“....5, 6,7, 8,” I counted in my head as the choreographed routine flowed through my body and was interpreted through my my arms and legs. The hard lights from the stage burned through me just as the sun against the water on the beach. My head became vacant of thought as each motion came naturally in execution. In what seemed like a quick moment the dance was over. The music stopped My chest rose and fell as the adrenaline took my breath as I exited the stage.
That was the first time that I had ever felt like that. The natural high was intoxicating at the young age of five. A smile seemed to be permanently glued to my face as audience members later asked my name and praised my performance.
A few weeks passed, and I was asked to perform at a local festival at the town square. Nerves were the farthest thing from my head. I felt at home on the stage as the crowd’s eyes were glued to my every move. I could feel their positive energy on my skin as I performed my skill. Once again the adrenaline kicked in as I exited the stage. I couldn’t seem to get enough of this feeling.
Life seemed glamorous at five years old. At the time, I had no idea where my skills would lead me in the end. Dance began to consume my days as the linoleum kitchen floor became my new stage. The table and chairs became props in various routines I would choreograph to simply hear my taps click against the floor. The highlight of the evening would be my grand finale performance the my VIP guests, my parents, and selectively chosen stuffed animals that seemed to have season tickets.
This infatuation continued into elementary school, and I took it very seriously. My mother would count aloud to the rhythm of the music, and I would follow in tow with my carefully calculated movements. My infatuation with the stage and my hard work soon paid off as my dance troop
auditioned for the hit television show “Star Search.” My whole family gleamed with excitement as my mother disclosed the details over our family dinner. I’m not sure at this point if I really understood just how big of a deal it was. I understood that I was potentially going to be on a television show, but I didn’t realize that some celebrities had gotten their start just from appearing on the show.
Weeks flew by as the audition grew closer and closer. The choreographer had drilled us and drilled us about eight counts, formations, and transitions. My mother worked meticulously over my costume attaching a small sequined poodle to my pink skirt and ironing every piece carefully. I can remember her starching and ironing the satin ribbons for my shoes so that they’d make a perfect bow. I was more than ready when my big day came.
I can vividly remember that day as it was yesterday. The audition was to take place in an old train station that had been converted into a shopping mall in downtown Indianapolis. As we parked my mother glanced over the back of the chair and looked at me and smiled. I knew at that point in time that she was proud of me, and I was proud of me too. We walked in the double doors of the building and rode the giant escalator up to the next floor. I remember taking in the bright lights of the store fronts. As we rose to the top of the escalator I could begin to see the ginormous stage that they had constructed for the audtitions at the end of the food court. I was in awe of the entire scene. My mother grabbed my hand and rushed me off to the backstage area to prepare for my performance. When we arrived behind the heavy, velvet curtain I could see my classmates gathered in a bunch. I could read the nervousness on their faces, and it made my stomach flip in anticipation. It was in that moment that it all made sense to me. I realized that this wasn’t something happens to everyday people, but it was happening to me.
When I took the stage the nerves finally set in, and I immidiately got light headed. I could hear the clicking sound from my tap shoes sound against the floor as I walked to my choreographed position at the front and center of the stage. The crowd sat silent as we all impatiently waited for the music to sound from the speakers. Hearing the beginning beats to Billy Idol’s “Boney Maronie” set my heart racing in a tizzy. The incescent beating on the inside of my chest coordinated with the rythm of the music as if it was a metranome for my feet. The music grew blurry in my head as I focused on every aspect of the dance. Nothing could top this feeling as the energy from the crowd was engulfed in my body and fueled my actions. A silence reigned for what seemed forever before cheers and screams broke out at the completion of the routine. We dashed off the stage behind the fuzzy red curtain.
We all stood there nervous and excited as we waited to hear the scores from the judges. No one realy knew what to expect at that moment. For all we knew we were just a small town dance troop with big dreams. No one ever expected this chance, and I’m pretty sure no one expected a positive outcome. We were only expected to do our best, and we did just that.
The crowd grew quiet as the judges took the stage to offer our scores. All of the contestants stood there almost holding their breath in anticipation. The words flowing from the announcer’s mouth seemed to blue together like the teacher from “Charlie Brown.” I couldn’t focus on anything that came out. I was so distracted that I didn’t hear him announce our name. The entire dance troop began screaming, and it hit me like a fire alarm sounding in a tiny hallway. “Five stars!” the announcer said again. My body grew warm, and a gleaming smile pasted on my face. Was this really happening? Was I dreaming? We were really about to be on tv! This was really happening to me!
