And I Lived To Tell The Story

There was a time growing up when was convinced my mother was trying to kill me. In order to truly understand I have to give you a picture of my childhood home. Walking in the front door the first thing you see is a closet. To the right is the entrance to the kitchen and on the left was the living room. There were only two doors- a front door and a side door off the kitchen. All the windows had metal safety bars. To get out of the basement you had to go through an accordion gate that locked on the inside of the house and a fist sized padlock that closed the metal storm doors on the outside.

That only scratches the surface of how hard it was to get in and out my house. I will cover that another day. I am not sure what kind of life the lady my parents bought the house from was living, but she was not taking any chances.

Back to my mother and nefarious plot to get rid of me. Winters are cold where I am from and my mother was concerned that because my room was upstairs next to the attic space I would not be warm enough. So one day I come home from school and find that she has put plastic on the door leading to the attic and covered it with a massive blanket she had somehow tacked to the wall. I laughed it off. Then I look and see that she has tacked and covered the window above my bed with plastic- covering my window unit air conditioner as well. My thought is “Really, mom?” Finally, I turn and see that she has also covered the remaining window with the same plastic. “What?” “Why?” “I don’t want you in your room freezing?” I reply that I am not freezing. I am not even cold. I have never even complained of being cold. “I am trying to keep the heat in.” “Then howcome there is no plastic on your windows?”

It took a couple of days, but then like a flash it hit me. She must have an insurance policy on me. I march down the hall and tell her that I have figured her out. “I know what you are doing.” I remind her that in an emergency, like a fire, I won’t be able to get out. I have no windows and I can’t get out downstairs. Then I go further and ponder out loud if she is trying to suffocate me with the lack of air in my room and how I would die from the smoke because it has no where to go. “You are trying to kill me aren’t you?”

She denied it, but the next day I came home from school and the plastic was down. I’ve had my eye on her ever since.