The charges swept through the entire police station like lightning. Sam heard it before his father had a chance to tell him. Humiliated and upset, he left early from his shift. He went back to our house, and began packing. I tried to talk to him, to explain I was just acting out because I was bored. I would have never done any of those things if I had not been drunk and high. I begged and pleaded, telling him I would get counseling. When he finished packing his suitcase and duffel bag he left. He didn’t even say goodbye. He shut me out of his life completely. He wanted nothing to do with me. The next day Sam filed for divorce. Oh my god how am I going to support myself and my baby. I'm still in high school and Sam will not be able to support us financially. Why did I push him away. I'm am so screwed! I shouted inside my head. I guess the only option for me now is to head back to Mommy Dearest or Drunken Daddy.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“True love is finding your soulmate in your best friend”
~ Faye Hall
Jack Napier - Day 18
As a child I was shuffled between a feuding mother and daughter like a chess piece that my mom held hostage, but my Grandma Daisy cherished.
Living with my mother never lasted for long. That's because we lived with Grandpa Bob. Together they were a full-fledged codependent couple. Their relationship was not one of a father and daughter. It was more like Sid Vicious and Nancy Spungen.
After my mother’s wedding, Grandma Daisy filed for divorce and Grandpa Bob disappeared for several years. I think when he returned and came back into my mother’s life he tried to make up for not being there after she got married.
There was uncomfortable undertone to the way they interacted with each other. Nevertheless, they were inseparable, always there to support each other’s addiction. When Grandpa Bob got really drunk he would start pimping my mother out to his friends like she was a prostitute. When this happened I'd sneak out to my treehouse and draw. I don't even want to know what went down when I was gone. Like Grandma Daisy once told me, "Some things are better unknown; revealed they can leave a permanent scar." Grandma was right, I didn't have much room for another scar and scars on top of scars start to disfigure one’s soul.
Grandpa Bob would go on drinking binges, disappearing for weeks at a time. When this happened, my mother would be stuck with me. This was never a good situation. She would try to behave because she knew Grandma Daisy would find out, which would give her grounds to get custody of me. My mother wasn’t about to give up her shiny chess piece. So when she couldn’t cruise the bars, the party was brought to the house. It was pretty horrible. There was an endless parade of men in and out of the house. Having a ten year old kid around was definitely a buzzkill. During these times my mother would break down and send me to Grandma Daisy’s.
At one point it got so bad Grandma Daisy forced my mom to enroll me in the elementary school in her district. This way she didn’t have to keep driving me back and forth. School 45 was just a few blocks from her house, so I could walk to school in the morning and back in the afternoon. Each public school in Indianapolis had an individual number. There were about forty-eight in the city. I swear I had already attended about half of them.
That year, I was starting fourth grade for the second time. My mother’s instability was affecting my grades. Even though I was held back I was still way behind the other kids in my class. I felt stupid, but school hopping made keeping up more than difficult. Especially for a kid who lived with a mother who didn’t give a shit about him. Like many things in life if it hadn’t happened this way I would have missed out on something great.
I will never forget the day I met my soul mate. Although she wasn't my soul mate at the time, I knew the minute we met I could love her forever. I think people often misunderstand the meaning of soul mate. It's so much more than love itself. It's what love eventually evolves into. It's what we feel when we are old, when vanity and lust have withered away, when the only thing that matters is true friendship.
Like the beginning to all good love stories, I noticed her from across the room. She was the most beautiful girl I had ever laid eyes on. My body was consumed by a feeling I had never felt before. It was a mixture of fear with a jolt of pure adrenaline.
I was the new kid in the class getting the “who’s that" stare. Brooke’s earthy green eyes focused on me, only me. Her glance made my heart pound. It felt like a thousand butterflies had invaded my stomach.
She was so beautiful. She had thick, black, curly hair, and emerald green eyes. Her skin was smooth, with round cheekbones that accentuated her soft, warm, smile. She was absolutely breathtaking. All these years later the image of her at ten is seared into my brain. I even remember what she was wearing. Brooke made her simple dress with pink flowers look stunning. As she walked up to the teacher in her white, open-toed flats, she glided like a figure skater on ice. I was so fixated on her that I saw no one else in the room.
I was abruptly brought back to Earth when the teacher introduced me to the class. Color rushed up my neck and into my face like a thermometer. I suddenly noticed all the kids in the room staring at me from their wood topped desks with shiny chrome legs. The chalkboard in front of the room had the alphabet displayed across the top in bold colors.
Not being a shy kid, after I was introduced to the class, during our bathroom break, I splashed some cold water on my face. I walked over to the beautiful girl and introduced myself.
"Hi, my name’s Jack. What is your name?”
"I know your name,” Brooke giggled. “The teacher just introduced you, silly." I was so nervous that my legs were shaking.
“I’m Brooke.” Her smile and soft eyes pierced straight into my soul. I was in love. Yep, ten and in love, or so I thought. Numb with excitement, I couldn't stop thinking about her. I had never wanted something so badly in my life.
