Nobody Loves A Farting Princess

by Jeni Birr

  Eventually my mother tired of taking care of essentially a third child and asked him to move out. She had a few roommates here and there, but I don’t remember any of them staying too long. She was somewhat difficult to live with. One particular weekend she had gone grocery shopping at the local Food Lion, as it was called at the time. Upon her exit from the store she was walking to her car, with her purse in the cart and a car pulled up beside her and a man got out, flashed a gun and said “this is an armed robbery.” For some reason, my mother grabbed her purse out of the cart as if to hold it closer, but the man snatched it from her, jumped back into the car, and they sped away. She started yelling, someone called the police, and they were caught all of five minutes later I believe, but the police needed to hold on to her things for a few days for evidence. This was Saturday. On her way to the police station on Tuesday to pick up her belongings, she got into a pretty bad car accident that totaled her car; but she walked away bruised but nothing broken. She believes this is because there was a bible in the trunk of her car.

  She was always into the church before, but never like she was after that car wreck. She started going to church several times a week, and quoting scripture left and right, and “cleansing” her household waving sticks of burning sage, I think, around from room to room. My brother was very into Anime, and she wouldn’t let him watch Pokémon, one of his favorite shows at the time because in her eyes it was “violent.” I was also feeling sick one weekend at her place, and was watching one of my favorite movies, The Princess Bride, and she walked in right when Indigo Montoya is about to avenge his father’s death and she told me to turn it off because it was too violent, and somehow I managed to convince her that it was justice he was fighting for. This only worked for about a minute though because she came back in claiming that no, it was vengeance, and that was a sin and she wouldn’t have sin in her house. So, fortunately for Tom and myself, I had a car by this point, had recently earned my driver’s license, ironically thanks to her, and we packed up our things and went back home to dad’s house. I don’t know if Tom went over to her house again, honestly. I saw her here and there for about the next year because I had a car, and I’ve always believed in the inherent good in people, and like it or not, she was still my mother.

  That fall I took an English electives class about great works of literature that have drastically influenced cultures, and we spent the first third of the semester talking about different stories in the bible. One particular section I had to write a paper about was the story of Abraham and Isaac. For those who are not familiar with the story: God tests Abraham and asks him to sacrifice his only beloved son. When God sees that Abraham has every intention of doing so, an angel swoops in, basically tells him “just kidding,” and shows him a ram in the thicket to sacrifice instead. What I could not wrap my mind around was the concept of sacrificing your own child. I realized, however, that I didn’t have the faith that Abraham must’ve had. Hell, I was practically an atheist at this point in my life, so I called my mother.

  I explained what I was studying and what the paper was about and asked her if God told her to kill me if she would. Her response was “well, I hope this doesn’t upset you, but the bible tells us to love God first, then ourselves, and then our families, so yes, if God told me to kill you, then I would trust he had a plan and I would have to kill you.” I slept on the floor of my room for the next week as opposed to the bed which was up against the window. I had recently learned that the theory on dreams is that they are your short term memories being transferred to your long term memory, and I was convinced having this conversation was going to cause her to have a dream where God told her to kill me, and she would think that was actually him talking to her. This was twelve years ago though and I’m still alive, thank God.

  At the end of the summer after my senior year of high school, after I turned eighteen and my dad didn’t have to keep paying her ridiculous sums of money every month for nothing, she realized she couldn’t afford to support herself on her secretarial job and decided to move back in with her parents in Savannah, Georgia. She sold her house, which you could actually do in those days, took her small profit with her, and I helped with the driving. Actually, I think I did all the driving because I hated the way that she drove. She was so bent on following rules that she wouldn’t go one mile an hour over the limit, so as opposed to just maintaining speed just under or even at the limit, she would accelerate until she hit the limit, then take her foot off the gas pedal, then re-accelerate until she was just at the limit again; it was nauseating. Savannah was beautiful though. It is my favorite city in this country and I have often said if my mother didn’t live there, I would. Cobblestone streets, little shops right along the river downtown, and Spanish moss draped over everything. Just, charming.

  She went to Mustard Seed Seminary School for a few years and earned an associates in seminary studies. I didn’t talk to her as much as I probably should have for a little while, but what did I really have to say. She was “married to Jesus” now and I was a college student in the throes of my youth and experimentation days, so anything I would have had to talk about probably would have been met with further suggestions to turn to Jesus. Which, especially in those days, I was not inclined to do. She eventually went to Armstrong Atlantic State University and graduated with a Bachelors in Liberal Arts. She has had several administrative positions since.

