Excerpt from The Unpublished Novel, “A Mile in Charlotte’s Shoes” (Bullying, Social Politics, and the Power Dynamic) Part 2

Part 2

…Middle school and high school were periods of time during which- right, wrong, good, bad, ugly or indifferent everything, according to everyone in that awkward age group, was shameful and the definition of what was good or bad (or cool) became blurred and not so clear anymore.

It was a time when you were too weird, too straight-laced, too smart, or not smart enough. You were either an evil monster or a goodie-two-shoes, too stoic or too sensitive! Your nose was too crooked, too long, or too short. Your skin was either too clear, too blotchy, too pale, or not pale enough. Your hair was either too long, short, straight, or curly. You were either too skinny or too fat. Your clothes were either overly flashy or much too drab.

Charlotte would often think, “Lord! Can everyone just make up their minds, for crying out loud?” It was all so confusing!

There were things about Charlotte her peers could not wait to nitpick, things which were either beyond her control, chosen at random or completely fabricated. And she wondered why all this trivial crap even mattered.

The world had suddenly become one big and twisted soap opera. And it was obvious whom the biggest stars of this proverbial daytime drama were.

They were the best actors- the best liars and fakers!

Charlotte noticed that anytime she heard a member of the in-crowd tell a bad joke, the rest of the class would only laugh that fake laugh people always used whenever the corny joke was told by someone whose ass they wanted to kiss.

What those suck-ups never realized was that they only degraded themselves by replacing their true laugh with one that was counterfeit. Charlotte could only imagine how furious the so-called cool kids would be if they only knew the rest of the class were only patronizing them.

It was all akin to playing a card game with an opponent and ‘letting them win’- just another form of deception.

All that kindness and consideration shown to the so-called top dogs was only for purposes of vanity and due to their high positions in the school social hierarchy. The rest of the student body most certainly did not like them for them and most of those who were not in the in-crowd were wise enough to see it.

All this drove Charlotte nuts! At times, she would wonder, “How in the blue blazes am I the one who was always in the wrong?”

It was a system that was one big freak show and one Charlotte had no desire to be a part of. Sadly, this attitude would be to her detriment. She learned the hard way that if you want to get along in this thing- this maze called Life, you had to play along!

The thought of it was enough to make her shudder. No way did Charlotte want to be patronized or pacified! She detested liars and fakes and preferred to be told the truth. This kind of fakery was an insult to the recipient!

These were Charlotte’s thoughts:

“If you want a reaction out of me, then you damn well better deserve it!”

When she would hear some moron tell a corny joke, Charlotte would only roll her eyes instead of laughing and as a result, everyone else would take her silence and lack of interest as a direct insult and escalate the harassment.

Charlotte had nothing to say to any of them. Every day, she would pass them in the halls and look right through them instead of at them. Naturally, this was an even bigger insult because it seemed they expected her to bow-down and lick their boots like most of the other kids did.

And many of her classmates did believe they were better than Charlotte and that she owed them complete homage and submission to their will and every whim.

They saw themselves as an authority over her- higher than her and how dare she not acknowledge their superiority! Kids who were considered on the lower end endured those proverbial gut punches every single day!

With every misstep she took, Charlotte would feel the flaming hot coals of ridicule scorch the soles of her feet!

But as painful as it was, she would much rather have resisted her bullies rather than acknowledged them, much less make any effort to appease them or worse, seek their approval. Charlotte was way past crawling up behind anyone and she already knew where it would get her.

In the past, it had always seemed that the harder Charlotte tried not to be a target- the more effort she put into being “normal”, the worse she would fail. She was either being fake or being arrogant and uppity, and only certain kids could be uppity and get away with it.

At Beulah High School, you either knew your place or you were put in it. If you were on the lower ranks, daring to show any confidence or backbone could be dangerous. Because if you weren’t good enough, those in the upper echelons of the social order expected, even demanded that you kept your head down.

The bottom of the stack was like a raging torrent and the harder Charlotte struggled to reach the surface and get her head above water, the stronger the current, and the deeper it seemed to suck her down.