This high only snowballed as we became hometown celebrities. We were featured in our hometown newspaper with details on our recent achievement. A local television station from Indianapolis even asked us to perform in their Christmas program with all of their television personalities.
Preperation was now in full swing. There was no stopping us, until the big news came shortly after. The show was being cancelled, and no more acts were going to be filmed for an upcoming season. Talk about taking a hit to the gut! Our little nine year old hearts were shattered. I cannot begin to describe how it felt. We were heartbroken.
Our choreographer still had ever intention of getting our names out there. She got in contact with organizers from our local NBA team, the Indiana Pacers. We were asked to perform with the Pacemates during their half time show. This was huge to our little hearts. Who would have guessed that all of this would have been thrown at us? After this performance we were on cloud nine, but this was only the beginning. We were asked to come back several times after that, and nothing could have topped those feelings. Our dressing room was right next to the visiting team’s. At my young age my little heart didn’t understand starstruck as we ran into some of the biggest names in basketball. I have friends to this day that get all squirmy when I tell them that we got to meet Michael Jordan during the height of his amazing basketball career.
Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and months turned into years. Not much changed in life after that. It was almost as if I stood still as the world began to pass me by. Middle school was a complete blur to me. I attended classes, made good grades, and still managed to continue with my dance classes. At this point I had broadened my horizons by adding a jazz and ballet class as well. My weeks were jam packed with very little time for relaxation, but it’s how I liked it.
My actions didn’t go unnoticed. By the time I arrived to the fifth grade, I began to receive scholarship information from different organizations. I was awkwardly comfortable in my own skin. My only sense of confidence and self worth came from my experiences on the stage. This was my home. This was where I belonged.
My mother found a bright light of hope as I was offered a chance to participate in the Miss Pre-Teen Indiana Pageant. This was not an average pageant as it was based on merit of academics. Sitting on my honor roll record, I jumped at the chance to prove myself once again.
My mother instantly turned into one of those stage moms that you see on the reality television shows. She was super excited to try out new hair styles, design new costumes, and shop for what she thought would be the cutest dress. Having the performance gene embedded deep into my DNA, I was ready for the challenge.
This new found arena put a whole new load of pressure on my shoulders. Up until this point, I had never been tested on my mind and it’s capacity. The day we arrived appeared to be the most challenging. We were divided into age groups and sent to respective areas of the large banquet room to evaluate our brains. A thick booklet of pages of questions were handed out to each contestant. It was time to show off in this new found arena. The questions varied in skill level from basic arithmetic to algebraic expressions that my little brain was proud to take a stab at. Of course not reaching this point in my education yet, I really had no idea if any solution that I was coming up with would be correct, but I knew that I needed to make a valiant effort anyway. There was no possible way that every contestant besides me would be able to capitilize on every single problem, so I took gratification in my intuition to analyze these problems.
The week progressed very slowly as the adrenaline rushed through my body. I had no idea what went on at these kind of things. I was so out of my element that I could feel my awkward nature coming through. I had no problem socializing with the other contestants as a whole, it was more of the level of conversation that left me dumbfounded. Some girls seemed to have IQ’s higher than my counting abilities. They would speak in large words and express thoughts that I was unable to fathom. On the other hand, some girls left me dumbfounded. I almost wondered if they were hatched from eggs, because they were that country. They spoke with thick accents and spoke of their 4-H awards that they had recently won in the state fair. I was subconsciously sizing up the competition.
The directors of the organization had created a finale routine that the entire cast must perform on closing night. This didn’t scare me one bit. I knew that I could pick up choreography within a few minutes of watching it; I always had. This was just what I needed to gain some kind of footing in this competition. I knew we wouldn’t be judged on our performance, but it would be easy to tell who was confident in their motions and who was not.
There was little time for extras as I was rushed into hair and make-up shortly after we finished the dance rehearsal. This was probably my least favorite part as my mother would pin, pull, and curl my hair into some form of hairsprayed art on top of my head. My make-up was meticulously applied to compliment my new hair do. With my dress slid over my head and zipped I was pushed out of the dressing room and escorted to the waiting area for the preliminary session.