"We need to know everything about this girl. Like, what was her favorite color? Does she like boys? Has she ever been kissed?" The little voice in my head began to question.
My eagerness caused Brooke to slowly withdraw, which broke my heart. But she tolerated me because I was interesting and mysterious.
Being around Brooke was the only thing that made me happy. She was my hope, the inspiration that kept me getting up every morning.
I even remember riding my bike to the McNamara flower shop at the back of our apartment complex to buy her a rose. I had saved my lunch money so I could surprise her. Anonymously, I slipped it into her mailbox.
When I saw Brooke the next day, she never brought it up. Not knowing if she got my rose drove me crazy! So I decided to sit down and write her a letter. I poured my heart out with emotion, pulling words from my head I didn’t even know I knew. I wrote out everything I wanted to say. It was pure poetry.
The next morning before school I gave Brooke the letter. She didn’t open it right away. I wanted her to open my letter and read it as I watched from across the hall. I could picture her soft face blush as she took in my words. Instead, Brooke put the letter in the back pocket of her blue jeans. She stood with her friends, laughing and enjoying the few moments they had left before the school began rang. My anxiety grew with every tick of the clock. The anticipation was killing me.
“Jack, are you alright?” Ms. Richardson asked as she tapped me on the shoulder.
Startled, I replied, “Oh yeah, it’s time for our reading session.”
When the school bell rang I realized I was out of time. Brooke still hadn’t opened the letter.
This next part of the story was told to me by Brooke years after we were married. She explained that she hadn’t realized what I had given her. When she finally pulled my letter out of her pocket she opened it and began to read (“My dearest Brooke…”). She couldn’t help but laugh because my letter was so over the top. We were only ten years old. I was already talking about marriage!
When Brooke’s friends heard her belly laughs they wanted in on the joke. Like a good friend Brooke showed them the letter. My love note was passed f
rom kid to kid. The laughter grew louder and louder in the classroom. Some of the kids even started quoting me and acting it out.
“Oh, Brooke, I love you! One day I want to marry you and have a family! Hahahaha!”
When Mrs. Trident heard the commotion she marched down the aisle, like a dope-sniffing dog to find out what was going on.
“Brooke, we don’t pass notes in class, young lady. You should know better. Because it is obvious you don’t, I’m going to post this note on the bulletin board for all the kids to see. That should teach you a lesson!”
As you can imagine, I was mortified! The next morning there were kids gathered at the main bulletin board reading all about my feelings for Brooke. There was nothing I could do. Kids pointed, laughed, and called me Romeo. I was so embarrassed.I wished for the floor to open, dropping me into another universe.
That’s when I felt Brooke’s eyes on me from down the hall. When I looked up she flashed me a shy smile, making everything instantly better. Later in life, she told me that she found it very attractive that I was so crazy about her.
Cindy
Chapter Eight
“Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge them; sometimes they forgive them.”
~ Oscar Wilde
Cindy Napier’s Diary
November 14, 1987
Jack is 8 years old now and I'm struggling to keep him from running wild. I work at the Knights of Columbus as a cocktail waitress and Jack is home alone. My mother has offered to keep Jack, but I'm not about to let her dig her claws in him. He's my son, not hers.
I'm very upset that my father cannot stay sober enough to watch him for a few hours at night. He says he loves me, but I can never rely on him. All he does is drink now that he’s unemployed. When his friends come over he gets so drunk he asks me to flash my tits for them. I only do it to shut him up. What kind of father does that? His friends are starting to notice. I overheard one of them say, "I think Bob's got a thing for his daughter." If they only knew.
My father hasn’t paid the rent in months. Now, the landlord is threatening to evict us. I don’t know what we are going to do.
November 20, 1987
Jack brought home a live turkey the other day and was storing it in our basement without telling me. I know this because I found the damn thing at 6 am when it started gobbling. The sound was so loud! When I woke I had a wicked hangover. I’m pretty sure my father did too. Actually, I’m surprised he made it home from the Alley Cat last night.
At first we had no idea what was making the noise. Then my father looked in the basement and sure enough there it was, a full sized turkey in a cage. Jack ran downstairs claiming he won it in some kind of art contest. That kid sure has a wild imagination! I have no idea where he got such a pet, but it’s not the first time he has brought home a stray. Although, a turkey is a new one for me.
Jack gets so attached to his stray pets it makes it hard for me to get rid of them. I'm struggling to take care of him, let alone a bunch of wild animals.
March 1, 1988
Jack really did it this time. He befriended a stray cat that's been hanging around the back door. He named him Tom, probably after the cat in the cartoon “Tom & Jerry”. Jack's been feeding and giving it milk every day. I even caught the damn thing in bed with him. When I threw the Tom out the back door Jack begged and pleaded with me to let him keep him.
He was so sincere and those little tear-soaked blue eyes tugged at my heart. I agreed to let him keep feeding the cat as long as he didn't bring him into the house anymore. This arrangement was working well until the Tom came up missing. Jack was beside himself. He was starting to panic. I didn’t understand it, but I truly felt bad for him. He was clearly in love with Tom.
