The Dance My First Love

Chapter One

On My Own

Imagine being six years old standing on a stage, looking out toward a room full of parents gathered to celebrate the first of what will likely be just one of many achievements, a child's first graduation. Kindergarten in California is an exciting time, not just for kids who get to wear white robes and receive little awards to signify they're moving on to the first grade, but also for parents, some of whom bring flowers as they arrive and some who come with neatly wrapped gifts of celebration in honor of this special day. It can also be a sad day, especially for one little girl who woke up on this special day knowing that before she left for school, her mother wasn't home nor was she anywhere to be found. That was me, Carrie.

Looking back now, I wonder how I was able to get myself up, make myself a bowl of cereal, take a shower, brush my sandy brown shoulder-length hair, and head off to school to my graduation. I was young and very used to taking care of myself. My mother was either drunk or hardly ever around. As most young girls are, I was a sweet girl who needed to be loved, and I continually looked for it from my mother but couldn't seem to ever get it. It became easy to be quiet and reserved, because I didn't have much interaction with other kids. I was petite, and as I was often told, I had the prettiest walnut-brown eyes and always kept a smile on my face. I can recall hanging on to hope inside that one day my own mother would see this in me, and that one day she would love me.

I did well in school, kept my room clean, and stayed out of her way, as a way of trying to make her happy. I loved my mother and this was the only way I knew how to show her that. Most importantly, I wanted to spend time with her.

I recall getting to school that day. Tables were being set up in the room for everyone attending. On top of each table were names of the kids' parents. All of us kids were asked to stand in line and give our family's names and the number of chairs we would need for our family members. My teacher noticed that I wasn't in line. When she finished with all the other kids, she walked over to me and said that I needed to give her my family count and their names so my table could be set up. I looked up at my blonde teacher, whose shoes were slightly worn and whose dress I remember having static cling at the bottom. She stood only about five feet two inches tall.

"My mom is my only family member and she can't make it," I said.

She was kind to me and said, "Well then, you can sit with the teachers until it's time to go on stage."

I felt nervous, but I said, "Okay, thank you."

While all the teachers gave their speeches and served us punch and cookies, I looked around the room at all the kids having a good time with their families, and wished it were me. After graduation was over, I walked home. I was a latch-key kid, so when I arrived home, I let myself in.

I arrived home to find that my mom still wasn't home. I don't even think she came home the night before. She did that a lot, which meant most of the time, I was on my own. I sat down to watch TV, hoping my mom would be home soon to make some dinner, but by 8 p.m. when she still wasn't home, I decided to make myself a peanut butter sandwich. I had to scrape the mold off of the bread because mom hadn't gone food shopping in a while. There was nothing to eat, really, other than cereal, a jar with barely any peanut butter left in it, and a little bit of milk, which I was saving for my cereal in the morning.

Growing up, I didn't really have a bedtime because Mom was hardly ever home. When she was, she would just send me to bed when one of her boyfriends was with her, or when she just didn't want to be bothered with me. Although my mom would go through boyfriends what seemed like every month, they were always the center of her attention.