In 1974, Beaufort, one of the oldest town in North Carolina, was a place like many other small southern towns. It was a kind of place where people wave from their cars whenever they see someone on the street whether they know him or not. It was a kind of place where humidity rises so high that walking out to get a mail made a person feel as if he needed a shower, and kids walked around barefoot from April through October beneath oak trees draped in Spanish moss, and the air smelled of pine, salt, and sea, a scent unique to the Carolinas. Only three channels came in on the television, though television was never important to those of us who grew up there. Instead our lives were centered around the churches, of which there were eighteen within the town limits alone. They went with the names like Fellowship Hall, Christian church, and the church of forgiven people, and ofcourse, there were Baptist churches. When I was growing up, it was far and away the most popular denomination around, and there were Baptist churches practically on every corner of the town, though each considered itself superior than others. Well, you get the picture.
As I was walking, I zipped my jacket to half and looked at the overcasted sky, slightly gray in colour. It's been a week since my sophomore year started. Though it's the same as always, I am hanging out with my friends, and midnight talks in the graveyard. Does that sound weird? but what's wrong in hanging out in graveyard with my diaper friend? as for my parents, my mom don't stop me from doing it and as for dad he would be out of the town most of the time. He wasn't there for me growing up. I hate to say that because nowadays people claim that sort of stuff even if their parents was around and use it to excuse their behavior. "My dad...he didn't love me...that's why I became a stripper and performed on that dirty show...." I am not using it to excuse the person I've become, I am simply saying it as a fact. My father was gone ten months of the year, living out of the town in Washington, apartment three miles away. My mother didn't go with him 'cause they wanted me to grow up "the same way they had" . Ofcourse, my father's father took him to fishing, hunting, taught him several other things, showed up for birthday parties, all that small stuff. My father, on the other hand, was a stranger, someone I barely knew at all. For the first 4 to 5 years of my life I thought all the father's live somewhere else. It was until Eric hunter, my best friend or so called diaper friend asked me in kindergarten who was that man who showed up in my house late night before I realized something wasn't quite right about the situation.
"He's my father", I said proudly
"oh", Eric said as he riffled through my lunch box, looking for my rolls, "I didn't know you had a father"
Talk about something wracking you straight in the face.
So, I grew up under the care of my mother. Now she was a nice lady, sweet and gentle the kind of people most people dream about. But so far I remember there were some arguments between my mom and dad when I was young and not surprisingly my father defused the situation pretty well. I think that's why he stayed in congress for so long. So some disillusionment with my father made me become something of a rebel. Not a bad one, mind you. Me and my friends might sneak out late and eat potato chips in the graveyard behind the church, but in seventies that was kind of thing that made other parents shake their heads and whisper to their sweet sweet children
"you don't want to be like that Miller boy. He is paving his road to prison!"
Me. A bad boy. For eating potato chips in the graveyard. Go figure
Everything was going smoothly until on April 13, yes today, teacher told students to choose between chemistry and drama. Now, I hadn't really planned taking drama that year. But as you see I lack options. The thing was, I thought it would be a blow-off class, especially when compared to my other option. No papers, no tests, no tables where I'd have to memorize protons and neutrons and combine elements in their proper formula…
what could possibly better for a highschool sophomore? It seemed like a sure thing, and when I signed up for it, I thought I'd just be able to sleep through most every class, which considering my midnight graveyard chips eating, was fairly important to me at that time. If you know what I mean.
The next day, the first class, I did the V.I.P entry. I came after the bell rang and hurriedly took a seat in the back of the room. Miss chole was too busy to notice me, writing her name in big cursive letters, as if we didn't know who she was. Everyone knew her- it was almost impossible not to. She was big, some five feet ten, curly hair and pale skin that showed her freckles well into her forties. she was also overweighted- I'd say honestly, she was more like a donut in shape- she had a very typical liking towards the flower pattern dresses which dosen't suit her at all. She would great everyone with, "Helloooooooo childreeeennnn" sort of singing syllable. Miss chole was really one of a kind, that's for sure. You can't argue with me on that. And she was single, that made it even worse.
We pity her.
The view from the back of the room is really something, I could almost see everyone and I spotted someone, doing something really strange. Amelia Garcia smiled at me, it wasn't until later I would learn the reason why?