I honestly cannot remember if I have the entire story on this blog of what happened in my youth to force me to mature quickly and necessarily to avoid death. In the case that I do, please bear with me as I relay it again.
In the summer between seventh and eighth grade, I adopted ten chickens as pets. Odd, you say, but for me it was not...I grew up on the back of a horse, and was the only one that went to school without knowing there was still manure on my shoes from the horse show over the weekend. I had had the pleasure of adopting two chickens before from some friends that I knew from horse riding lessons and horse shows. Their names were Lucy and Ethel from my favorite TV show of the time, and I was mourning their recent deaths by the mouth of a coyote in May. In late June and early July, I adopted ten chickens that, little did I know, would teach me more about love and friendship than any human ever has or will.
These chickens had it all. Birthday parties, daily play time, treats, crazy and expensive coop toys, and even middle names. To those whom don't know the first thing about chickens, they can be cannibals, so once in awhile, I would take their own eggs and throw them on the ground before them. The chickens would squeal in delight and make my day with their happiness over something so simple. It was beautiful, really, to see creatures that were ecstatic for the smallest things, and telling this to others makes me sound crazy but also, maybe it makes me smarter for even noticing the beauty in it.
Long story short, I went vegetarian because I realized that those ten chickens meant more to me than any person ever had. They were forgiving, held no grudges, loved always, cared about your opinion, and never argued. Contrary to popular belief, chickens are smart. I taught two of my three roosters how to play tag, and all of them what words to expect me to say when they were about to eat dinner. So, I thought one day, why in the world am I eating chicken, or any meat, for that matter, when the very meat I ate could have changed a life like my chickens did for me? So vegetarian I went, and I was happy to be one. Despite the new whispers about me when I returned to school in eighth grade, I was happy with the things that made me different.
According to the other kids, however, the two hundred plus kids that picked on me daily (and the eventually 312, I believe the exact number was, that picked on me in total, not counting the kids I didn't even know who added to the emotional torture), my differences made me weird. A loser. I couldn't eat for one day in the cafeteria without one whisper of how the chicken one was eating was one of my chickens, or how meat was "mm, mm, so good!", or without having to pick meat off my shirt after it was thrown from a random direction. Chants of KFC, random "Cluck-Cluck!" whispers as people passed me, the pictures of dead animals that people would print out of their printers just to see my reaction...oh yes, my friends, it was a fun part of my life.
I had a website dedicated to my chickens that my friends and I frequented (my friends thought that having a friend with chickens was the coolest thing since sliced bread...and I have to admit, I agreed), and after receiving a few messages in my guestbook threatening the life of my chickens and me (one of which I remember word for word: "i know where u live. i will slit ur chickens throats and eat them"), I deleted the text of the website, promptly replacing it with a hit list and a death threat to the top 20 worst kids I knew.
Also as promptly, I was suspended and expelled. I spent that Christmas in the local Children's Hospital after I attempted to take my own life with the help of some string and a decorative hook in the ceiling. Eventually I went to high school, back with all those kids I knew, although the high school was the biggest in my state, so the scum were few and far between. They still said things, although in high school, I wrote these situations down and went straight to the principal with every single one. In college, even, I dealt with stares and whispers. And, to top it all off, my husband had some co-workers trying to be the first to tell him "what his girlfriend had done", although he knew and backed me up every step of the way.
In the present, I have a high school alumni bulletin sitting on my desk, proclaiming the exciting five year reunion of the class of 2006 to be held next summer. Regardless of what one may think, I will be there. I'm not thinking about it, and I'm not torn over it.
I'm going to be there, and I'm going to make an impression.
Even as I write this I wonder if I should dedicate the next year to planning a speech and contacting the people who are making this reunion happen to let them know I'll help plan it. I want the people who made my life a living hell to the point of it nearly coming to an end to know how well I turned out. Really, I expect karma and the rest to take care of most of what they have coming, but I would like to be able to add a little punch of my own.
On the night of the reunion, you can expect me to be dressed in my sexiest, most professional and yet classy attire. You can expect me to look as damned good as I ever will. You can expect me to be talking to every single person who is surprised I ever showed up because of the times they put me through, and you can expect a polite sarcasm in my voice as I ask them if their schooling years went well and, of course, "Have you forgiven yourself for what you did to me and anyone else you tortured?"
Don't get me wrong: I've forgiven these people. If anything, their torture of my childhood soul is what caused me to go into modeling at 13 and start a business in real estate at 15. I wanted to someday be able to say that I got over what things they had done and could truly say I was better because of it. Someday, I had promised myself, those people who were everything would look at me and admire me, wishing they had befriended me rather than tortured me in the years back, because now, they wish they were me.
Someday, I promised. Next year, I'll get that day.
Monday, June 21, 2010
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