By Angel  no1halo@yahoo.com
Date: 16 July 1999

Goodbye! Go!

"Goodbye Connie, it is time to go now," were the only words audible to me
through my great , little sobs of pain. Actually, not even that in its entirety,
more like: Goodbye! Go! I was four. This was not my house. They were not my 
parents. She was not my sister. He was not my dog (Oh, how I cried over that
dog! And 'He' got to stay!) So, I went to pack with tears streaming down my
face (mixing with the snot that was running out of my nose faster than I could
sniff it back up, and then trickling over quivering lips right into my mouth).
I remember how thick and salty that concoction was and how I wished that somehow
it would be toxic and just melt me away. But it didn't, actually.

I don't know exactly what I packed, I didn't own much and it was hard to see
through a broken heart. However, I do equate that event with the first moment I
possessed shame so I was bound to have packed some of it in there, along with
heartache and a host of anxieties. I know one thing I did pack and that was
Strength. I knew, even then, that I was going to need it with me, and a lot
of it!

The next flurry of thoughts I had was while standing at the door looking up
into 'their' emotionless faces:"For the good of the child," DFACS claimed.
I wondered if 'they' would miss me, if 'they' would change their minds at
the last minute and tell the 'nice lady' at the door to go to hell. I wondered
if 'they' loved me. Then I wondered if maybe that wasn't such a good idea, to
love. Maybe that was what was wrong, why I couldn't stop crying. Maybe that
was why my chest hurt from all that heaving, why my throat hurt from trying
to swallow all that snot, why I felt like puking! Then suddenly I became a very
wise four-year-old. My eyes and ears became sonar for my heart. This kind of
hurt would never slip upon me again: I would look for signs...I would pack
first!

Over the next few weeks in my new 'home', I started to think back to the days
just before the 'Great Eviction'. I remembered that a 'nice lady' came to
visit just a few days before. She patted me on the head and told me what a
sweet little girl I was, (Sign). I knew now to be on the lookout for 'her'
and to avoid anyone bearing sweet words and affectionate pats. The next time,
I was a bit more prepared: I had two whole days to cry and pack.

Each time I would become stronger and wiser. I had it down to a science: Before
the 'nice lady' would come, I would hear whispering and then I would be told to
play out of doors while she was there, (Sign). However, even before that I
would all of a sudden become 'Queen of Sheba' of the household: Rarely during
this reign would I be corrected, my favorite foods would be prepared and
sometimes I would even be given gifts, (Sign). I learned to hate whispering and
specialties; there was always a catch! But more importantly, I learned how to 
avoid shock due to a surprise attack on the heart. I also learned I could buy
the time my little heart needed to adjust and, sadly, I learned how not to
love so true. I had five more years in 'the system' to hone my skills. I became
an expert at spotting 'Signs'. I could on many occasions detect a workers' car
turning onto the street (Any street I happened to be inhabiting at the moment)
just by the hum of the engine or the sound of the tires. And the scent of
Juicy Fruit or lilac always sent me packing.

As I grew older and became involved in romantic relationships, I carried my
sonar with me. I let my guard down once early on my romantic trek and I 
swore I would never be so careless again. I damn near whooped myself for being
so slack, after all, I almost had a doctorate in 'How not to get hurt by love'.
So, now I "Tread softly and carry a big stick." And that is why I am standing
here at the door with this suitcase and with no trace of emotion on my face...
"Goodbye, I've got to go!"

Angel 7/16/99