Each contestant was paraded around on the stage in a way that reminded me of a cattle show at the county fair. The girls would walk to the front of the stage as their name and number was announced to the awaiting audience. The contestant would then state her name and from which part of the state she was from. She would then proceed to walk in this large imaginary circle back to the front of the stage. She would then pose, smile, and exit the stage. My name and number were called and I too followed suit with the cattle parade. I marched up to the microphone with my practiced words sitting on the very tip of my tongue. “My name is Lauren Metz from Shelbyville, Indiana. A town known for the book The Bears of Blue River by Charles Major, “ I said allowed in hopes to impress the judges. I then began my my cattle parade walk across the stage. I felt so awkard in this moment and faked an obscene smile into the white lights at the end of the stage. The degrading feeling I felt subsided as I exited the stage. I felt much better as I conversed with the other girls backstage about how their presentations went. No one was particularly fond of the way that it went down, so I didn’t feel so alone.
That evening was the most stressful of the entire competition. This would be the night that I would show off what I thought I had to offer in the ‘Talent’ competition. I had prepared a tap dance routine to Bette Midler’s Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy. I knew this was where I would shine, so I harbored no hesitation when I confidently walked onto the wooden floor. The music began and I immediately felt alive. This was my element, and I had ever intention of exposing myself and my talents to the judges. I could feel their eyes glued to me as they smiled with approval as I moved across the stage. The moment passed oh too quickly for me to fully enjoy it, but I knew that I had put my best foot forward. As I exited the stage I can vividly remember the announcer saying, “Miss Lauren Metz! You guys have just witnessed a star in the making. Lauren was chosen as a finalist on Star Search.” Knowing the whole story about the cancelling of the show brought sadness to my heart. Could I have been a star in the making? That question sat on my heart for many years to come after that moment.
The week continued with agonizing interviews and more stage presentations as the judges evaluated each performance. Now that the talent competition was over, I had little to look forward to. I didn’t really grasp all that was going on around me seeing I was no where near a pageant princess. I could only look forward to the pageants end with the awards ceremony.
I didn’t really think that I stood a chance in winning anything for academics. My only shot was in the talent competition. When it came to that part of the ceremony I sat on pins and needles as I had high hopes of at least winning something. However, I wasn’t expecting what transpired. I won talent. I actually won. I was the reining Miss Pre-Teen Indiana 1995. What an honor! This achievement won me a bid to the national competion, that very next summer.
I went to the national pageant with with very low hopes and with very good reason. Thos egirls were fierce. I didn’t bring any awards home this time, but I was completely content with that. I knew my pageant career would be short lived, but I wanted to opportunity to experience it all.
It was back to school in the fall. Between school, dance, and gymnastics I had very little time for extras. Keeping busy meant keeping my head busy which was a good thing considering my home life was getting worse and worse.
My step-father was the police chief of my hometown, and this seemed to come with certain responsibilities for the family. This meant sitting for countless hours at Democrat Headquarters while he schmoozed all of the local politicians and supporters. Not all of it was bad, persay. We did get to eat some of the best home cooked food at pitch-ins and what not. This was my way of being optimistic of long evenings spent there.
To the average person, the way we carried on may have seemed like not that big of a deal. His affiliation with the Fraternal Order of Police provided us with a myriad of opportunities that not every child would have been given. We were able to travel the country and visit places that we might now have been able to see during his summer conferences to various states. He would be in meetings all day and my mother would take us into the city.
My mom went out of her way to make these trips eventful. She would have maps and brochures of local attractions in the area selected for us to choose from. This usually meant we ended up at a beach, water park, or museum of some kind to amuse us until he was finished with his day. We would then usually have dinner at some over priced restaurant and head back to the hotel or wherever we were staying.
One huge benefit to these trips that I grew accustomed to was the family vacation that usually
took place on the following week. These were some of the happy times that I shared with my family.
I didint know it then, but these happy times wouldn’t last forever.
My step father’s drinking began to grow more intense, and I was old enough to
acknowledge it. I would hear him come in late at night which always created a scuffle with my
mother. He would always claim to have meetings or whatever after work and come home with a
thick smell of something on his breath. This really seemed to be a never ending battle between the two of them. I understood that my mother was upset with his drinking, but I didnt understand why it was a constant fight that they were having over and over again. When it came to me and the things that I did, I was only to be punished once. I was to learn from my bad behavior. So, why was he off of the hook? My mother never really came out and said anything about his drinking in front of me, but I was smart enough to know that it bothered her deep inside. The evenings would usually end in harsh words with one of them storning into their bedroom in the back of the house. Not much changed after that.
