I was promised a refreshing form of a renaissance, one that revitalised my poreless flesh and captured my mundane habits. One that would lick the salt rocks off the shore and feed them to a rejuvenated, independent gratification. One with sulphate aggressiveness, tingling taste buds, pink alcoholic tears, and honey syrup blood. One where muttered words were suffocated by judgement, and tongues bleached from colour curled like snails around bendy straws.
My altruistic, diligent parents were the instigators of such promise. The duo were treasured by anyone who had the honour of crossing paths with them. They were valued for their charitable acts of hospitality, and were considered the samaritans of Tampa, Florida.
Zach and Diana Edwards and their precious daughter, Christina.
My parents possessed the perfect marriage which everyone strived for, brimful of youth and adoration. On the 21st of August 1986, it was proved to be a facade. I was 17 when my world was turned upside down. I learnt the difficult way that my life would become a place of destruction and hazard, recklessness and chaos, sleepless nights full of adventure and euphoria, fascination and ecstasy. Self-discovery and expression was one concept I never had the chance of experiencing when I was little. Maybe my parents had to disappear in order for myself to explore the lengths and limits of existing in such a substantial society.
That's precisely what happened. On that misty evening, they were both declared missing. They had left their tactful teenage daughter to fend for herself in a strenuous city, abundant with unpredictability. I was enraged with fury and overwhelmed with loneliness - what was I supposed to do? I demanded an explanation, if only they were present to provide one. The closest explanation I received was a piece of paper. It said;
Christina,
Do not try and find us. We have devoted ourselves to protecting you, to obliterating the danger that will eventually surround you, but we are in trouble. Please forgive us for being vague and sudden, but it's what has to be done for your own welfare. We only want what's best for you, and for now, it's to start a new life without us. Somewhere fresh and distant, where nobody knows who you are. It's extremely important that you do not try to contact us in any way, and forget that we were ever here. You're in charge now. You know what to do. We love you with every ounce of our hearts, and we would never ever let anyone hurt you. Please trust us.
It wasn't even signed. My parents were a pair of egotistical frauds, who evidently weren't the fruitful humanitarians people thought they were. Why did they have no other option but to leave? The feeling of abandonment was too prodigious that I was too scared not to follow their instructions. I did exactly what I was told to do - in fact, even a little more.
My $30,000 college tuition fee was stored in my deposit box. Naturally, I withdrew it and bought what I knew would be necessary. I stripped my hair of its glossy, flaxen colour and transformed myself into an unrecognisable brunette. The best part was, I felt no guilt or shame whilst doing it, only adrenaline. I'd grown up being blonde, and everyone said they loved it since it complimented my heart-shaped face and fluorescent blue eyes.
I decided I didn't want to be the sweet and innocent little girl that I was known to be in Tampa. Proving to myself that I was capable of being individualistic was the only concern I had. There was nobody to rely on but myself.
With an extra $20,000 I took from the deposit, I surfed through the mall and bought a completely new wardrobe. I wouldn't be caught dead wearing animal fur coats, leather skirts that barely covered my ass, red fishnet tights, and chunky diamond choker necklaces. But I sauntered out of Bloomingdales, $3,000 less than what I walked in with, my pride still pristine and my purse still overflowing. I was determined to change my look, no matter how outrageous it was.
Booking a one way bus ticket to New Orleans, to a city bubbling with skyscrapers and angry drivers in yellow taxis, I realised that I'd never stepped foot outside of my state. I was apprehensive to travel when I was younger, and I guessed I never exactly grew out of it.
I promised that I would strip myself of my behaviour and appearance, and become a totally unorthodox person. My fears would not exist and my ambitions would cease. My soul would become red - like love, like fire, like sweet red roses. Or maybe black - like death, like shadows, like the deceptions that continued to plague my judgment for 17 years. I even decided to abbreviate Christina to Chris. It would be pure insanity if I accomplished such abrasiveness in such little time, but it was a risk I was willing to take.
The bus engine rang through my ears whilst I struggled to squeeze past the woman stood beside my aisle. She was literally drowning in diamonds, her necklace falling apart pearl by pearl. The yelping chihuahua she held in her left hand was also dressed glamorously, with even a tiara perched between its little ears. Judging from the looks it was receiving from fellow passengers, its persistent barking wasn't appreciated. I thought deep and hard about how I wouldn't normally react, and wondered whether or not I should do it. It would sure attract some attention, but did the new Chris care about what everyone thought of her? The old Christina would curl herself up into a ball of timidness and zip her mouth shut tightly, without a thought of unzipping it until she was told to. We had a little over 10 minutes before we were set to arrive in New Orleans - why not cause a little bit of a public disturbance once in a while? I'd be doing these people a favour.
"Hey, lady," I found myself roaring down the woman's ear, visibly startling her. My voice was harsh and malicious, the hostility dripping from my mouth. She turned to where I stood, her eyebrows furrowed and her chiselled nose turned up. I instantly felt like she was comparing myself to her, like she was predominant and of higher value. "Control that fucking animal."
I heard echoes of shocked gasps. That was the only time I'd ever cursed in a spiteful manner. I wasn't a fan of bad language, and I never intended to use it. However, it would now become an addition to my vocabulary, and a frequent use.
The woman's eyes widened in astonishment, and when she spoke, it was with a thick British accent. The accent I hated most. "I beg your pardon?"
I didn't plan on continuing to talk to her, but the accent caused my blood to boil and my palms to perspire. I didn't care what these passengers thought of the way I was handling the situation, and I definitely didn't care that I was now the centre of attention. The woman continued to express disgust towards my attitude, but I was now craving an argument. Anger wasn't an emotion I often felt, but the rage began to grow, until I also turned on the passenger who approached us and was trying to help. I didn't even glance at who it was; I only heard their trembling, pusillanimous voice.
It was only when I punched them hard in the mouth that I realised it was a young woman.
I also realised that I was being placed into handcuffs.
