MEMOIR WRITING
Among the Pine Trees
Girl escapes from abuse and makes a new connection that forever changes her.
I was ten years old, and in a new state, one thousand miles away from everyone I knew. It was just my mom, my brother and I.
Things had been rough in New York. Really rough. And I didn’t talk about it with anyone. I still don’t, not really. I was a scared kid, shy, reluctant, and constantly stressed out. And then we moved from New York to Georgia, among the pine trees.
I was sitting on a log on the edge of the playground. School had started in September, but I had managed to spend months on my own, avoiding conversations. I sat by myself at lunch, avoiding eye contact. I went home, alone, and took care of my brother. I cooked him dinner, and watched over him. I waited for my mother to come home. Sometimes she did, sometimes she didn’t. But I waited, alone.
It was November. The leaves had started to turn. I went outside and took up my usual spot on my favorite log. From there, I would watch the other kids playing and having fun. I longed to be like them, so free and happy. But I didn’t know how. It had been like that every day for two months. But this day was different. A group of girls approached, led by one girl in particular. She was dressed in pink. Her hair was cut short, exactly the wrong style for a girl with hair as curly as hers. It was a crazed tangle atop her head. Her feet were clad in jelly shoes, the absolute pinnacle of style in those days. Everyone wore them. Everyone except me.
“Hi,” she said, “my name is Kat. Do you want to come to my birthday party?”
It all started there.
I became part of Kathryn’s crew. I was close with all of them, but Kathryn and I became the best of friends. They all welcomed me into their lives. They treated me like I was worth hanging out with. We had sleepovers where we listened to George Michael. We sang along with Bette Midler and Lionel Richie. We told stories and laughed. Kathryn thought that 1985 was the best year ever, and she had a special memento box that she kept under her bed. It had magazine clippings, and cassette jackets featuring bands like Toto and Starship. We would dress up and dance to Whitney Houston, or They Might Be Giants.
I didn’t have much supervision at home. My mother was in graduate school, and her time was filled with classes and study sessions. She was barely ever home. When she was, it was almost worse. She drank a lot, and I didn’t understand why at the time, but I understand now. We had run away from the abuse, and it had affected us all differently.
It was all my mother could do to keep a roof over our heads, and try to make a better life for us. It is easy now to see the struggles she had, and the effect it had on her. But at the time, when you are ten, you just want a mom like the other kids have. You want a life like the other kids. You want to be able to dance and sing and play dress up with your friends while your mother bakes cookies for everyone. You want a house filled with light and joy. You want jelly shoes, and a dad who knows just how to make your scrapes feel better. You feel these things, whether you can name them or not. You feel their absence.
So, I turned inward. I cut myself off from other people. I lived inside my head. In a cone of silence that no one could break through. My brother did the same, and still does today.
But this isn’t a sad story. This is a story of immense love and friendship.
Kathryn’s parents took me in. I became part of their world. They were the family I didn’t have at home. They were both performers, and ministers. They’d had Kathryn and her brother later in life, after they’d finished with their cruise ship performing days.
They introduced me to a world foreign to me. It was a world I never even imagined could exist. It was a world of bed times, supervision and homework. It was a world of game nights and church. All the things that kids from normal families take for granted. The things they complain about. How do you explain how much those things mean to someone who never went without them? They mean the world.
Every Friday night, I would go home from school with Kathryn. We would spend the entire weekend with the church’s youth group, or with its traveling drama group. Those five years were the best of my life. We traveled to Chicago, Spanish Harlem, St. Louis, and just about every city you could imagine east of the Mississippi River.
We worked with Habitat for Humanity, went to Atlanta Braves games, and went white water rafting. We saw New Kids on the Block three times. The first time, I screamed, “I love you Joey!” so loud I couldn’t talk for three days. We saw the Indigo Girls when they were just a band performing for free at local high schools. I bought my first album, Metallica ‘Master of Puppets,’ with her.
Kathryn was obsessed with purple suede. She had three pairs of purple suede boots. We didn’t have the money for such things, but my grandmother would have me buy patterns and send them to her. She would use the patterns to sew me dresses, and any clothes I wanted. The first time I ever felt pretty was when I lived in Georgia.
For the first time in my life, I felt unconditional love. Kathryn and her family made me one of them. They didn’t judge, they didn’t criticize. Their world was bright, and they invited me into the light. I was welcomed there, completely.
In seventh grade, we both auditioned for the Avondale High School for the Performing Arts. I sang and did a monologue. Kathryn played the piano and danced. She was a beautiful piano player, and every time I hear Bette Midler singing “The Rose,” I think of her. We both were accepted into the school. And an entirely new world opened up to me.
I was suddenly one of the popular girls. It was me and Kathryn and a group of girls from the drama program. For the first time in my life, I was driven to be someone. I realized I had talent, intelligence and charisma. I knew that I mattered, that I was worth something.
It was the end of ninth grade when my mother graduated with her PhD. She announced that we were moving again, this time to Rhode Island, where she was from originally. I got to spend time with my grandparents, which I enjoyed. But it was never the same.
Kathryn and I wrote letters to each other, and talked occasionally. I visited her once, and she visited me as well.
And, eventually, we drifted apart.
The rest of my teenage years were difficult, as I imagine they are for everyone. Being fifteen is not a fun time.
But I realize now how blessed I was to have had those five years in Georgia. They helped shape who I am today. I would not be here were it not for them.
Kathryn took a sad, frightened ten-year-old and helped her become an outgoing, vibrant, friendly, hard-working bright light. I will never be able to repay them. I will never stop thanking her, and her entire family for their unconditional love and support.
It’s been thirty years, almost to the day. Yet, it feels like yesterday that I was that little girl, sitting on that log, lost among the pine trees.
Thank you for reading my story. I’d love to hear your opinions.
I am a writer and an editor. I mainly edit Fiction, and I specialize in Romance. I write a little bit of everything, whatever is on my mind at the moment. My writing is greatly influenced by my past trauma, and I enjoy speaking openly and freely about my mental health diagnoses.
You can follow me here.