The summers had a way of sealing the soul of our little family unit. Each year we would travel to Shroudsburg, Pennsylvania to attend the International Gymnastics Camp. Here my sister and I would be tested to our limits and forced beyond them in order to get a well rounded education. With my parents being our coaches they too came with us. They were able to attend coaching sessions that would help us throughout our seasons. The trip was always long and boring, and our arrival on the mountain was always bitter sweet. I loved camp, but my body didn’t. The first few days into training were always a train wreck. It never mattered how much I conditioned during my season, I was always sore once upon that mountain. Had I kept up that intensity through the year, I would have probably been suicidal. It had to be taken in small doses.
My sister and I always got put in seperate cabins. We were never really far apart, but I always liked to have her close. Each day I would meet her at the door of her cabin and walk to the gym up the mountain. This was my sense of comfort being so far from home.
Each day was rigorous and stressful as each rotation pushed us to our limits. We were divided into groups according to our age, height, and skill level. Each instructor had their own technique of presenting new skills and executing them, so each day was a new struggle adapting to what we had learned just the day before. Commitment wasn’t an option. With my parents close by, it became mandatory. My sister and I attended every open gym while others played. I knew that I was there for a purpose, so I tried to put my jealousy aside.
The true benefits of my hard work came the night before our last day. I was chosen for a final performance at the awards banquet for closing night. I was able to shine once again as the performance consisted mostly of choreographed dance moves while others tumbled.
My mother sat proudly on the bleachers at the end of the floor. Her excitement grew as the awards came. My sister and I were both voted by our instructors as Most Dedicated in our designated rotation classes. My mother still has the plaques tucked away for safe keeping.
My last summer at IGC was just before my freshman year of high school. I was stressed and intimidated by any preconceived notions that were in my head. I still had a full plate in front of me. Nothing was really different.
I decided to go out for the soccer team as soon as I got back from Pennsylvania. The weeks worth of tryouts were nothing like I had experienced before. My muscles ached. Muscles that I didn’t even know I had ached. I didin’t feel like any of my efforts were acknowledged until I was chosen as a forward for the varsity team. I made varsity! This was unheard of at my high school. In previous years the school had an unspoken rule that all freshmen were automatically put on junior varsity squads of any sport in order to get more experience before competing at a varsity level. I knew at this point that I had large shoes to fill. The graduating seniors that ran the tryouts were celebrities in my eyes. The drills they ran and the advice that spilled from their mouths were more than valuable as the season began.
We made it to the final round of sectionals that year. Of course I would have liked to go further, but I as a first year team member, I was thrilled with where we got. It was a nice accomplishment at the beginning of the year.
It was on to the next season. It was time for winter sports. This meant time for the gymnastic season. My free time grew to next to nothing as it was now time for my gymnastic season to begin. This was going to be a guinea pig season seeing as my school didn’t even have a gymnastic team at the time. My parents had to first attend school board meetings and fundraisers in order to put a foot in the door. I was accomplanied by one other teammate that also did gymnastics in another city nearby. I remember being so excited, because I got to pick out my competition leotard. This may seam like a menial task, but without a real team this was huge to me! My mother stood up as our coach anc chose our competition schedule. We didn’t set any records or go very far into sectionals, but we did lay some pretty neat ground work my my school to have a gymnastics team.
The sports awards banquet at the end of the year was different then most. Not only was I being recognized as a freshman on a varsity squad, but I was also being recognized for being a founding member of our school’s new gymnastics team. This meant I would be receiving two varsity letters for my letterman jacket. I felt like a rockstar. Most atheletes wouldn’t get their varsity letter until their sophomore, junioe, or senior year. Here I was sitting with two letters.
My freshman year was a year I’ll never forget. My sophomore year is one that I wish that I could. It started out just as usual. Soccer was well underway, and this year the athletic department had started a dance team. This was right up my alley, so of course I jumped right in. I wasn’t surprised to see that most of the people that tried out of the dance team were from my dance class at the studio. I knew we would rock it out!