Then one morning two police officers stopped by to question me about a stolen cat. When I went up to Jack’s room to ask him about it, Tom was in bed with him. I was furious!
Then all hell broke loose. Molly, one of the neighbors, accused Jack of breaking into her apartment and stealing her cat. First of all, the cat was a stray and not hers. But Jack did open her window and take it back. I know he didn't know what he was doing, but it was still considered breaking and entering. When the police questioned my father things went from bad to worse. Next thing you know, Child Protective Services was taking Jack into custody. I wanted to fight it but we are on our way to being evicted anyway. I’m not about to let my mother take him. So Jack going to a foster home is not such a bad thing. This will give me time to figure out how to pay the rent. Maybe I can even get a roommate now.
Chapter Nine
“Until one has loved an animal a part of one's soul remains unawakened.”
~Anatole France
Jack Napier - Day 20
As a child I held little trust for adults - kids either, for that matter. I found the most loyal and honest friends to be animals. So I brought home a lot of stray pets.
Tom was my first cat. He was a black and white billicat that had mostly white fur, dotted with irregular black spots. There was even one on his neck that resembled a bow tie. Combined with the big spot on his back, he looked like he was wearing a tuxedo. I thought that was so cool.
Tom was always looking for a little kindness, a handout, a bit of food he could pull out of the garbage. The night I found him I snuck him into my room so he could sleep with me. When my mom found out she tossed him out the back door.
I could relate to his lonely howling as my mother shut the door, abandoning him into the lonely darkness. Tom craved affection and so did I. My furry friend loved to sit on my lap purring as I tickled the black spot on his tiny head. Hearing him purr, I felt a ray of heat fill my chest. We spent hours sitting on the side of the railroad bank looking up at the stars. Though I was an outgoing kid, I was very much a loner. Tom was my only real friend at the time.
My mom had no problem with me adopting a neighborhood cat as long as I didn’t bring him into the house. I could live with that rule for a while. I fed Tom Star-Kist tuna from a small can and poured him a bowl of milk every morning. The more I fed him, the more he came around. I loved seeing his eager little face in the morning when he walked into our yard. I knew he was looking for me, and that made me feel loved. I guess it was a bond between two loners. He needed me and I needed him.
I liked all the neighbors with the exception of one person, Molly Baker. Molly was the same age as my mother and carried a thick black book that was bound by worn leather. She would read from it out loud to herself as she walked through the neighborhood at night. Molly had frizzy black hair the color of charcoal with a large, irregular mole on her nose. Draped in black clothes she resembled the wicked witch of the west. Being eleven years old, I truly believed she was casting spells as she read out loud from her book.
Molly was not fond of me. I could never figure out why. I think she was envious of my popularity in our small apartment complex. She would intently watch everything from her apartment window where I suspect she kept a diary, recording everyone’s actions. How else would she have known our business so well? It was rumored that Molly (a widow) was never able to have children. I imagine that’s why she was so bitter.
One day Tom didn’t show up for his usual meal of tuna and milk. I waited, and waited, getting more and more worried. Something felt very wrong to me. Desperate to find my friend I took off looking for him. I searched all over town, checking everywhere we had ever been. I couldn’t find him anywhere! Thoughts of Jim entered my mind. I couldn’t stand to lose another friend.
After a week of searching I was starting to wonder if Tom got hit by a train or a car. Maybe he had been attacked by a dog and was lying in some alley suffering. These thoughts kept me awake at night. I couldn’t concentrate in school, and I didn’t feel hungry at all. I kept looking with more intensity and determination than ever, but still, no Tom.
Then, on my way home from school one day, I happened to hear a scratching noise as I passed one of the apartment buildings that
sat in the very back of our complex. My heart filled with excitement when I saw my long lost friend. Tom was just as excited to see me, scratching at the window like he was trying to open it. I checked to see if it was unlocked, and to my surprise it was. I opened it and let my friend out. We made a quick getaway. When I got Tom home I snuck him into my room. I held him tight all night.
The next morning, I awoke to my mother standing over my bed.
“Why is this cat in your room?”
“Because it’s mine! You told me I could have him.”
“I told you it was a neighborhood cat. That you could play with it as long as it stayed outside.”
“But Tom is mine. He wants to be with me!” I pleaded.
“Explain that to the two police officers downstairs who want to question you about a breaking and entering charge!”
I looked up at her. “Breaking and entering? I just opened a window to let Tom get away from Molly. She stole him and kept him prisoner! ”
“Well, get your ass downstairs and start explaining this shit. This is a bad day to have the police at the house.”
There was never a good day to have the police at our house. It always ended badly. I cautiously walked down the steps, feeling the weight of what I had done growing. It made my knees buckle and my heart race.
The officers’ demeanor was pleasant when I first walked into the kitchen.
“Are you Jack?” asked the really tall officer.
“Yes, yes sir,” I answered.
“We received a call from Ms. Baker about her cat being stolen.”
I looked at the officer and, in a respectful tone I said, “It’s not her cat. She stole Tom from me.”
Breaking Brooklyn Page 6
