Where The Story Began

When I started this journey into writing and sharing my story my hopes that my words could bring hope, healing, and awareness to others was bright. Today, that hope still burns just as bright. God is on the move, and I believe he has a plan for me.

Can you believe this is my 50th blog post? Honestly, I can barely believe it myself. When I started this journey into writing and sharing my story my hopes that my words could bring hope, healing, and awareness to others was bright. Today, that hope still burns just as bright. God is on the move, and I believe he has a plan for me.

The opportunity to use all that I have experienced and learned to make a positive impact has been so rewarding in so many ways. The messages I have received from readers and viewers keep me motivated to push forward.

By now, you all know Ketchup Sandwiches is about my experiences from childhood into young adult. I have been working on a second book. This book will be entitled 'All the Reasons Why'. In this book I am creating characters, Tara and Trevor, that will represent my parents. The reader will have the opportunity to experience the progression of their addictions and mental illness as they try to navigate through parenting, relationships, and recovery.

The book starts off in June 1988 in Austin Texas. I am including a little teaser here. Thank you so much for supporting me through this journey!

(now keep in mind this has not gone through the editing process, yet.)

Part 1: They Collide

Chapter One

June 1988, Austin Texas

Tara

                The lie rolled so easily off my lips. They usually do. “I’m sorry. There wasn’t any money on the counter when I came in.” My voice stays casual. “Anyways, I just got in here. It’s such a hot day.” I let out a small laugh fanning myself with my hand to emphasize the point. Raising a water bottle up I continue my seemingly benign explanation of my presence “I needed a drink of water and a moment to cool down.” Keeping my eyes locked on the assistant manager’s face I take a sip of the cold water fresh from the small breakroom fridge. Staying calm when confronted is something I have honed over the years. Becoming defensive or outraged is a dead giveaway. Eye contact and relaxed body language are key. Most people don’t think you are lying if you maintain eye contact and keep your story simple.

Did I need the ten dollars I slipped off the counter and into my bra? Whose to say, really. Need has so many interpretations, but the money was there unattended and practically begging to be taken. It was only a ten-dollar bill. Besides, the managers get paid way more than us lowly employees. The corners of my mouth tug into an amused smile as I watch the face of the assistant manager crease with confusion. A nervous smile comes to his broad face as he says “I must be going crazy. I could have sworn that I set down my keys and a ten-dollar bill here. I need to give the truck driver some cash so he can get a tank of gas. I must have dropped the money while I was walking.” Shaking his head he grabs his keys and turns to leave.

See, a little confidence with a touch of calm demeanor and just like that all suspicion melts away. Having nice boobs helps. I learned a long time ago that men are far easier to manipulate than women. A low-cut shirt and few well -timed suggestive comments and most men willingly ignore or glance over anything questionable. This may be considered a morally grey area, but there is this moment when I am walking the edge of getting caught or getting away where the thrill sends my whole body into overdrive. Getting away with a lie or stealing something gives me a high. Is it my fault if people are too trusting or simply make things too easy to resist? I don’t think so.

The slow trickle of sweat down the back of my neck is a steady reminder of the sticky heat that is defining this Austin Texas summer.  The gurgling hum of our tiny breakroom window unit reminds me that things could always be worse. Texas summers can be brutal, but this one seems more intense than I remember the summers past. Finishing the water, I take a deep breath and head back to my assigned sorting trailer.

             Goodwill Distribution center has been a decent way to earn money for the last month. It is mindless busy work, but the schedule is manageable. I have even been able to snag a few pieces of furniture to fill the space of my small apartment and even paid for some of them. Sorting is a job, not a career or so my parents keep reminding me. If there is one thing, I can count on is to be a continuous endless disappointment to my high achieving successful parents.

Two more hours in this melting heat then I can clock out. Carly, a new neighbor in my complex went on and on about a new night club downtown as we passed a joint on our adjoining balcony last night. I don’t care what society says, smoking marijuana can’t be all that bad. Smoking is one of the only times I feel more relaxed and less like the world is a merry-go-round.  Getting dressed up and going out tonight would be a good way to ride out this high I am on. Somewhere loud as full of energy as I am. I haven’t slept more than two hours at a time in the past three days, but that is normal. My body goes through phases where I am near invincible, don’t need sleep, and the whole world bends and sparks around me. Then I dip down to a place where I feel heavy and all I want to do is sleep or lay on the couch. During the heavy times my mind lives in a dark place drowning in anxiety and self-loathing. I really hate heavy days.

Luckily, I am not having a heavy day today. My brain and body have been in a calm in-between from low to high. There is a familiar electricity coursing through me signaling the upswing is on its way.  Tonight, I will go out, have some fun, and maybe find a little danger to keep things interesting. I can’t help smiling as I remember the free ten dollars currently absorbing sweat in my bra. That saves me from having to use part of my check to buy weed. Ten dollars and the promise of a sexual favor will be more than enough to sweet talk the guy who lives below me into enough weed to have a good time.

                “I am taking these two tubs and this couch, right?” A smooth male voice interrupts my party planning. Turning around my eyes land on a tan muscular man with stunning blue eyes. He looks like he is in his mid-twenties like me. Turning to face him fully I feel his eyes move over my body. I have a nice face, but my curves have always been my best attribute and what grabs male attention first. Before I can respond he leans in extending his hand “I’m Trevor. I don’t think I have seen you before. Are you new here?” Trevor punctuates his question with a smile that transforms his face from good looking to attractive.

