There is a pall on this day. Almost a week ago, give or take about six hours, I was rushed to the hospital via EMS because I had all the signs women get when we’re having a heart attack. My sternum hurt; the right side of my face went numb while my left arm tingled and hurt; my back ached, and; most alarming for me, the hearing in my left ear was completely gone, replaced by tinnitus while I “only” lost about 50% of the hearing in my right ear. I attributed all of this to stress, even if a heart attack were indeed the result. I’ve been stressed and distressed for months now. The latest because I tried to be a good friend and mentor to a younger cousin and her lazy ass boyfriend who believed the world would be a fab place if everyone blew off doctors and smoked dope all day. This same joker, Chad, stole quite a bit of my recently deceased mother’s costume jewelry collection with pieces far older than I am today; broke her sorority pen when he never should have had it in the first place; stole a small point-and-shoot camera that was only good enough to catch pics and video in a breaking news story, and; stole a very expensive digital recorder with a microphone that fit into my ear so that whatever I heard in that ear went into the recorder. It is that last item that puts a huge crimp in my ability to work and the theft of jewelry that makes me want to cry. That bastard also tried to get my smallest and youngest dog killed by encouraging her into the street–a boulevard where cars regularly surpass the 35 MPH speed limit–because he was mad at me for throwing his ass out of my house. If my now-estranged cousin, Marguerite, hadn’t protected him with her body, and if she wasn’t bigger than I was, I would have stabbed him with any sharp object I could get my hands on and never regret it other than the fact that my girls would be without me.* So fuck you, Marguerite, for caring more about how well your pussy is licked and not giving a crap that your sick motherfuckin’ boyfriend tried to kill a defenseless animal! You are about the third most disappointing relative I’ve ever had the misfortune of trusting.
When Chad tried to get Snippet killed, I called the police. I have no idea what lie they told, but I really don’t care as long as they are gone and remain so. Then, I discovered the thefts. I texted Marguerite and asked where the items were. She lied and said that I was, paraphrasing, “imagining things.” Yeah, right. That’s what I do all day, child. I sit and imagine things and then write them up as news stories. Puleeze! Oh, did I mention that the two nitwits tried to frame me as a dope dealer in the event that I did call the cops? Chica went through my mother’s bedroom, where they slept, and had to see the three Mary Jane plants that had sprouted. I went right behind her, but after she’d left, and that was the second thing my eyes caught. The first was a drawer that was out of place. I called the police and that’s where I have to end this horrible little chapter other than to say that I tried, even after that foolish little girl went along with the setup at the very least and, for all I know, might have orchestrated it. I took the frosting for the brownies and Rice Krispies to her last known address, her mother and stepfather’s apartment, but got no answer. That’s when I began soliciting legal opinions. I asked four attorneys what my liability might be. Let’s just say that I wasn’t concerned when I called the cops. One of the attorneys, after seeing the texts that arrogant butthole, Chad, sent, said that the attempt at extortion alone would probably be a major factor, and; that here, animal cruelty isn’t looked upon kindly even though I’m very sure I had the misfortune to draw the officer with the least concern for any animal that didn’t walk upright on two legs and communicate some form of English in the first encounter.
There is a pall on this day because it’s really hitting me how badly I screwed up. I never should have allowed that scum access to my house, even if Marguerite and her mother approved of him. He claimed that his mother and sister both threw him out and that his father was “iffy.” Knowing a little something about the fallibility of parental units, it wasn’t such a stretch to believe. The two stayed as guests because Chad didn’t have a job then and there, but was supposedly working on getting one. He had about a quarter of his food stamp money to contribute, but that might as well been Monopoly money given all that he ate and drank. I could never imagine anyone drinking an entire 12-can box of ginger ale in one morning until he did it. Things we ordered from a Chinese restaurant that delivered and I helped pay for were gone before I even had one helping. Yes, MJ can give a person mad cravings, but being stoned is a decision. Choosing to fix the after-effects of being stoned is a decision. Telling the person who was kind enough to allow you to stay in her house rent free until you found a job that she wasn’t “trying hard enough” with a disability that only maybe eight doctors in the entire world have actively treated, after every relative you’d previously asked had thrown you out, was a decision. Literally hiding behind your larger girlfriend was most definitely a decision, as was threatening me, making fun of me and trying to kill my dog were all decisions.
Chad supposedly has ADHD. Yeah, I can see that. However, these two forget that I’ve been in the world a lot longer than they have. This family breeds cops and lawyers like farmers breed cattle for slaughter. My mother was a teacher just like her grandmother, great aunt and many of the women on this branch of the family tree. Learning disabilities are not new to me. ADHD is not an excuse for everything small, medium and large that happens even if he’s got Marguerite believing it is. The disability, once diagnosed, must be addressed, yes, but not like this.
As I said, Marguerite was more interested in how well he performed sexually, forgetting or outweighing all the times he’s made her cry (believe me, it was a lot),and that he/they were stealing from a dead blood aunt who ALWAYS cared about her and her education. She didn’t care. Chad could throw tantrums and she’d do whatever he wanted. In this case, not only did he set me up, but he set Marguerite up as well. Everything he texted was from HER phone and not his. His is sitting on my mantle along with some other things just waiting.
Chad’s statement that: 1) He didn’t think he should have to find a job, and; 2) that I wasn’t trying hard enough, made me see red. That is especially true of the second statement. I was so angry at his arrogant, ignorant, generally assholish comments that I stripped down to my skin, including taking off my prosthesis, and screamed at him while asking if that is good enough and that he knows nothing. Damn! I wish I could have caused him severe injury without leaving my girls to fend for themselves.* His tongue would have been about the only thing that worked, so Ms. Marguerite would have still been happy.
I feel as though I’ve disappointed my mother and so many other women who came before me by allowing myself to get duped by Chad, who is quite charming, articulate and definitely an angry young man. I just couldn’t stand the thought of the child I believed I knew and that I would have been proud to have as my own daughter, out on the street with this 20-year-old kid who’d had a rough life because of his learning disorder where god knows what could have happened to them. She was devoted to him and I took them in mostly so that she wouldn’t be put in danger. To steal from me and my just barely-dead mother was an abomination–a blasphemy that I will never forgive. I will send her mother a copy of this post and tell her exactly what her daughter and her boyfriend did. Then, unless the police get a warrant or I can get a photo of the one-off piece of jewelry I purchased for my mother from its designer and take that to the cops, I’m done. IF she goes to college, and IF she manages to graduate, then I’ll re-think my position. However, those “ifs” are very, very large. I wouldn’t be surprised if she ended up pregnant first. As I said before, Marguerite is an enormous disappointment.
ETA the following:
* After many days to think, I concluded that Marguerite did me a favor. Had I stabbed Chad for trying to murder my youngest furbaby–because, let’s face it, that’s what he was trying to do whether statutes, prosecutors and case law call it “murder” or not–all of my girls would have been without me. That’s unacceptable under any circumstance.