Early in the fall I was contacted by a local non-for-profit organization in my town that I had done a lot of volunteer work with about a possible trip to California. Once I gathered the details I couldn’t help but to listen. They were chosing three girls to go to Los Angelos to shoot commercials for their most recent campaign. They chose me! I was flown to LA in a matter of weeks in order to get the shoot completed before th holidays. I didn’t mind. This put my 16th birthday in one of the United States’ most interesting cities.
My entire stay there was pretty busy. We spent countless hours on set memorizing lines and taking take after take to make sure that everything went as planned. I remember the feeling of exhaustion setting in as we were finishing up the scene next to a swimming pool. I wasn’t sure how celebrities did this day in and day out for a job.
The trip was short lived. I was soon back on a plain to Indianapolis to settle back into school. Homework in hand, I headed back to that brick building.
The dance season went off without a hitch. We even scored a bid to dance at Walt Disney World during our training camp. Come February we were headed to Florida for a national dance competition. We were to comepete against 150 teams from all over the country. Again I had that same feeling of raw excitement. We used a routine that was prepared for us at the beginning of the year with a few minor changes to transitions and to the routine due to requirements set forth by the sponsoring organization.
We finished 30th out of the entire competiton. We didn’t win any medals or trophies, but to us it was huge. We were a small dance team from a small town in the midwest. Any victory, whether it had been large or small, was a victory none the less.
We arrived back home to a warm welcome at school. For me, this celebration couldn’t have lasted long enough. For winter ran into spring, and this particular sprint I will never forget. Most of the girls my age were getting ready for the spring dance and prom, and I was ready to hop on board. Not being old enoufh for prom, I only got to live vicariously through the juniors and seniors as they prepared the gym and cafeteria for their big night. The spring dance would come too, but it wouldn’t be as exciting. We just used whatever decorations were left from prom .
I remember the spring of 2001 as if it was a joyous occassion. Truth is, it wasn’t. Friday the 13th loomed, and had I known then what I know now I wouldn’t ahve even woke up that morning. This particular friday was Good Friday, which meant all of the Catholic kids would be
happy. The school day was fine. Nothing comes to mind when i think of the daylight. It’s when the night fell and the stars came out that all of the memories come flooding to my mind.
I was invited to a friend’s house that evening, which seemed tame for a friday night. A few people had mentioned attending as well, so I didn’t want to feel left out. I dressed for the evening, and kissed my mother goodbye. I distinctly remember this, because this was very out of character for me. She mumbled something about being careful, and I was quickly out of the door. His house was only a few miles into the country. I arrived to so cars there but my own. Did everyone leave?
Was I early? Was anyone coming? I didn’t want to be rude, so I knocked on the front door to the house. The door was answered, and I walked in. I questioned where everyone was, and he seemed unsure. Certainly not everyone that had talked about it today had just given up on coming. I decided not to let my head get ahead of me, and I headed into his bedroom.
I walked into a clean room with a made bed. Nothing really seemed out of the ordinary. He turned on music, and I agreed to play video games until the rest of his expected company was to arrive.
I couldn’t ever begin to fathom what played out next. I vivdly remember sitting on the edge of his bed to the left of him. I remember wearing a pink shirt with blue jeans. I remember how I felt in that very moment when every last bit of innocence I had slipped through my fingertips. He paused the game in the middle of the action, and i looked at him. His eyes caught mine, and I was left in a stand still. He stood up quickly and placed is farearm across my chest as to push me back on to the bed behind me. Once my head hit the bed, he began to force himself upon me. I can’t begin to count the myriad of times that I said no or the ways that I attempted to struggle, but i remember feeling like my clothes came off in one sweift swoop. I closed my eyes tilting my head to the side and just cried. This wasn’t like on tv where the victims didn’t know their attackers. I did! I went to school with mine! He finished, and climbed off of me. I distinctly remember keeping my eyes shut tight in hopes that he might walk out of the room and I might be able to get off of the bed with some sort of dignity. I felt void of any feeling, and the cold air of the room against my naked skin felt like ice. I quickly got dressed and stormed out of his bedroom. I stopped only briefly to speak to his mother and wish her a good evening. I didn’t know what to say. My head hadn’t wrapped around what had just happened. I darted out the door and clumsily climbed into my car.
I hurried home in pure silence. The thoughts that reverberated in my head were louder than my stereo could have been. I walked into the door of my house with no hesitation. I knew what I needed to do, even if I never shared my little secret with anyone. I walked across the linoleum floor of the kitchen and threw open the cupboard door. I grabbed a box of the larged zipper bags I could find and rushed into my room. I pulled off each piece of clothing seperately and tucked them into their own individual bag. I zipped the bags closed and hid them under my dresser.
