Most children grow up wanting siblings, especially little girls. They want someone to share their secrets with, to have a best friend; to always have someone to talk to. Fuck that, not me.

It was more than enough to have one person in this screwed up environment that I grew up in. I couldn’t imagine two of us going to bed hungry, I was barely able to fend for myself. That’s exactly what would have happened; me having to take care of another little person. Taking care of me came naturally. It was a fight or flight mentality, only the strongest survive, kill or be killed, that type of shit…my mom was a fucked up person, I had to survive. Period.

My childhood memories are fuzzy, although clear, if that makes any sense at all. Like it or not, it was my life, and for whatever fucked up reason or purpose, it was my reality.

I didn’t live in the suburbs on Shooting Star Court. I lived off of Nebraska in Tampa, in the ghetto where men hung around outside with a quart and a blunt. Women screamed, and hit their kids as if it were nothing. Oh…the beauty of living in section eight housing. Seeing a five year old on the streets was a daily occurrence, throughout the day, but that didn’t make it any less scary. My mother never thought about what was in my best interest; fuck, she never thought about me at all. Nevertheless, to give her the benefit of the doubt my mother never thought at all. She was always too fucked up on drugs or booze.

I’d like to think that walking the streets were the only times I ever felt scared, that would be bullshit. I think I was born scared. However, five seems like a reasonable age to be afraid…right? I was scared way before the age of five. My mother haphazardly liked to leave me alone, ever since I could remember.

One particular night sticks out in my mind; I awoke in the middle of the night hearing loud noises. I ran into my mother’s room and she wasn’t in there. I remember looking out the window, where I heard the loud noises coming from below, seeing cars with red and blue flashing lights reflecting off the houses.

My heart sank to my stomach. It was the first time I felt pure panic. I had taken a candy bar from the BP gas station earlier that day, when my mother had dragged me in with her to buy a pack of smokes. I thought the cops were coming to get me. I ran to my room as fast as I could, and hid underneath the bed until I heard my mother stumble in with some random guy. Only then, did I think it was safe to come out. It’s actually kind of funny now that I think about it, to feel safe around my mother, that’s a fucking joke. I didn’t sleep a wink that night, and hoped that my mother would come in and check on me to make sure that I was all right, though she never did. Shocker…

 

Our neighbor, who we all knew as “Old Pa”, lived two doors down from us. He was always really nice to me, offering guidance; like to put my shoes on and to stay off the streets. I remember him yelling at me once for walking in the back alley. He was really mad. At the time, I was too young to understand why he was so mad. I know now, it was probably because of the man sleeping between the two dumpsters, or it could’ve been the needles that he kicked away when he carried me back to his house to feed me. In my defense, I was only trying to pet the black kitten that kept running away from me, he was probably hungry too.

That was the last time that I saw Old Pa. I had heard people talking about how the cops had come and taken him away. I never found out why though. I’m sure if I searched the public records I could find out why, ignorance is bliss. I want to remember something good from my childhood, and Old Pa was good to me.

Riding the school bus became one of my favorite parts of the day. I got to watch other children interact with two loving parents. I pretended to have that, too. When I was on the school bus, I felt like I could be anybody that I wanted. I could be like all the other kids with new clothes, shoes, and really awesome backpacks. A backpack and a lunch box were only a few of the items that I never owned as a child. I wanted a backpack though, one that looked just like Natalie Johnson’s. It was pink with sparkles and glitter all over it. Natalie had everything that I wanted. She was the last stop on our bus route. She lived in a bright yellow house, with white shutters, and pretty flowers. There was even a wooden swing on the front porch.

Natalie had two parents, a mother and a father. They always waited with her at the end of their driveway. Before getting on the bus, she always got a kiss goodbye from both of them. The second she got on the bus, I would turn my head to watch her father kiss her mother before he got into his car to go to work, I presumed. Even at that age, I knew that he wasn’t kissing her like the guys kissed my mother. He loved her. I could tell that even at the ripe old age of five.

I know now that Natalie wasn’t what you would call rich. There were far more exquisite homes in the Tampa Bay area; she was rich in my eyes though. Her blonde hair was always so pretty. It was shiny, well maybe shiny isn’t quite the word. To be completely fucking blunt, it was clean. Her headbands always matched her outfits, as did her stockings with her baby doll shoes.

