with a couple of different families and looked for work.
One afternoon, I called a help wanted ad. There was a position for a babysitter/restaurant kitchen helper. The man who answered the phone arranged for an immediate interview. Within hours, I arrived at a brand new empty restaurant. The man opened the door to let me in and locked it behind me. I pulled out his application form and he interviewed me.
“Would you like to see the kitchen?” he asked.
“Yes,” I replied.
As soon as I entered the kitchen he physically forced and restrained me against the counter. He terrified me, while ripping open my high neck blouse. I could hear the material give and a button hit the floor.
“I thought you said you’re healthy!” he said in an angry voice.
“There are zits on your chest.”
He went on to assault me. I detached from my body. I wasn’t able to fight him. After he left the room I tried to pull myself together. This bastard had ejaculated on my leg. I was sickened and on the verge of vomiting. I cleaned my leg with my knee high socks and stuffed them in my pocket. I wanted to go to the police, but I couldn’t. I was a missing person under the age of eighteen.
A couple of days later I found a job. I was to start the following Monday. The people I was staying with went to Social Services, looking for extra funds and clothing to help me out. As soon as my name was entered into their computer, I came up as a missing person.
Soon after, two police cars showed up at the home where I was staying. I was apprehended, handcuffed and put in the back of a police cruiser. I sat silently as the cruiser left the curb. I felt angry and humiliated, being treated like a damn criminal. I’d never been in cuffs before. I looked down at my lap and the handcuffs, which now embraced my wrists like big ugly bracelets. Being double-jointed, I managed to slide my thumb through a cuff, followed by the rest of my hand.
“Guess what?” I said, while proudly swinging the empty cuff in the rear view mirror, like a lasso.
“I’d get that cuff back on pretty damn quick, if I were you. If I have to stop this car and pull over, you’ll be sorry. Those cuffs can be tightened to the point it hurts,” he said.
I quickly slipped the cuff back on. I didn’t want that to happen.
“When we get to the county jail, you’re not to run off on us, because I’ll shoot.”
“You must be the bastard of the year,” I said.
“I’d shut your mouth, if I were you. I wouldn’t hesitate to pull over and spank you.”
We finally arrived at the county jail. I was led into an office by the two male officers. A female officer working behind a tall counter was filling out paper work. My purse was handed to her by one of the arresting officers.
“I need you to take off your socks and shoes,” she ordered.
“I’m keeping them until you leave.”
The prison guard arrived at the office to escort me to my cell. Electronically operated barred doors opened and shut, as he led me through the facility to my destination.
My first night in the slammer was quite shocking. My cell was equipped with a metal bed which hung from the back wall by heavy chains; it was covered with a thin mattress. An ugly stainless steel toilet with an attached sink was off the front left hand side. There was one itchy wool blanket and a cold cement floor.
I could hear a drunken male, hollering profanities from a nearby cell. I felt uneasy and scared.