All The Times That I Cried (eBook)
eBook Download:
EPUB
2020
|
1. Auflage
180 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
978-1-60307-307-3 (ISBN)
180 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
978-1-60307-307-3 (ISBN)
My name is KC and I am an alcoholic. I spoke those words over 30 years ago for the first time. I meant them then and I mean them now, though I haven't had a drink since I spoke them. As a young teen, I drank to escape a life I thought that I couldn't live. And though I'm smiling now, I'll always remember all the times that I cried.
My name is KC and I am an alcoholic. I spoke those words over 30 years ago for the first time. I meant them then and I mean them now, though I haven't had a drink since I spoke them. Alcoholism is a disease and its causes are many. But it can be arrested if the alcoholic wants it to be. I did. I didn't take my first drink because it tasted good. I took it alone. I wasn't trying to impress anyone. I drank to escape a life I thought that I couldn't live. I thought I had a reason to drink; that I could blot out the self-doubt and tragedy that befell me at a young age. But I couldn't. My escape became a trap. I realized that my life was no more than a death, which came from a whiskey bottle. I didn't want to live it anymore. It wasn't easy to face the past. It wasn't easy to accept the things I couldn't change. But I did. And though I'm smiling now, I'll always remember all the times that I cried.
My name is KC and I am an alcoholic. I spoke those words over 30 years ago for the first time. I meant them then and I mean them now, though I haven't had a drink since I spoke them. Alcoholism is a disease and its causes are many. But it can be arrested if the alcoholic wants it to be. I did. I didn't take my first drink because it tasted good. I took it alone. I wasn't trying to impress anyone. I drank to escape a life I thought that I couldn't live. I thought I had a reason to drink; that I could blot out the self-doubt and tragedy that befell me at a young age. But I couldn't. My escape became a trap. I realized that my life was no more than a death, which came from a whiskey bottle. I didn't want to live it anymore. It wasn't easy to face the past. It wasn't easy to accept the things I couldn't change. But I did. And though I'm smiling now, I'll always remember all the times that I cried.
CHAPTER ONE
WHY? FREDDIE
1962
1965
I wasn’t quite 15 when my brother, Freddie, had his first “bad trip” on P.C.P. By that time, Freddie was always in trouble. No matter what he did, it turned out wrong. Freddie was losing himself to drugs and it seemed that no one could stop him.
Late one night I was awakened by violent screaming. I opened my bedroom door to find Freddie screaming down the hall, my parents chasing him, trying to hold him down. “I love you, KC,” Freddie screamed as my parents held him down on the couch. “If you love me, you’ll have Dad shoot me. Please Dad, just kill me. I’m in hell. Don’t let me live this way!”
In the next breath he was calm.
As I looked into my brother’s wild eyes, I felt as though the devil lurked deep within him. His eyes were the size of half-dollars, bulging out of their sockets.
Mom and Dad called the hospital, but there was nothing that could be done except to place a cold cloth on his forehead in attempt to calm him down.
We called Fred’s best friend, Seth Baker, in hopes of learning what kind of drugs and how much Fred had taken. Fred’s screams echoed in the background as Seth claimed he knew nothing. Perhaps it was to protect himself. Twelve hours later, Fred recovered, without memory of what had happened. He could not believe that in the course of his drug-induced frenzy, he had tried to kill himself by jumping out of his bedroom window. He couldn’t remember dangling half-way out of that window and being pulled to safety by our father.
“KC, I didn’t do those things, did I? Mom and Dad just want me to think I did so I won’t take any more drugs, isn’t that true?”
“No Freddie. You did do those things.” I cried. “You’re killing yourself with those damn drugs and you don’t even know it. How can you do this to yourself – to us? We love you.”
Freddie walked away with a laugh.
Freddie and I had a half-mile walk to catch the school bus. Every morning he would smoke a marijuana cigarette while we waited for the bus. He began to get into fights over drugs; either he owed someone money for pot, or he’d sold some non-existent drugs to someone else.
I once found Freddie in the hall at school with the angry hands of a drug pusher locked around his throat. I dropped my books and ran to the scene, screaming while I sprang to the back of the dealer. “Get your hands off of my brother!” Both of my arms crossed in front of his throat and my legs wrapped around his waist.
“Get your stupid sister off of my back Brown.” With a hard twist of a turn, he brushed me off his back using the wall. “You’d better thank your sister for stopping me this time, and you’d better come up with my money!” The pusher threatened as he stormed off.
I felt an inner joy take hold of me, as I stood amongst my scattered books. I just held my ground against a drug dealer.
“Mind your own business. Leave me alone!” Freddie yelled at me. “Don’t you know how bad you just made me look to him? My baby sister is fighting for me! Now get lost! I mean it KC, stay out of my business!” Fred snarled.
I picked up my books in a dumfounded thought, ‘I guess the next time Fred is getting beaten up, I am to mind my own business.’ Of course, I did not do as Fred ordered.
