I have always loved music. I took piano and singing lessons as a kid at the convent and followed the Royal Conservatory of Music path. In high school, Chloé and I joined the band and based on all the movies I had watched in my youth, I knew those who joined school band were typically lonely losers so I was also looking forward to fitting in with “my people.” I did not. I still felt like I was on the outside looking in. I did not make any friends in band, to my recollection, but I had Chloé.
The school band was prepping for the yearly Christmas concert scheduled for December and I practiced every day. When the evening finally came for the concert, I was really excited to ‘show off’ and make my parents proud. I seriously don’t know where my optimism comes from… I ALWAYS assume the best but prepare for the absolute worst-case scenario (this is called over thinking and over analysing and it takes up a significant portion of my day, even today at age 48). The excitement from my fellow band mates was palpable; we were running all over the school after concert practice waiting for the audience to take their seats. I had not noticed my parents yet so I thought I would go down to the front doors and look for dad’s truck in the parking lot.
”You stupid French bastard!”
Oh no. I can hear her, but I can’t see her. Where is she? Then I hear…
“Mr. Jackass, please control your wife.”
I would love to say I giggled at this, but no, I knew it would be so much worse for the school’s Vice-Principal. My parents were in his office with the door closed.
“NOBODY FUCKING CONTROLS ME YOU FUCKING TINY LITTLE MAN!”
OMG they know she’s my mother. I would have happily died right there. Not only could I hear her, but all the concert guests, parents, teachers… like OH MY GOD! SHUT UP! She didn’t care, not one bit.
I don’t remember the rest of the evening, I don’t remember performing, I remember wanting the floor to swallow me up. I don’t even know what started the shouting match. I can only assume that Maeve expected to be spoken to and addressed in English and when she was addressed in French she lost her mind. I’m certain Jack would have excused it by saying “Sorry, please excuse my wife, she gets really bad PMS.”
10th grade was one of my worst years, socially. I don’t remember being outgoing, participating, or feeling part of a group. I remember always feeling jumpy, anxious, and sad. I very much enjoyed skiing and spent my winter on the local ski hill when I did not have to work.
I haven’t spoken much about it, but the family business took up a lot of my time after school and on weekends. I had a love-hate relationship with the family business. I hated working upstairs all the time cleaning shit, literally, and being groped or nearly yanked into a bathtub with some of the more perverted old men who lived in the house. I remember my first ‘work’ wake up call experience like it was yesterday. I was in grade 7; sound asleep in my bedroom one Saturday morning. All of a sudden, I was jarred awake by the overhead lights being flipped on and I hear an piss-poor singsong attempt:
“Get up! Get Up! It’s time to get up! You’re on breakfast duty today. Get upstairs, make toast for the old people, put out cereal and milk. Clean up the dishes when everyone is done eating.”
I picked up my alarm clock to read the time (without glasses, I was not able to make out the digits unless they were right in front of my face) and saw it was 5:00 am. What? But it’s so early, why didn’t she tell me I had to be up early last night? I crawl out of bed and get dressed. I run in to my sister in the bathroom and we brush our teeth together.
It took us 2 full hours to feed everyone upstairs, clean up and set up for the day staff to start. As I make my way back downstairs we are told it’s time to clean the apartment. After cleaning the apartment, I’m informed it’s time to make lunch for upstairs. I learned to make cream of broccoli soup that day; I also used 6 loaves of bread to make sandwiches for lunch upstairs. I was told, not asked to “take that upstairs, get your sister and help out for the afternoon.”
After lunch, we striped down beds, emptied commodes and washed those in need of a bath. It was such a long day. By dinner we were both exhausted but work wasn’t done yet… we were serving supper, cleaning up, dispensing medication, and putting the ‘old folks’ to bed before our day would be done at 20:00 (8:00 pm). We didn’t know it yet, but that would be our weekends, every single weekend, for the next 6 years. It would become after school, every single holiday (so my parents would not have to pay time and a half), every single weekend, and every time someone called in sick. No, I did not get paid ever. I was told that in exchange for working my post secondary education would be covered.