This may be the dumbest thing to remember from riding the school bus; one afternoon on our way home, Natalie had on the shiniest bracelet I had ever seen. It called to me, so when she wasn’t looking, I reached out and touched it. She must have felt my fingertips, because she immediately looked at me, disgusted; she moved closer to the window. She whispered under her breath that she wasn’t allowed to talk to me, and to leave her alone. I didn’t understand why. Kids could be so cruel. I wasn’t a bad girl. At least my teachers always told me that I was a sweet child.

I quickly learned to have a love/hate relationship with school. At least when I was there I knew that I was going to get the free lunches. The kids weren’t nice to me. They were actually very mean, except for Austin. He was always nice to me. We had the same teacher up until the middle of fourth grade. We always sat together at lunch, and played at recess.

I remember one time he got into trouble for sticking up for me, when Nathan Black called me Cootie Bella, when I had somehow contracted head lice. Austin pushed him to the ground and Nathan skinned his elbows. Austin had to sit in class for the next three days, while the rest of the class played at recess. I tried to explain to Ms. Allen that Austin was defending me, she said we needed to learn how to use our words, “Stupid Cunt” how about that for some words?

The whole class waited in line at the clinic that day, while the nurse checked each of them for the epidemic of lice, complementary of little ole me. That was the first time I remember feeling shame; immense shame. I was pulled to the side and singled out. The school of course couldn’t get a hold of my mother to come and pick me up. Our phone had been shut off…again. The school sent a letter home with me, and my mother was pissed. She immediately grabbed the scissors and hacked off all of my hair. Crying the entire time, I begged her to stop, promising her that I would be more careful.

I went to school the next day with a boy haircut, and everybody laughed at me. I went from being called Cootie Bella, to Bella’s a Boy. Austin was my only real friend. He held my hand the entire day, and even let me eat his Jell-O pudding.

Up until the middle of fourth grade, Austin was a part of my life. He had been absent for four days straight. I finally asked our teacher where he was, and why he hadn’t been at school. She explained that Austin was now in the system and had a new home. I had no idea what that meant. I did know that I wanted to be part of the system, too. I cried for a whole month after he was gone. I went from being alone, to being invisibly alone.

 

My mother was a smart fucking woman when she wanted to be. I should have been taken from her the day I was born; I wasn’t. The one and only time a social worker came to check on me, my mother was on point. There was no way she was losing her welfare check for me, or her food stamps that she exchanged for drugs and alcohol. She played nice that day and pretended that she was June Cleaver. She bribed me with a new doll, knowing that I didn’t have many toys. She also knew that I was naïve enough to fall for it. My mother was a piece of shit. Plain and simple.

 

By the time I was in the fifth grade, I was put into special classes. Of course, I didn’t really know what that meant then. I know now that I was being singled out….again. Mr. Mayor had explained to me that it was for students that needed a little extra help. In one sentence he was telling me I was special and in the next he was telling me that I needed special classes. I didn’t understand how he could use the same word for two different meanings.

 

The next time I thought about Austin was during the summer; I was about to go into middle school. It would have been nice to have one friend to start out with. It was our fifth grade graduation and the entire gym was full of mothers and fathers, except for mine of course. I had asked my mother to come; she had said she didn’t have time. I knew what that meant. She was going to be sleeping off the night before. I knew I was right; I saw the needles on the counter before I left, right next to the empty bottle of Jack, and the used condom on the floor.

I sat alone waiting for my name to be called. I pretended that my mother was there and that she was proud of me. They got to the letter T in the alphabet and soon my name was being called.

“Ysabelle Telle,” My principal announced, who was the only one who clapped for me. The rest of the room kept about their business and conversations, while the unimportant girl accepted her accomplishments.

Don’t you dare feel bad for me. I’m not writing this for you to shed tears. My story goes a whole lot deeper than this, and I definitely don’t want your pity. I adapted. I embraced whatever the fuck came or would come. That’s what I do.