Therefore, Charlotte had long given up on trying to be like any of them because it was too much work and she had no time for it. She’d be damned if she was going to lie to herself just to win their approval! Forget that noise! She was through with false impressions! She just could not bring herself to do it.

Why? Because all of it was only wasted time, effort, and energy. If you were on the bottom floor, the reality was that the harder you tried to make friends, the harder and further people pushed you away. You were too desperate, too clingy, or too oblivious to how negatively you came across to people and the worst part was that there was no way to fix any of it without knowing what was broken.

And they would never tell her what it was because they didn’t know either. All they knew was that they hated her and couldn’t wait to pick her apart piece by piece…

“Kids Under the Latch Key” Fiction About Bullying of the Mentally Handicapped

Chapter 1: Memory Lane

“Max and I grew up in this house. Lord, how it has gone down since we left!” I told my children.

“It’s a shame how people have neglected this place.” My son, Kevin, who sat in the passenger seat, remarked. I could not help but to agree with him.

“You know, I’ve often heard that once a house becomes empty, it falls into disarray and disrepair quickly. I can’t explain it. It’s almost as if it becomes lonely or misses the family that left. I know it sounds strange.” My daughter Skye mentioned.

“I’ve heard that too,” I replied.

Finally, we all got out of the truck and slowly walked across the yard to the house. We each peered into different windows, and the glass was so dirty with a brown film that we could barely see inside. When the kids and I came to the side door just under the old carport, we noticed that it was ajar. So, I pushed it open and called out.

“Hello!” I called as I stepped inside the house, followed by my brood.

I listened and waited but heard not a peep.

“Hellooooo!!!” I repeated louder the second time as we all began to look around.

The wind which whistled through a hole in the window pane in one of the living room windows was the only sound we heard. Slowly, the four of us crept from room to room, exploring until we came to what was once mine and Max’s old bedroom, which was across the vast hall from the staircase.

I stopped in the middle of mine and my brother’s old bedroom and looked around, studying the faded blue walls, the floor, windows, ceiling, and light fixture. I then looked at my children before walking up to one of the walls and placing a hand on it.

“If only these walls could talk!” I said wistfully, “After all these years, the walls still look the same; only they’re faded and worn. My mother painted these walls for Max when she decided that we should have separate rooms and moved me upstairs.”

I turned and focused on the door to the old closet and was instantly overwhelmed with excitement. I rushed to it and opened the door before the smell of cedar immediately took me back. I walked into the closet, reached up to the shelf over the clothes-rack, and began feeling around. I knew that what I had come for had to be there somewhere unless one of the people who had moved in after we left had accidentally discovered it. I hoped to goodness that had not been the case as I continued to feel around.

“I remember Max and I left something here. I forgot where we put it for all these years. But just the other day, it hit me. There’s a cubby hole in this closet, and I need to find something we left. I think it’s above the shelf.” I told my kids.

I stood as high as I possibly could on my tip-toes and reached over the shelf once more, then paused suddenly when I felt a loose board and pushed it into the back wall. I continued to push around the old back wall with my hand until I felt and heard another board fall backward. Suddenly, an ugly grey spider crawled out of the hole and scurried across the shelf, startling me so that I yelped like a scared puppy and jumped back. When the eight-legged creature disappeared into a knothole in the side wall, I resumed my frantic search, feeling around the now-discovered cubby hole until I finally felt something.

“Oh, my God! I feel something! I think this is it!” I cried in excited anticipation.

There sat an old stool in the opposite corner of the bedroom. My oldest daughter, Leilani, grabbed it and brought it to me. I took the seat, sat in on the floor in front of me, and stepped onto it. My eldest son, Kevin, handed me a flashlight before helping to steady me to prevent me from falling.

The house was falling apart and had an intense, musty order. We could hear the old structure creak and pop around us as the outside breeze blew against it. The paint on the walls was not only faded but chipped in a few areas. Cobwebs filled every corner. I did not know what I was feeling. It felt like just another piece of wood. I continued to look and feel around until I felt something cold and hard. I then felt something plastic.