It is sickening to me now to know that I knew to do this. Being a child of a police officer I guess you might expect it in some capacity, but how much do you really rationalize anything in a situation like this?
I didn’t tell anyone for days. I finally broke down and told my step mother that at the time livedi n Kansas. She was my person. To this day I have no real reason why seeing as we don’t get along, but she was my person. She waited a few days to tell my father, and I froze with this news. I didn’t want him to know. I didn’t want anyone to know. I felt dirty and disgusted with myself.
After a few days I came to my senses with the decision to tell my mother. My plan of attack was to writea it all down in a letter and leave it for in the morning when I went to school. It didn’t take long before she rushed to the school and removed me for the day. I did not want to deal with this. I knew that she would probably be angry with me initially for deciding to simply leave her a letter. She took me to the house where my step father waited impatiently for me to tell my story. I felt like I was being punished. The conversation wasn’t light, and the tone of his voise put me on edge. I felt like I wanted to turn myself inside out in order to avoid the looks that both of them were giving me at that very moment. I went into my room and recovered the zipper bagged clothes that I had hidden under my bed. This was my only proof.
Being the chief of police at that time, my step father made arrangements forme to go down to the station and talk to other officers. This was so uncomfortable, and it made my skin crawl. Police officers had a different meaning to me as a child. They weren’t officers of the law in my eyes. They were my father’s co-workers. The particular gentleman my father had me go see was one of my favorites on the sheriff’s department side. He was the Beanie Babies guy. At least once a year if I had been caught being good, he’d let me reach into his big bucket of Beanie Babies and let me choose one. But this wasn’t such an innocent visit. We were talking grown up things, and my heart sat there heavy in my throat. We spoke for hours about what had happened a few nights prior while I was at my friend’s house. I think I explained the scenario roughly 400 times before he quit asking again. I was scared. What would the kids at school think of me? I dreaded going back.
Shortly after I found out more details to the case. The boy was being charged with battery and was being offered a plee of probation. I’m pretty sure my whole body was about to fall through the floor. My step father claimed that this was to protect me. He said that he didn’t want me to have to get up on the witness stand and relive my story to the judge. What?! Really?! Who does that?! My skin crawled with disgust, because I no longer felt like I had anyone in my corner.
The mood at home didn’t get any lighter. I kept hearing my mother and my step father talking about my real dad a log more. I kept hearing about the transferring of transcripts and living arrangements, and I grew nervous. Were they about me to send me to live with a man that I had barely hand any contact with in my whole 16 years? Yes, they were. I was sat down and explained that this could only be a temporary thing, but it was best for the time being. This wasn’t about me, and I was beginning to put the pieces together very quickly.
That young man wasn’t ever charged with rape, because that would be a newspaper story if I’ve ever seen one. We were from a small down, and any little bit of an exciting story appeared in that newspaper. He was charged with battery, which is a very minor offense in the eyes of the media. Regardless, neither pbit of information was printed. I kept sitting there baffled with all of the thoughts that were going through my head. It was an election year, and he was trying to save his ass. To this day the thoughts that come to mind make me very sick. To choose an election over the justice for your daughter doesn’t show well on one’s character.
I was sent to Kansas shortly after. I tried to stay optimistic with knowing that I would be seeing new kids at school. These kids wouldn’t know what happened. But there was very little comfort. I might as well have moved to my own island. There were eight kids in my class at school. Eight kids! That’s it! I was freaking out lik eI was put into a sick episode of the Twilight Zone. I hated it here. I wasn’t there long. I ended up finished my sophomore year at my original school. Some of the kids new, but not all of them. A few people made a point to come up to me and offer words of support, but for the most part I just wanted it to go away. I wanted people to quit talking about it.
Summer break couldn’t come quickly enough. It was like finally being off of parole in my own little prison. I attended gymnastics camp as usual and dover right back into soccer. My mind has settled some, so I was able to focus a little but more on extra ciriculars.
I started dating a boy that was a year younger than me, and I thought I was in love. He was in a little garage band, and I found that to be impressive. It wasn’t long before I really wanted to get involved with this. After much coercion I talked him into letting me sing in a few of their songs. Once again I was on top of the world. We would play at local venues around our small town.
