| About Me |
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Name: Crazy Bitch
Home: Portland, Oregon, United States
About Me: I've always enjoyed writing, so long as it's something I know about - like me. I'm a student. A mother. A sister. A homeowner. A perfectionist. I try to keep them as separate as possible, but sometimes they intertwine - which is NEVER a good thing. I love shoes. I love dancing, although I don't really know how. I love loud music, bonfires and the occasional glass of beer. I love my family. I love my life. And ever so slowly, I'm learning to love myself.
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| The Dead Girl |
| Monday, April 19, 2004 |
I don't remember her middle name. I don't remember her birthday. I was never good with those. I think it was in September. Her married name was D____, but I will not use it. To me, she was Paula A______. Brown hair. Blue eyes? Brown eyes? I don't remember for certain, but I think they were blue. She was always overweight. Her hair was shoulder length and thin, going flat whenever she curled it. I can almost smell her perfume - not quite. Round face and small mouth that was almost heart shaped. Crooked smile that puckered to a kiss every time she took a drag from a cigarette - squinting, head tilting to keep the smoke out of her eyes. (Do not cry, do not cry). She would hold her breath and talk, as if she were smoking a joint. Takes practice, I guess. She had a mean confidence. Don't mess with Paula, she will kick your ass. I called her my bodyguard. Nobody would mess with me unless Paula was out of town. I think she cried once. I don't remember why. Aqua shirt, pair of jeans. Must be a photograph induced memory. She was the most devoted friend. I was her best friend, yet I didn't know any of her dark secrets. She was full of lies.
Paula and I met in 8th grade. She was not in any of my classes. I believe she was friends with Missy Todd and came to break the news that I was not welcome in the school. (Missy thought I gave her a dirty look at Orientation. Good Lord.) Paula and I became best friends during our smoking sessions at lunch. She was bad news for me, but somehow I only got caught making bad choices when she wasn't around.
Paula hated her parents. I did too. Now that I look back, Dad was just looking out for his little girl. (He caught us talking to a boy at the park once. I believe she got grounded for that.) She claimed that her parents' real daughter died in a fire and she was adopted. Her REAL parents lived near Redgranite or something like that. (I believed her until her son was born - spitting image of Grandpa.) She also claimed that her dad used her as a punching bag. I don't know if that was true or not, however she did show up at school with bruises from time to time - some inside her bottom lip, as if punched in the mouth.
Paula's basement - dark and cluttered with old furniture on one side, bright and lively for laundry on the other - was our main hang out when we were at her house. There was always ironing to be done - which was Paula's main chore. She hated it and used it as a way to vent her anger on her family. Dad and brother's shirts always ended up with an iron imprint on the back. I never found out if they noticed. We would giggle like crazy and do it to all of them.
Paula and I frequented the YMCA for a while, with our friend Shannon. They had a weekly thing for kids called Fifth Quarter. I guess it was through a church, but we were allowed in just the same. (That was the place that I met my now ex-husband for the first time. Paula had warned me about him - unfortunately, I never listened.) On one of our nights after Fifth Quarter, we sat in the park, smoking and fooling around. The memory of that night is pretty fuzzy until after we got home. The munchies kicked in. I remember sitting on the bed with Paula and Shannon, apparently coming down from a strange high. Paula said she had cigarettes laced with angel dust and some other drugs. Shannon and I must have smoked the wrong ones. Was she serious? I don't know. But at the time I believed her.
Sometime between 8th and 9th grade, Paula came to live with us. She was having major problems with her parents and they agreed to let her stay with us for a little break. I don't know that staying with us did her any good. We had to share a single futon mattress as a bed. My mom was working - my dad lived in another city - there was probably even less supervision than at her own house. We were still running with the wrong crowd and seemed to roam the city even more.
Some of my memories of Paula are short movie clips - coming and going at odd intervals: riding bikes around town; teaching me how to punch if I got into a fight; putting on make-up in her bedroom... When the song "Red, Red Wine" comes on the radio, I think of her boyfriend Dean. We called him Dean-O. He was a very unattractive red head; tall and scrawny with a mustache that just wasn't quite right. I have no idea what she saw in him. Attention, maybe. At one point in their relationship, she gave me explicit details of their intimacy. I was ultimately grossed out, but pretended it was cool.
On one of our romps through town, Paula and I met Dean and his friend Richard at an old warehouse that stood vacant next to the railroad tracks. Someone had discovered the old office on the second floor of one of the buildings and made it into a hangout. We ended up getting stoned - REAL stoned - three days in a row. I barely remember the first day of my Freshman year - I believe I was high that day.
Shortly after school started things went haywire. Paula and I drifted apart. I tried to tame her down, but she became more unruly. Eventually she moved out. I don't remember if she moved back home, but I told everyone I kicked her out. I stopped seeing her at school. She called me some months later - collect from treatment. She got caught doing cocaine and other drugs and someone had sent her to a juvenile treatment center. Paula even admitted to doing it when she was living with me. I pretended I would be there for her. I wasn't.
A few years later I ran into her again. I'm sure I saw her around town along the way, after all it's not a big city. This time she had a baby, as did I. We talked a bit and I believe I stopped by her house after that. Paula was now getting along with her parents. She and her boyfriend were getting married. I was wrapped up in my own drama by then, so I didn't keep track of her.
The last time I saw Paula was in March or April of 1994. She got my phone number from a family member and wanted to stop by with her son and daughter and meet my new baby. I wasn't thrilled with the idea, but gave her my address. This time she was at odds with her family again. Things were either very rough with her fiance´ or just ending. It was a fairly short visit, but I made another empty promise to keep in touch.
I never saw her again. Paula's life choices were too extreme for me. I was tired of watching her downfall as the years went by. I chose not to get involved. Through the grapevine I heard she left her children's father and married another man.
At 4:00 AM on May 18, 1995, Paula's husband, David, came home to a note on the table. Paula wanted a divorce. She couldn't take the violence of their marriage any longer. She signed it with her maiden name, Paula A______. (It was so like Paula to do such a thing.) David refused to live without his wife and took her life with a hunting rifle. Afterward he took his own. As if there wasn't enough damage already done, Paula's four year old son found the bodies.
If only I kept in touch. If only I could influence her to make better choices. If only....
I cried for days.
I still dream about her. I will never forget. |
posted by Crazy Bitch @ 1:28 PM   |
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