Who's That Girl

Breakdown at the Boardwalk

My sister wanted to go to the boardwalk with some friends and listen to the band that was playing that night. It was her fourteenth birthday, in August. I don't quite remember why I came along, but I did. While the girls, not including me, went off to play games and eat boardwalk food fare, my mom and I started the excruciating but inevitable task: finding me something to eat.

She gladly, and quite quickly, bought herself some clam chowder. It wasn't as quick for me. We walked all through the boardwalk, up and down the Santa Cruz streets, and back and forth across the marina. Finally, our mission seemed to have ended. We had found an elegant restaurant that would serve chicken. Chicken was safe, as long as it wasn't fried or had skin on it. But this chicken didn't come with vegetables.There had to be vegetables. I couldn't have an 'unbalanced' meal. Plus, I told my mom, it was too pricey. But cost did not matter to my poor mother. "I just want you to eat," she said.

We argued for a while; my mom getting angry and me getting upset. We ended up seated on the beach, my mom, my sister, her friends, and I, listening to the band, who no one recognized, play. Except, I was more enveloped in my own tears than the music. My stomach was empty, and I was beyond starving. I was numb. The rest of them giggled and snapped photos of me, my head down, my knees pulled into my chest. But after a while, I was left alone.

On the way home, the girls decided they hadn't gotten enough to eat and wanted to stop at a Chipotle they claimed was nearby. My mother drove up and down unfamiliar streets searching for it, but to no avail. We ended up at a dinghy little Taco Bell instead. Again, my mom tried to get me to eat something, anything. But I refused. When we arrived home, and my father learned I hadn't eaten dinner, he was furious. And when my father is furious, he is quite terrifying.

I attempted to make a run for my room, but he grabbed my harshly by the arm, and tried to drag me into the kitchen. I think he might have slapped me because I was crying hysterically. I finally escaped his grasp and darted to my room. There, I slammed the door shut and sank onto my floor in the pitch black darkness and sobbed. My tears were all I had there, alone in my room, feeling like nobody cared about me. But my parents did. Especially my mom. She later came into my room and we talked. When she left, I felt terrible. It was the first time I realized that my behavior was hurting those that ared most about me. But I didn't know what was wrong with me.