drifters

Chapter 5 - margarita

I always walk with purpose.  Whether it's my flaming hands or raging mind, there isn't anything that can stop me once I have my mind made up.  The pain I've caused in the past is nothing like the pain I will bring in the future.  I can see so much clearer now than ever before and it's an amazing thing to watch a plan come together even if it's not what you had originally intended.

It's been so many years now and growing up in an unhinged home was one thing but taking control of the situation was another.  I was one of 6 children from a blend of parents growing up in a household of random parents out in the midwest.  Social service programs weren't what they are today, especially not out in the middle of the country.  It didn't matter if you were a minority or privileged or out of your shit crazy.  You grew up with what you had and that was how it was in the 60's.

There were many nights I was told to stand in the corner for hours and if I behaved then I could have a stale cracker for dinner.  And if I really behaved, I could put a packet of McDonald's ketchup on it!  If I moved or made too much noise after standing for 3 hours in the corner watching my father eat dinner, then he would put his leftover plate on top of the refrigerator so I could see it.  "Rita baby, you can have these leftovers tomorrow if you behave."  It didn't matter if I had splinters in my feet or had to pee.  I needed to stand there until he told me I could go back to my shared room with my gaggle of siblings.

Over the years, I would hear one of my random step mothers calling out for my older brother to keep her company in her bed while our father was out for the night.  We all imagined what was going on but none of the siblings ever spoke.  It was easier to just get through each block of time per day and get through whatever the "required" activities were then to ask questions and question their authority and get beat.

At some point, when each of us aged out of my family receiving checks from the state to help support us financially, we were just released into the wild.  The relief of being able to move freely and not being controlled every second of the day was overwhelmingly liberating.  But survival on the streets at such a young age was another learning experience altogether.

I gave birth to five children all on my own without any help from anyone.

Three survived. 

When you live on the street, the agencies that didn't help me growing up were aggressive to take my children away from me.  Maybe I didn't learn how to love properly, but my children were a part of me and whatever love I could have possibly felt in my lifetime, went to them.  Daniel, Miguel and my baby Maria Teresa.

Parents are supposed to protect their families and take care of them.  But some parents don't do that and nothing happens to them.  The children just move along through the motions, trying to get through each day and eventually grow up and have kids on their own.

I had to take care of things differently.  My last born baby, Maria Teresa, was the easiest to deliver.  My water broke on the streets of Philly and it seemed like she was born just minutes after.  I was alone with just my baby and some blankets on a cold winter morning on the street corner during the morning business rush.  After losing two babies to the elements and two more babies to the system, I was determined to keep my Maria.  She was perfect.  I was able to breastfeed right away and keep her warm.  But none of that mattered.  People saw us and heard her soft cries.  And within two weeks, the PPD came and took my baby away.

It was the third time and again they threw shit at me that I needed to show up in family court and show that I had a place to live with heat and hot water as well as a formal proof of income.  They threw shit at me that I wouldn't be able to get medical care and shots for my babies and questioned every life choice I had made.  How was an uneducated 18 year old supposed to make a productive life on her own without financial support of family?  Some people have good options and can pick and choose how they want to live their lives.  But when you don't have any options, you have no good choices to make, especially if you have children.  But to take children away from their natural born mothers?  I would have found a way for each of them.

So when people talk about accountability, I held people accountable.  I hitchhiked and sold the only thing I had for transportation back to where my shitshow all began.  Maybe it was premeditated as they claimed but it was worth the time served.  As rational planning goes, I slit my father's throat and stabbed him over 50 times to make extra sure that he felt every bit of rage that I felt for the shitty hand I was dealt. I stabbed whatever woman was with him at the time as well.  I sat down at the table that I never got to sit at and watched a young girl standing in the corner as I ate the dinner that was prepared for my father.  A shitty skirt steak with canned vegetables on a thin plastic plate was so delightful to eat.  I knew it wasn't the most glamorous plate to eat but it was a luxury I never had and I ate slowly to enjoy every bit of it.

The little girl in the corner wouldn't make eye contact with me, which was fine by me.  I heard other voices upstairs as well.  I realized as I finished my meal, the whole plate, that I had blood on my hands and a few splatters on my shirt.  It didn't bother me at all.  Before I left the house, I switched on the burner which didn't catch flame, so I let the gas run for a while and then found one of my father's cigarettes in the living room and threw it at the stovetop before walking out and never looked back.

It didn't take long for me to get locked up and thrown in jail for 2 counts of murder in the first degree and 5 counts of murder in the second degree as well as destruction of property and endangering 5 minors - which lived by the way.