If any of the men felt up Roxanne and/or me, Maeve would simply add saltpeter to their food so they “can’t get it up so they can’t do anything to you.” Had she bothered to ask, or if we thought anyone cared, we would have told her saltpeter definitely do not work for that. Even when we told both Jack and Maeve that the men still tried to grab our crotch, or boobs Jack would remain silent while Maeve told us to “get back upstairs!” Yes, teens were bathing old men. Teens changed diapers, measured out insulin, treated bedsores, made meals, cleaned, cooked, and essentially were used for slave labour.
Around grade 9 is when Big M really stepped up her game. I think it was sport for her. I remember her telling me she didn't like me much, how she wanted to adopt me so she could ship me off to a boarding school in Ireland. I actually LOVED this plan and asked my mother to give up her rights, but she refused - smartly because once in Europe I would have disappeared. I had to sit at the kitchen table and listen to HER accuse me of being paid for sexual favours, of being a lesbian; I had to ask my dad what that meant in 7th grade when she first accused me and my sister of being lesbians... with each other. Jack told me not worry about being a lesbian, Big M is just “crazy because it is her time of the month and she is not medicated.”
Soon I was sat down at the kitchen table and told that if I ever found myself pregnant not to bother coming home because I was not welcome. If I came home pregnant with a black baby, I would be kicked out. I was supposed to get married and have WHITE babies. OK. Message received loud and clear. I was not having sex but I bought condoms just in case. Of course, they found the condoms in one of their searches and totally lost their minds. (I did not even hide them well, on purpose, I think). That is when they “knew” I was a prostitute and told anyone and everyone who would listen. That is also around the time I started tuning them out because I thought they were out of touch with reality or too old to be parents
10th grade was a huge turning point in my life. I had listened to Big M accuse me of doing unspeakable things while my father listened and never spoke. I remember my first migraine. I had tickets to see a pianist perform at one of the local high schools; I was looking forward to hearing him play. I remember a snowstorm was coming in and after dad dropped me off at the door, I caught a whiff of what smelled like rotting mushrooms then found myself blinded by these flashing lights which slowly narrowed my field of vision to a tunnel. Within 20 minutes, I was engulfed by the smell of mold, blind as if I could only see thru a very small tunnel and all of a sudden, it felt like there was an ice pick behind my left eyeball trying to dig it out. I had no idea what to do; every step I took felt like my brain was too big for my skull and it would soon explode thru my eyeballs. I found a payphone and called a taxi to take me home.
I remember staggering down the hall holding myself up using the walls under the bright halogen lamps of the entrance. I steadied myself on my door as I silently thought “thank god, I’m home, I need to lay down” then I heard the concubine shrieking “Ohhh, no cute boys there to fuck so you came home I see.”
I just…...couldn’t
form a sentence; I was trying not to vomit, a sensation I was not familiar with
since I have a cast iron stomach; I focused on trying to see where I was going,
thru my tunnel vision; and I was also fighting off her voice making the ice pick
pain SO MUCH WORSE. I just wanted to slam the door, I did not realize I was grinding my teeth and my expression must have been that of pain… without
any apology, she loudly exclaimed that I should get MYSELF SOME TYLENOL “if it’s
that bad.” For a visual representation of what I experience during a migraine click on this one minute video. The lights in the video are circular, mine typically look like the image here:
I was thankful for Chloé, despite her not being there with me that night, I took the Tylenol, lit a cigarette, opened the window, and focused on what I would tell her when I saw her at school on Monday morning. Throughout 10th grade, Chloé and I were joined at the hip. I had found my soulmate. Someone I could confide in; someone to dissect the lyrics of Depeche Mode, Morrissey, the Smiths, and The Cure with; a friend to hit the beach with or hang by a pool listening to the radio.
PS. The Morrissey song linked above was my favourite one to tease Roxanne with... she's born in November.
Just joining me? Start at the beginning:
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