Several weeks later, Fred was jumped from behind as we got off of the school bus. He lay face down on the ground, his attacker on top of him. I did it again. “Get off of my brother!” I screamed. I leaped on to the attacker’s back and repeatedly pounded on him. The assailant did get off Freddie, but he grabbed me. With one hard push from a coward, I went sliding across the ground. The assailant headed straight towards me with his fist ready to swing. But before his fists could reach me, Fred grabbed him and pulled him off.
With just one punch from Fred, the coward went sailing that day. Even though he did not mutter another word to Fred, I never heard the end of the incident. It wasn’t long before the whole school heard about it too.
One afternoon, soon after that fight, Dad received a phone call from the local police. Freddie had been identified as a suspect for a burglary. A gas station had been robbed of over $900.00. The officer asked Dad to bring Freddie to the police station for questioning.
Dad confronted Freddie about the incident. He denied any involvement. The cashier had even verified it being Freddie. He still denied it.
I watched my father and brother drive away. Mom and I weren’t quite sure what was happening.
Later that evening, Dad and Freddie returned with the arresting officer, who instructed Freddie to get the stolen money.
I followed my brother upstairs and watched him pull a roll of money from inside his stereo, “Freddie, why did you steal that money?” I questioned.
“I don’t know.” Fred replied casually. “We saw the money bag sitting on the counter, so I just took it.”
Freddie walked down stairs to the kitchen, where the officer awaited.
“Here’s the entire money Officer Murphy.” Fred said, as he reluctantly handed the roll of money to the officer. “You did the right thing by giving the money back, Fred.” Officer Murphy stated. “I knew you stole the money, even though you would not admit it to me.” The officer gave his observation. “You became extremely nervous, when I was questioning you. Not to mention, your so called girlfriend, Lynn, had already ratted you out!”
“What, Lynn told you I stole the money?” Fred said in exasperation.
“Yes, she first stated she helped you steal the money and not long after, she turned on you and said you acted alone on the robbery.”
Fred and Dad had to ride with Officer Murphy, to the police station. Officer Murphy told my father, he wanted to speak to Fred alone in the cell at the police station.
“I want you to tell me your side of the story Fred.” Officer Murphy spoke with concern in his voice. Freddie admitted his guilt, and told the officer that he and Lynn planned the robbery.
They had to put gas into the car. Fred drove to the gas station and pumped $10.00 worth of gas. As he walked inside to pay, Fred noticed a money bag lying on the counter. He’d gone back to the car and told Lynn about the money bag, and how to obtain it. Fred was explicit as to detail in what transpired earlier that day.
“I instructed Lynn to drive around the block, wait two minutes and then pick me up on the side of the station. I ran around to the back of the station, sneaked in through a window and grabbed the money bag.”
“The both of you didn’t see the cashier turn around just in time to see you do it! Did you Fred Brown?” The concerned officer asked.
“No we did not,” Fred answered.
Fred and Lynn sped away to the high school parking lot where they counted the money.
“I almost died when we found out there was over $900.00 in the bag,” Freddie told the officer. “And I’d never have taken it if I’d known there was that much money.” Still, Freddie and Lynn had split the stolen cash at the time of the incident.
Freddie was placed on a year’s probation. The crime would eventually be expunged from his record, provided he stayed out of trouble during that year. If not, he would go to jail.
The brush with the law did not scare Freddie; he was becoming more and more involved with drugs.
Freddie wasn’t the only one in trouble. I was becoming involved with alcohol. And one time, Fred took the blame for me.
I would get tipsy after school once or twice a week. Thinking that no one would notice, I’d take a shot from every bottle in the house. But Dad noticed, and he automatically blamed Fred.
“Have you been sneaking booze from this house?” Dad demanded one evening.
I looked at Fred with pleading eyes that begged him not to give me away. “Yes, Dad,” Fred lied. “I won’t do it again.”
“That’s all I wanted to know,” Dad replied. “I want you to start owning up to the things you’ve been doing behind our backs. It’s not necessary to sneak. I don’t want you drinking, but I appreciate your honesty.”
“Don’t you ever do that again, KC?” Fred warned me after Dad stepped out. “If you drink their whiskey again, I won’t take the blame. You don’t have to drink and steal alcohol from Mom and Dad.”
“Thank you for standing up for me, Freddie. I won’t do that again”, I promised solemnly. But as soon as Fred left the kitchen, I filled a glass with whiskey to drink later.
Fred’s friends often came over to get high with him. I’d watch them smoke pot, wondering what it was like. A friend of mine talked me into trying it. I began to smoke occasionally, not like Fred did though; he seemed to need seven or eight joints a day to...
| Erscheint lt. Verlag | 15.10.2020 |
|---|---|
| Sprache | englisch |
| Themenwelt | Geisteswissenschaften ► Psychologie ► Sucht / Drogen |
| ISBN-10 | 1-60307-307-8 / 1603073078 |
| ISBN-13 | 978-1-60307-307-3 / 9781603073073 |
| Haben Sie eine Frage zum Produkt? |
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