Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Searching for God

iUniverse, Inc.

Contents

Chapter 1 A New Home...................................1Chapter 2 A Breakdown..................................4Chapter 3 Innocence Lost...............................12Chapter 4 New Family Dynamics..........................18Chapter 5 Behind the Pool..............................28Chapter 6 Moving back to Mom's.........................35Chapter 7 Welcome to the System........................45Chapter 8 The End of the World.........................51Chapter 9 Breaking Free................................56Chapter 10 Shelters....................................61Chapter 11 Peter.......................................69Chapter 12 New Job and New Man.........................74Chapter 13 Priorities..................................81Chapter 14 Leaving Peacefully..........................89Chapter 15 Remember Me?................................94Chapter 16 Double Duty.................................105Chapter 17 Getting into Everything.....................110Chapter 18 Number Four.................................120Chapter 19 Searching...................................127Chapter 20 Forgiven....................................133

Chapter One

Tick tock. I could hear the distinct sound of a clock ticking, getting louder and louder with each furious pump of the bike pedals. The sound was actually my heart racing as I rode my purple three-speed over to my father's house. I was in a hurry—and didn't even mind the beads of sweat rolling into my eyes—because I was on my way to find out if my father and his wife Julie were going to let me move in with them.

It took me about ten minutes to get there from my mother's on a normal day, but I think I clocked in at eight minutes on that day.

My father and Julie lived on a corner house in Oxford, New York in the summer of 1979. They lived with Julie's four children from a previous marriage. The oldest, Mary, had graduated from high school a year earlier and went into the military. Wayne was twelve; he was the only boy, and he blasted "My Sharona" and "Hot Stuff" from the boom box in his room pretty much every day. The youngest were identical twin girls named Cindy and Susan. I thought it was the greatest thing in the world to have a set of twins. I wished I would have twins someday.

I knew at fourteen I wanted more out of life, and that's why I was pedaling my way to my father's. I felt he could provide me with more of a "normal" family life than my mother, which would allow me to be a better version of myself. I thought I would enjoy having a brother and two sisters, and I wanted to have a closer relationship with my dad.

At my mother's, life was pretty lonely; she worked nights, and I was at school during the day. I hoped moving in with my father would relieve my mother of the financial burden of providing food, clothes, and shelter for me as well—my father had more money. I didn't consider my mother's feelings when I asked if I could live with my father's family. I was very self-centered as a young teenager; life was all about me.

I parked my bike on the patio in the back of my father's house, since we used the back door to come in and out. I didn't have to knock. I walked right in and said, "Good morning, how is everybody?"

"Why are you out of breath?" Cindy asked. She had a towel wrapped around her head and another around her torso as she grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge.

"I rode my bike as fast as I could, and I'm just catching my breath," I answered with a shrug, throwing my hands on my hips.

"Hi Emily Jane! Come on in here," Julie shouted from the living room.

I loved it when Julie would call me by my first and middle name. For the most part, she only called me "Emily" if I was in trouble. That's how I would know something was wrong.

My heart was still pounding, but I couldn't hear the clock anymore. I patted my chest to try to get it to slow down.

I walked through the kitchen and into the dining room, where Julie and my father were sitting at the table under a delicate chandelier.

"Your father and I have decided you can move in this June," Julie said as soon as I walked in the room.

"Wow! Thank you! That's great!" I replied, shocked and overwhelmed with excitement. This was the beginning of something great, I thought. This could lead to a new and improved me.

We discussed rules and expectations, which weren't as extensive as I thought they would be. I was to get up and go to school, come home from school, do homework, eat dinner, help with chores when asked, and on the weekends I was to come in when the streetlights turned on.

My mother had similar rules, but I often took advantage of them because the consequences were not consistent.

I had a boyfriend named Daniel at the time. He was tall, with blond hair and blue eyes. We rode bikes together to the park and to the outdoor swimming pool, and I was allowed to see him out in public but not be alone with him at my house or his.

My father had a hard time being sensitive with his choice of words whenever I mentioned my boyfriend.

Chapter Two

For two weeks in August every year, my dad and Julie would go on a vacation. That particular summer, I would stay with my mother while Julie's kids went out west to visit their father. My mother lived about a mile away; I could visit her any time my father and Julie were home, but I didn't.

Mom lived in a nice three-bedroom apartment close by. We would usually come in and out the back door, just like at my father's house. It was a two-family home, with an apartment upstairs. It was always kind of dark in the apartment, thanks to the tall oak trees surrounding the house. On hot and muggy days, the apartment stayed very cool.

My sister Connie had the bigger bedroom. I didn't care; Mom said it would be easier for me to keep my room clean—that was the room's selling point—but I never bothered with that. It was usually a huge mess of clothes, books, teen magazines, and just general garbage. On Saturdays, we turned off the TV at 12:00 PM and cleaned our bedrooms and did chores around the house. But if our bedrooms were messy by Tuesday or Wednesday, Mom didn't fuss. My room at my father's, on the other hand, was always expected to be neat and tidy.

The living room at Mom's had a shaggy brownish rug, which she had moved with us for about four years. Candy, our English springer spaniel, could often be found curled up on that rug. She'd be sweet and content until someone walked in the room, and then her tail would wag and shake her small body from side to side.

We had simple furniture: a couch and a chair. Our television was a very small nine-inch color set, but we didn't notice how small it was, because we were so used to it. I watched The Brady Bunch, Little House on the Prairie, Happy Days, and Laverne and Shirley on that set every week until it was my bedtime.

My mother's bedroom was off the eat-in kitchen; I think it was meant to be a dining room, but Mom made it into her bedroom. The bathroom was off the kitchen, and I had to duck while taking a shower because the showerhead was so low. I was tall for my age: five foot eight at fourteen years old.

I was not picked on about my height, thank God. But because I was taller and looked older, people expected me to act...