                Trying to read his level of interest while I shake his hand I say “Tara. My name is Tara. I have been working here for about two months. Our shifts must not have lined up before today.” The words tumble out rapidly and cheerfully and I hope I am not talking too fast. I give my best seductive smile. His hand around mine has my body tightening and the heat of the day is only adding to my growing sense of arousal. When I am flying like this I am easily aroused, so I don’t want to give too much credit to Trevor. Although he has a certain appeal.

                 Not wanting our moment of attraction to end I try to keep the conversation going asking “So, are you from around here? Do you live near here? I am from the coast but have been living here in Austin for about two years. The city is a big change from my small town. There is so much to see and do. What do you like to do for fun?” The last sentence comes out a little breathless, which makes Trevor huff a laugh as he reaches for his cigarettes.

                 A tingle of awareness skitters up my spine as Trevor brings smoke to his lips and lights. I know I should listen when the hair on the back of my neck raise, but I find it more fun to have charming mixed with a little danger.

Trevor

                Taking a slow drag in I can’t help but feel a little self-satisfied at the unexpected attention from this woman. I have only been driving a truck for the downtown branch of Goodwill distribution for the last six weeks. Having a job is a condition of probation. Being a productive member of society is supposed to keep me from relapsing. Letting the smoke roll around my words I decide to let my reply test her interest. “Wow that was a lot. I haven’t had someone pepper me with that many questions since my first days in rehab.” There it is. I let the word rehab hang between us to see if this woman, Tara, would back off.

                Pleasant surprise washes over me as Tara smiles coolly saying “We are all addicted to something, right?” The heat of another slow drag warms my throat. She is not backing down, so I guess this is the tipping point. Either I return her interest or let her down as easily as possible.

                I let my eyes roam taking in this woman and what she has to offer. Tara has more curves than my usual type, but there is something striking about her green eyes, olive skin, and dark hair. Under the surface there seems to be something more mischievous or maybe a little crazy. There is something sexy about how she is leaning in letting her cleavage take the conversation where her words left off. I can’t tell if her eagerness is desperation or just her personality. There is genuine curiosity stirring in me.

When I got out of rehab this time my parents, well my mom really, made it very clear that I wasn’t welcome home until I proved I had really changed.

I’m 26 so living at home isn’t entirely appropriate, but I didn’t exactly leave rehab flush with cash. So, I am currently living in a halfway house. I hate the halfway house. Too much time around teetering addicts will drive you crazy. I’m supposed to be working on the steps. Take responsibility for the role my actions and addiction played in harming those around me. I apologize to the people I hurt all the lying, stealing, and manipulating. Fucking annoying is what the steps are. My drinking doesn’t hurt anyone but me. If people are so easily fooled by my words or manipulated that’s their fault for being so stupid. Sitting on plastic chairs and talking about our feelings isn’t going to do anything. Yeah, I need to get the hell out of that shit hole and back into my own space. Who knows, if I play my cards right with this Tara girl maybe there is potential for more benefits than sex here.

Fuck it. I guess we will see where this flirtation may lead. Leaning in letting a lazy smile curve around the words I ask “So, do you have plans after work?” Returning my smile Tara twirls her hair as if she is thinking of turning down my implied offer. Such a predictable game. Her eyes find mine as she says “I don’t have any plans that can’t be changed. I was thinking about trying out a new club with my neighbor, but if you are on the sober train maybe we can do something before I go out with her?” Her words bring a laugh bubbling out of me as I repeat “Sober train? I have never heard it put that way before.” The smile on my face is not a forced tool of manipulation, but an honest to goodness happy smile. For the first time in a while I feel the spike of happiness in me.

Tara took a half step closer softly placing her hand on my arm. Perhaps she touches me to increase the physical tension or stir desire. Maybe she is trying to manipulate me with sex. That would fit in a way. This thought keeps the smile on my lips as Tara asks “Do you want to get dinner or come out with Carly? Carly is my neighbor. We don’t have to drink.” Her words were coming out rapidly again displaying her nerves. I like that she isn’t entirely comfortable being this forward. It shows me that she doesn’t do this sort of thing all the time. On the other hand, she could just be a great actress. “I would enjoy dinner and then maybe we can see where the night goes.” I said the words as I dropped my cigarette butt on the ground grinding it into the dirt with the toe of my shoe.

A thought brought me up short. “I, uh, I don’t have a car. Do you? Or do you take the bus to work?” I know a lot of people here in Austin use the bus system or walk, but it is still embarrassing that I don’t have my own car to drive us around tonight. Unfortunately, the last car I had was totaled in the accident that landed me my last DUI and stint in rehab.

“Oh, that’s not a problem. I have a car. Plus, I don’t live very far from here. Do you have a pen? I can write down my address and you can meet me at my apartment about 7, if that works for you?” Nice. She has a car. The benefits are already proving to be fruitful.

I know I should be a little less manipulative, but I am done working on a program that doesn’t work. Besides, it has been too long since I have let loose. A night ending with me getting laid sounds like the perfect way to explore where this relationship may head. Girls like Tara really do make it too easy to take advantage of them. I hand her my pen and watch as she leans her ample chest over the hood my truck and writes her address on a scrap piece of paper. She really should be more careful. I am a complete stranger and she is just handing me her life.