  CHAPTER 2

  Well, now that you’ve met my mother, let me introduce you to my dad. He was pretty awesome. A pretty free spirit who never took anything too seriously, but the few things in life that mattered to him most. He was a self-proclaimed fat kid that lost all the weight in high-school, was popular enough to be known around a campus of 45,000 students at Michigan State, where he went for almost ten years without graduating. He spent years traveling about the country from the beaches of Fort Lauderdale, to Pasadena for the Rose Bowl one year, even though State lost, and had all kinds of odd jobs. It wasn’t until he checked himself into a mental institution because he thought something might be wrong with him, and some guy in a group said “you’re smart, you should go into computers” that he found his life’s calling. Now, realize, this was in the early seventies when a single computer still took up half a room, and computers were a new technology; but my dad had always been interested in science and math, and tinkering with gadgets and whatnot. He got a night job as a security guard so he could do his homework, and put himself through Oakland Community College during the day. I imagine there were some jobs in between, but at some early point, he hooked up with Pete Karmanos, and helped him build Compuware, now one of the nation’s leading software corporations; out of a building no bigger than the A&W it was next to with maybe twelve guys. He was very proud of being smart.

  Now, I’m not saying he was the greatest father. After the divorce the first thing he taught us children was how to do our own laundry so he wouldn’t have to. The first thing he bought was a microwave, because he was not about to start cooking meals. Every night it was “what do you kids want for dinner? McDonald’s? Burger King? Wendy’s?” There was always food in the house, but he let us pick what we wanted, so it was Coke and chips, not milk and vegetables. He walked in on his own surprise party when he was younger, so he hated surprises. He would take us to the toy store before Christmas and let us pick out what we wanted and then we’d come home and I’d wrap everything, because boy do I love wrapping presents. (For real, I was even a professional gift wrapper one season at a local toy store. Love it.) He always let us do whatever we wanted, within reason, but it was rare we wanted to do anything out of reason, so as long as he knew where we would be and when we’d be home, we were allowed to go. But there was a respect level there and I never pushed the rules, so I don’t know what the punishment would have been had I come home late. I imagine I would not have been allowed to go to the next thing.

  He liked buying us things. I remember one weekend coming home from my mother’s to a new trampoline in th
e backyard. I loved that thing. I had my tenth birthday party out there in bathing suits, while it was raining and probably fifty degrees. He also let us know he would help buy our first car. Whatever we saved, he would match that amount. He would also cover the insurance for the first year (which I think turned into four years for me) and he would put new brakes on it, if it needed them. I got a bright yellow 1994 Geo Tracker with a black soft top that came off in pieces, and boy did I love that car. I still mourn that car. My friends called it the S.U.wannaV. I made tie-dyed seat covers for it, glued quarters to the dashboard in honor of my movie boyfriend, A.J., put stickers all over it, and it was the best representation of my personality in that time, as I was always wearing the brightest, loudest clothes I could find, and had at least seven different colors in my hair at a given time. We got searched every single time we crossed the border to Canada, but they never found anything because even though we certainly looked like pot smoking hippies, none of us had ever touched the stuff. We were the choir nerds. But I’m getting off topic.

  Bottom line: my dad was pretty sweet. I remember coming home from school one day after he had left Compuware, and there was a note on our whiteboard in the entry hallway that simply read:

  “Kids, gone to the beach. –dad”

  which my friend, Elena, thought was hysterical. I’m guessing she never came home to such notes, but this was common in my house. He taught me everything I needed to know without my even knowing how he was teaching me. I didn’t know until many years later that he actually made decent money, but he taught me how to work if I wanted something. He believed you need a college degree to get anywhere in this world, and made me go to college, and stay in college when I begged to drop out midway through my freshman year. He would not replace things if they were broken or lost, we had to save up our own money and buy it again. He gave us pretty extensive chores because frankly, he didn’t want to clean or cut the grass or really do much around the house, but we were compensated fairly.

  He sent me off to summer camp for just a week when I was maybe eight or so and I loved it. I went back year after year for two weeks and then three. I made so many friends and had such a good time; it was my favorite place to be in the world and I wept like a baby at the end of every session. By the summer before high school I loved it so much I wanted to go for an extra two weeks the next summer, but my dad was only willing to pay for the four he’d already committed to. So, the second semester of my freshman year, I got a babysitting job about a mile from my school and I walked there every day after school to take care of the kid and saved up the money to pay for another two weeks of summer camp. I’m sure my dad could have afforded it, but he didn’t want me to become a spoiled brat, and now, I really appreciate that and would have done the same.

  We used to have these talks every so often, maybe only twice a year. Later into the night, if I couldn’t sleep, I would come down the stairs, and there he would be, in his chair, in the family room in front of our TV and computer in one that he made before that sort of thing even existed and we would just talk about who knows what. I can’t even give you an example, but looking back, those are some of my favorite moments. I’m sure whatever he was working on was really important to him, but as soon as I’d walk in, he’d put it on hold.

