Ultimate Selfishness

I always had a strong abhorrence to those greedy little bastards. How they ravenously dismembered their meticulously wrapped gifts, basically foaming out the mouth. It pissed me off even at five years old seeing how they always got what they wanted on Christmas, despite their rotten little attitudes. " Be good or else Santa won't come!" But lo and behold they had piles and piles of expensive gifts to open. I was content with my art set, and the cute stuffed animal I received, because I know they were given with love. They always had this way of reminding me the value they placed on material possessions. They valued their toys more than they did true friendship. If you didn't have as many toys as them you weren't a part of their club. To say I didn't fit in would be an understatement.

My mom's best friend is the reason I was ever introduced to these spoiled rich kids. Her family all worked for their family owned construction business. She herself kept herself out of the family business, on purpose I think. She was always better than her family was. I mean, they were good people, but they were too ambitious, and ostentatious to pay any real attention to their kids. They let the T.V. babysit, while filling their toy boxes with new toys that would in five days be junk. They took their kids on expensive trips, let them get into expensive hobbies, and pushed them to strive for the best. Their kids were bred to be their clones, not their loving offspring. They worked hard, and partied harder. The latter must be why my mom and dad kept them in their company.

Christmas day was always spent here. We'd stuff our guts full of all expensive holiday goodies while watching grown men grunt and roll around in the dirt chasing a football. All of us would gather in their enormous living room, and we'd exchange gifts, which in their children's minds were an entitlement and not a gift they had earned. Their gift exchange was less about love, and joy, but about status, and who's kid got what. Jealousy, and temper tantrums were in place of love and Christmas carols. I would hide in the bathroom sometimes, since there was a T.V in there. I could tune out all of the negative energy that surged inside of me. The night would fade on and all the adults would be in the other room proving their status once more by playing poker, laughing at each other's terrible and often sexist jokes and of course talking shit to each other and drinking beer. With 2 Keg fridges and a house full of beer lovers, it's hard not to see where the nights end up.

There was no set bed time, but I was tired. My mom took me into the den and made a bed of old blankets and pillows for me to sleep on. For little girls who aren't fond of the boogy man this was a perfect place to sleep. It was dark enough, but still illuminated by all of the neon signs displaying the households love for beer and cigarettes. I was comfortable, but I didn't want her to leave just yet. The sweet combination of her perfume, Busch beer and Kool 100's on her breath and clothes was a comfort to me. She promised she'd stay til I fell asleep, slurring slightly. My dad came in and tucked me in and told me he loved me. His voice rumbled deep into his chest, but it was soft like satin. He was always the hero in my eyes. We went fishing every weekend, and he would dote upon me. I was his only child, and I always felt his love without the gifts the other kids needed in order to feel their parents love. The two of them laid with me til they thought I was asleep, but I was aware of them leaving. I was ok though. It was Christmas night, I had a great day despite the ankle biters in the next room. I had my mommy, I had my daddy and life as I knew it was perfect. No matter how few toys I got, I still had them.


Unicorns and rainbows flowed into my conscious. I was really into Rainbow Brite at the time, so many of my dreams were episodes that were never aired but in my dreams. I was sliding on a rainbow into an ice cream pool when I heard the sound of a fist hitting a face. It was my dad. He hit one of the rich family members in the face. I rolled over, staying in my makeshift bed trying to stay awake to listen to what was going on. I could hear my father's once soothing voice turn to black. I knew it was my dad, but I felt it wasn't him. I could hear the alcohol in his voice. I was scared, my tiny heart was beating in my throat. This is the first time I ever remember feeling that scared tingly feeling. From my crown to my toes, like electricity making its awkward way through my blood stream.It wasn't going to be the last time I'd feel this sensation tonight. The other kids in the house were blind to what was happening in the room with all the parents in it.