My high from the music didn’t hold a candle to the sober effects of my home life. I was spending less and less time at home in hopes to avoid most of what was going on. There were many rumors around the city that my step father was having an affair. I did my best to ignore it, but it’s really hard when you aren’t only hearing from the loud mouthed adults around the city but the children at school as well. I just jremember thinking that if he is really doing thins then he had to think at some point that he was going to get caught.
The pieces didn’t begin to fal into place until later when people around town begin to enlightened my mother and I on spottings of my step father with this mystery woman. I had so many questions. Who was she? Why are you doing this?
I had planned a trip to New York City the summer before my senior year. I was slightly relectant to go knowing the stae my mother was in. She assured me that it would be fine, and she told me to be on my way. I arrived in the city and took in the sites like a small child. This was a big step for me. I was placed into a quad capacity room with other girls from the studio that I would be dancing at.
The studio life in NYC was so much different than my studio life back home, but I was willing to make the huge leap of faith in order to better myself. I experienced things I had never seen before. I took an acapella tap class, a modern ballet class, and a hard core hip hop class. This was my element.
By then end of the week I was chosen byt the Tim Richard’s dance company to join their company dance team. I was extastic to tell my mother the wonderful news. I could feel the excitiement roll off of her breath as she squealed into the phone with excitement for me.
My trip home was a sad one. I liked that big city feeling. I liked the rushing cars and the sense of responsibility that I had had by being in NYC alone. I said goodbye to those great big buildings as they faded away into the skyline. I wouldn’t see sunlight again until I woke up in our driveway as my mother pulled in the car.
My senior year was both good and bad I suppose. Upon my arrival from NYC, I was asked by the music director to consider acting as a dance captain for my school’s show choir. This was way out of my element. I didn’t mind the dancing part, but I wasn’t really one for singing show tunes in public. I graciously agreed and followed suit with all of the other choir kids. I had created another distraction for myself.
All hell broke lose with the affair finally came out. My mother sat in denial for months as she attempted to face reality. My heart broke for her. I could only imagine what was going on in her head with every day getting harder than the one before it. I swore she’d never be the same again.
Not long after the divorce battle began, I was off to college. I was going to a local college to sgudy whatever felt better for that day. I had no intentions of committing to much at that time. It was time for me to spend time on me and rediscover who I thought I was without the lights of the stage casting their heavy gazes upon me.
It wasn’t until my third year at school that I realized that my mentality had changed. I had grown as a person. I did eventually marry and have a little boy. I was so thrilled to be a mother, but my mission to self discovery wasn’t over. I could tell that I didn’t get excited about the same things that the other mothers did. In fact, beyond my son there wasn’t much that I was really thrilled about. I saw thereapists and talked to family members. They saw that my inner struggle was eating at me.
It didn’t take me long to realize that the struggle was a simple one. I was having such an issue, because I was not really attracted to my partner. I had married him, because he was a good guy. He had a good family and good values, and he seemed that he knew what it took to provide for his own family. I began reaching deeper into the thoughts of my sexuality. This wans’t new to me. I had ‘experimented’ in high school. But it never really felt like experiementing. It never felt wrong. It was actually quite cozy to me. I finally hit the nail on the head when my husband and I sat down for dinner one evening. I told him that I wanted out. I said that he deserved to be with someone that wanted to be with him, because at that particular time I knew that I didn’t. I longed for different company.
There was a transisitonal period of climbing out of the closet. Although, compared to stories of others that I have heard I pretty much ran out of the closet with a rainbow painted on my body. My family for the most part was really receptive to my views on the subject. My favorite part about all of this was talking to my mother. She quesitoned how one girl could change my life. I chuckled and told her that there wasn’t just one girl. There had been many girls. Her shocked face spoke volumes and she began to studtter over her words. She softly asked who. She wanted to know if she knew any of my previous partners. I looked back and named one without thinking knowing that she knew this particular girl. My mother’s jaw dropped as she announced that she knew the girl’s mother. I laughed to myself trying not to make a joke of the situation, but it was definitely funny.
I have long moved on since this. I am openly out and raising my son in the suburbs of Indianapolis. I don’t really know where I will go from here. I know that I have grown as a person in really abstract ways that I saw fit to adapt to my environment. I tackled each skeleton one by one, but their memories still hold their place in my story. It is my story, and those are my own skeletons.