Feeling a huge rush of excitement, perhaps nostalgia, I shone the flashlight on what looked to be plastic packages covered with a thick blanket of brownish-grey dust. I then pulled the mysterious objects from the cubby hole and out of the closet before stepping down from the stool with the aid of Kevin.

“Oh my gosh! It’s still here! After all these years, it’s still here, exactly where I left it!” I gushed, hardly able to believe the objects had sat there untouched for so long.

“What are you talking about, Mom?” Leilani asked me.

“This!” I answered, showing everyone the items which I held in my hands.

I excitedly wiped away the thick cover of dust and moisture from the objects, revealing two sealed Ziploc bags. When I opened them, I pulled out a little toy red caboose from one baggy and beautiful ceramic picture frame, from the other. Minus the dust, an ugly orange-brown residue had discolored the bags, having slowly formed over the years. I slowly turned the caboose and picture frame every which way in my hands, having a good look at them as my children curiously gathered around behind me and looked over my shoulder to watch. I turned the frame face up, and sure enough, there was a picture inside. It felt as if we had opened a time capsule.

The photo was that of a sandy-haired young man holding a huge, golden trophy, surrounded by three middle-school-aged boys and one teenage girl. I covered my mouth as we all gazed at the picture. Leilani gasped as her eyes grew wide as she beheld the frozen fragment of time.

“Mom! Is that you??? And Uncle Max???” She gasped.

“And who’s the dude?” My youngest son Trevor asked.

“Yeah, Mom. Who’s the young man?” My youngest daughter Skye, repeated.

I paused and continued to gaze at the old photo before turning the frame over, removing the back of it and took out the photo, along with a folded piece of paper. I handed the snapshot and frame to Kevin, then unfolded the document to find drawings, beautiful drawings which looked so professional and realistic! Because everything had been sealed, it still looked brand new, having been spared from deterioration and discoloration of age.

As I stared at the artwork, rubbing one hand across the surface of the paper and sitting down on the stool, my throat suddenly tightened, and my eyes filled with clear, hot liquid. Suddenly, an uncontrollable urge to cry overtook me, and I just wailed, putting my face in one hand as my body writhed with each sob. The looks of curiosity on my adult children’s faces turned to those of concern and fear.

“Mom! What’s wrong?” They all asked, horrified as two of them huddled on each side of me and snaked an arm around me.

“Here, Mom! Get up so I can pull the stool next to the window! You need some fresh air.” Trevor urged. I got up, and he pulled the stool over to the window while Leilani threw it open and let the autumn breeze blow in through the old screen and fill the stuffy old bedroom.

I only stood there, as tears streamed down my cheeks before Skye wiped them away with one thumb. I then hugged the photo, toy caboose, and artwork against my chest before lowering my head to begin sobbing once more.

“My God, Mom! What is going on?” Skye asked as she knelt in front of me, getting level with me and placing a loving hand on my knee. My other three children knelt around me, putting their arms around my torso.

“I guess I never told you, did I?” I sniffled.

“About what, Mom?” Kevin asked.

“The story behind these items Max and I hid in the closet thirty-two years ago.” I clarified. And I sat on the little stool next to the open window, heirlooms in hand, and drifted back in time…”

Involving the Police in Bullying Incidents — Peaceful Rampage

I would have liked these guys to respond to my calls. Originally, last week’s post about whether the police should be involved in bullying incidents was going to be a one off. However, this past week or so, I have been reading the book by author Cherie White titled: “From Victim to Victor.” It’s Cherie’s […]

Involving the Police in Bullying Incidents — Peaceful Rampage
I’m delighted to say that a fellow blogger, Michael D. LeFevre, AKA 80smetalman @ the Peaceful rampage blog is reading my book, a memoir entitled, “From Victim to Victor: A Survivor’s True Story of Her Experiences with School Bullying” and giving recaps as he goes without divulging too much info. I want to sincerely thank Michael for the overwhelming support he has given me! I couldn’t be more grateful to him.
For those of you who don’t know, Michael was also severely bullied at school and in the town he grew up in. Thankfully, he now leads a happy and successful life with his wife, children, and grandchildren in England. It is my hope that he continues to enjoy peace and happiness and that he has even more success with his book, “He Was Weird,” which is a fictional account of his own experiences with bullying.
I am currently reading, “He Was Weird” by Michael D. LeFevre and will post my own review once I’m finished. Like me, Michael is an overcomer and I’m so proud of him. He is another survivor of bullying who went from victim to victor!