I wished deep down inside that I was one of them. With that one act, whatever had happened in the other room, this thing awakened inside of me. Almost a sense for the emotions going on in everyone's soul's in there. It was overpowering, I wished I could be oblivious to everything, but I felt too deeply to ignore it. My empathic tendencies were born that day. I now had other people's feelings inside of me. And everyone felt the same. I didn't know what it was at five, but I know it now to be what all people feel when they are scared. That anxious gnawing feeling that has reacted to some horrible thing you've witnessed. I wasn't even there, but I felt it too.

A door slammed, shaking the house with an earthquake of rage. The house sounded much like a spooked chicken coop with everyone frantically wondering what brought on this fight, and where did Buck go? Is he driving? He can't drive he's drunk! Where's he going? A wide array of emotions flying from that room into my heart. Many more questions were muffled out by the jolt of being ripped out of the bed my mom had lovingly made for me just hours before. I was up, my shoes were shoved on in such haste my heel wasn't even in my left shoe before my mom was pulling me out of the house. My heart was louder than the rich people's frantic clucking. As I corrected the bad shoe job my mom did, she yelled at me to hurry. We had to hurry!

The night was quiet. It was the kind of dark that would even scare a bat. I knew something was wrong. So did my mom, but it's weird to say that as a 5 year old little girl, I knew a balance had been altered. I couldn't pin point it, but I know the feeling was pure fright. My mom clutched my hand as she stumbled, and wobbled pulling me down the wet ice covered street. Tears in her eyes, she mumbled. She kept mumbling, I knew she wasn't talking to me, but I wanted to know what she was saying.

We took the shortcut we had taken so many times in our family truck to get from our house to her best friend's house. It was a dirt road, with so many potholes they had formed their own mini lakes. Its a wonder anyone could make it down this road. I know mommy had hoped he'd gotten stuck coming this way. That was not the case. We trudged through the mud puddles, coming out in the ghetto area of our town. Run down houses and drug dealer's dwellings. This is where we lived. Behind a sporting goods store with the most ridiculous mascot ever. It's a wonder anyone going to this side of town to get their drugs didn't have a freakout just seeing this enormous black bird in front of the store that shared its name. We were on the wrong side of the tracks, we weren't rich enough to live where anywhere else.

A dog barked in the distance, that was the only sound in our neighborhood as we finally walked up the alley to our front door. Our truck parked sideways in our driveway with a plastic trashcan re-formed around the front tire like it belonged there. The door was wide open. And the lights in the house pointed where my dad had gone. There was no noise. Sure it was late at night, or early in the morning which ever way you choose to look at it.. but it was eerily quiet. I wanted to go see my daddy. I walked into the house and I saw a family photo in our hallway missing some glass. The glass was on the floor in front of me. My mommy taught me that glass will cut me if I am barefoot, so seeing I had shoes on I walked right through it. To my left a door was cracked open. It was mommy and daddy's room. I tried to open the door, but something was blocking my passage. My mom came up behind me, I could hear her breathing sound staccato with her heart beating as fast as it was. She moved me aside and without a word pushed open the door. Then immediately shut it. But I saw all I needed to see...

He was gone. Sure he was laying there.. But it wasn't him. He was somewhere far from our existence. He was dead. My mom grabbed me trying to remain calm. She grabbed some things out of my room and ran me across the street to our neighbors house. She wouldn't answer any of my questions, who could answer their daughter's questions when her husband had just committed suicide. I had no idea what I had just seen, but I felt sad. I had no way to comprehend the severity of what just transpired.That is until I heard my mom's frantic voice Break the eerie silence of the night. She pleaded for anyone to hear her, for someone to call 911 but It was the early 90's, and in the poor area of town- not everyone had a phone. I heard her voice as it became more frantic, then it faded to nothing.

Police came eventually to question me but I had no answers to my questions in return. What could they say? I was 5 years old and they must have known that my first real memory would be of a holiday filled with selfish bratty children that was then shadowed by the even more selfish exit that my father took from our stage. I couldn't help but be jealous, for the first time in my life. All those rich little kids had finally one upped me. They had more things than me, and now.. the one thing I always had over them, was gone forever, without looking back.