  I didn’t handle my teenage years well. I mean, honestly, who does, right? I could have been much worse, but I also could have been much better. My dad had studied psychology for a time at Michigan State, so he used to constantly tell me all these thoughts and emotions and phases as a teenager I “should” go through. I hated that. I remember saying “you don’t understand” to him, only once, and he got this look on his face like he was such a proud father because I’d officially become a teenager, and I huffed and ran upstairs to my room, but then didn’t even slam the door like I was going to because this would have only proven him right, that I was being a typical teenager.

  When I was about thirteen, some plans I had with some of my summer camp friends fell through. I knew a lot of the counselors were still at the camp staying year round because school groups would come every weekend and they needed a skeleton crew to do activities with the kids. I knew that my counselor, Sandi, who I had idealized and turned into my second mother in my mind, was there. So, I walked. It was about an hour away by car and I did the math as I was walking that I could make it by morning and not have to get in anyone’s car, but by the time I made it to the freeway, a nice man pulled over and offered me a ride, so I accepted. He was actually kind of cute, very nice, probably early twenties, no idea what his name was, but he took me to my exit. I lied about him though because I knew everyone would worry he tried to rape me or something, so I said he was a she, her name was Rachel, she was 23 and had long blonde hair. When I got to the top of my exit I looked in either direction as far as I could see and honestly didn’t know which way it was. It seemed so simple when my dad drove me, but I didn’t remember whether we turned left or right, and it was dark; and yes, logic and geography now tells me that it would have had to be right because Holly is very north of 96, but I didn’t think like this when I was only thirteen. I even went into the gas station to ask directions, but they had no idea what I was talking about. So I guessed, and thankfully, I made the right choice, and started walking north.

  The grass on the side of the road was very tall and very wet, and there was no sidewalk. I hadn’t told anyone where I was going, just “for a walk,” so I’m sure everyone back home was worried sick, but again, this was still before cell phones. Thank God some nice old men, a pair of them, pulled over to see if I needed help and drove me the rest of the way to where I was going, which ended up being easily another ten miles or more up the road. When I got there, I went straight to the lodge where I knew the counselors generally stayed and found out from the one there that Sandi was out, but he made me call my dad and tell him where I was. He, obviously, told me to stay put, he was coming to get me right away and no, I absolutely could not stay the night. It took him about forty five minutes to get there and I got to see Sandi for a little while, but I think I scared her something fierce, this 13 year old girl just showing up at probably ten at night, crying about how no one is keeping in touch from the summer. She didn’t come back the next year, and I think she only wrote to me one more time. My dad didn’t say anything on the way home. He was clearly terrified, but relieved. I think he felt partially responsible, but I don’t know why. It only came up once or twice, that terrible night that I walked up to camp. I don’t even think I was punished for what I’d done, but I could see it in his face that I’d taken years off his life that night. This is the last time I went anywhere without telling him where I was going.

  I also had a very bad episode involving a bunch of sleeping pills and a night in the hospital which I imagine cost him an exorbitant amount of money because we didn’t have health insurance at the time, but I’ve already apologized to him about that, profusely. I was seventeen and it was the first time in a year or more that my high school sweetheart and I were not going to see each other that day, and we were having problems. I was so dreadfully “in love” with him that I thought this was the end of the world, but fortunately, it was not. I got over it, we broke up, he started seeing my best friend behind by back not too long after, and everyone hid it from me until I figured it out and the world ended all over again. High school drama. Gross. At least this heartache caused my dad to agree to pay for the Florida Keys spring break trip through the school I wanted to go on that he originally said no to. This was how he fixed things. Just buy something until it’s all better.

  Lovers’ Hell*2002

  When was my demotion

  From the twinkle in your eye

  When came my replacement

  As the sun in your sky

  When came the day

  That your eyes turned to grey

  Why am I no longer your prize

  Now that you’ve conquered

  And shackled this heart

 
You leave me no option

  When the thunder starts

  No matter the lightening

  Or the rains pouring so hard

  My chains won’t let me flee the dark

  Send me back to lovers’ hell

  It’s a place I’ve come to know so well

  Love is just a game

  That I will never learn to play

  Send me back to lovers’ hell

  When was I removed from

  That corner in your mind

  The one that you retreat to

  In the worst of times

  I don’t know what happened

  If the fault is really mine

  I don’t remember refusing to shine

  No, I am still that princess

  You met not long ago

  The one that you slew dragons for

  The one that you loved so

  What happened to the fires

  That I used to know

  Where did your love

  For me go

  Send me back to lovers’ hell

  It’s a place I’ve come to know so well

  Their armors rusted through

  I should have known that yours would too

  Send me back to lovers’ hell

  Send me back to lovers’ hell

  It’s a place I’ve come to know so well