Fourth Novel: “Kids Under the Latch Key”

book coversThis is a fiction about bullying from the eyes of the protagonist, who witnesses it and the lessons it taught her about the importance of giving people who are different the same dignity as everyone else.

Synopsis:

During the summer of 1987, then sixteen-year-old Grace Bradshaw, her younger brother Max, and neighborhood friends befriend Randy Spence, a twenty-one-year-old mentally disabled man with the IQ of a child.

Because Randy is mocked by many in the corrupt small town, Grace, Max and their neighborhood friends take him under wing and protect him while learning hard lessons about the way most people treat those who are different.

Along the way, Grace, her brother and younger neighborhood friends also learn shocking lessons about good and evil.”

A first-person narrative told by a now middle-aged and widowed Grace Bradshaw McGuire to her adult children, “Kids Under the Latch Key” is a heart-touching story of the summer which prompted her to question God and challenged her initial belief that all humans are inherently good.

Available on Amazon in paperback and Kindle!

Excerpt from “A Mile In Charlotte’s Shoes”

Off and on during the past year, I’ve been working on several novels, one of which is “A Mile in Charlotte’s Shoes,” which should be available in 2021 or 2022.

It’s about a young girl who is different and often abused. She suffers from ACE (Adverse Child Experiences), which often looks like autism. She goes through many changes over many years, reads books on human psychology and behavior, and attempts to better understand her situation. In the span of a few decades, Charlotte goes through many changes. As she tries to navigate this thing called Life, She becomes worse before eventually getting better.

Chapter 1: Predestination

The trips back and forth to Beulah from Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, or Camp Pendleton, California, were always full of excitement. Perhaps the most exciting trip home was the Christmas before Charlotte’s second birthday.

Frank and Christie were driving to Beulah from Camp Pendleton, traveling through the deserts of Arizona and New Mexico. The song “Merry Christmas Darling” by the Carpenters’ was being played on the radio. Thinking Charlotte was asleep in her child restraint seat in the back, they talked about last-minute shopping and the last minute presents they would need. Suddenly, Christie heard a tiny hum coming from the back seat.

“Shhh-shhh!” Christie told Frank, “Did you hear that?”
“No. What was it?” Frank responded.

The humming sounded again, and then Charlotte began to sing the words the best she could to the song in perfect time and tune. Christie spun around and looked back at her, then looked back at Frank.

“Is this child singing? Listen to that! She’s a natural, Frank!” Christie said excitedly, “She’s in perfect time and keeping perfect tune!”

Frank smiled.

“She gets it from my side of the family.” He quipped as he smiled at his wife.

Christie playfully slapped her husband on the arm. Being a shy baby, Charlotte suddenly stopped singing.

“Don’t stop, baby girl!” Frank called back as he drove the station wagon, “Sing, baby! Sing!”

Charlotte began singing again, and Frank and Christie would constantly give each other puzzled but excited glances. Christie would then look back at her baby daughter and smile.

There were also the games at home that Christie would play with Charlotte. The games of Marco Polo in the kiddie pool in the back yard and singing of ABC’s, “This Little Piggy,” “Itsy-Bitsy Spider,” and “This Old Man.”

The games of chase through the house were her favorite. Charlotte loved for people to chase her. She also loved hiding from people and having them search for her.

All the good times, the love and laughter, the play…they seemed to provide an even balance to life and make the bad times not seem so bad.

But the babysitter! How could Charlotte tell her parents what the babysitter was doing to her while they were gone?