I knew what my mother did for a living, well for her living. She sure as hell didn’t give a fuck about me. I guess a part of me always knew what her profession was. You can’t really blame me; we lived in the same house. I was usually the one that had to pick up the used condoms, which were never in her fucking room might I add. I wouldn’t have given a damn if she had kept the revolting things in her room, nonetheless, my mother liked to get it on all over the house. I had even found some in my room here and there. She had no fucking decency or moral code.

 

The summer that I was twelve years old and about to go into the seventh grade, I became a woman, as my mother had called it. Trust me, we didn’t have a mother/daughter bonding moment. This wasn’t an afternoon special. She simply handed me a cardboard stick with a string attached to the end of it. I didn’t have a clue what I was supposed to do with it. I ended up putting toilet paper in my panties until the next day, when I went to the clinic and asked the nurse for a maxi pad. She explained to me that the cardboard stick was a tampon and that it went up my vagina. She even went as far as to demonstrate how to put it in. She didn’t actually demonstrate, she just advised me to put one leg up on the toilet and to lean forward so that it would go in easier. To say I was fucking mortified would be an understatement.

I should have known what was coming. I should have felt it or something. I could have been better prepared for it, if that’s even possible. I wasn’t. I was raped when I was twelve and it was by one of my mother’s Johns…yes…I just said Johns. I couldn’t even tell you what the John looked like or what his name was, all I know is that I woke up in the middle of the night with a hand over my mouth and a body between my legs. That’s how I lost my fucking virginity. Romantic, isn’t it?

He wasn’t gentle at all. The fucker held my mouth the entire time, while his other hand fondled my breasts. There was nothing I could do. I just laid there in a state of shock. I didn’t even cry nor did I try to fight him off. I beheld the ceiling and waited for it to be over. Every time he would thrust in and out, I pretended that I didn’t feel the burning and ache between my legs. I pretended I didn’t smell the marijuana or the cigarettes on his breath. I pretended I didn’t taste the tequila on his hand. I pretended that I didn’t hear the grunts, groans, and dirty shit that he was saying in my ear about my pussy being so tight. I found out later that my mother was paid more money for this John to “use” her daughter than he would have paid for her.

I know what you’re all thinking, what kind of mother would do this to their own child, their own flesh and blood. Although, maybe she thought she was doing me a favor. In her world and mind all men were trash. I experienced a lot of firsts in my life; firsts that should never even exist, let alone be firsts. I eventually learned how to embrace and expect them. They became a part of me, like a body limb would be. My home life would be everything that you would expect it to be, dirty ass house, never any food, old and used clothing, and a revolving door for both my mother and her Johns.

After my initial encounter with her John, I learned real quick to keep to myself, and the more I became invisible the safer I would be. At this point I couldn’t even trust my own mother for my safety, not that I ever could. I began to be home as little as possible, even learned a few tricks from my mother on male mentality. You would be surprised with the things boys would do for you as long as they got a hand job, how they would sneak you into their windows at night or even leave you an extra plate of food once in a while. When I really needed something, I would bring out the big guns, like a blowjob or even them doing some light petting on me.

I didn’t fuck them though. My first encounter of sex made me never want to do that again. I avoided my mother’s Johns at all costs after that night. Taking care of myself became my motto, and my way of living. I saw very little of my mother after that. I often wonder if she even realized I was gone. I try not to think about that. I try not to think about a lot of stuff. Except, at night when I’m in my bed, the lights are off, and all I am left with are my thoughts and memories, I can’t help but wonder…what if?

 

 

Lifelong- a lasting or continuing through all or much of one's life. That was what Julia was to me. I knew she would always be in my life. I knew that all of my life. I don’t know how to even explain it. I just knew it.

 

One could say that growing up the only child would be difficult, especially if you were a boy. You need someone to rough house with, play video games, talk about girls to, climb trees, and build things. You know, typical boy stuff.

My parents didn’t really want to have any children, and my mom likes to say that I was an amazing surprise. I wasn’t, I know that I was an accident. Don’t get me wrong, they are great parents. Always gave me what I wanted, extremely supportive, very loving and caring people. My home life was wonderful. My mom was a registered nurse, and as soon as she had me she quit and became a stay at home mom. My dad was a doctor. They actually met in college; my dad was a senior, about to get accepted into medical school and my mom was a freshman. My mother realized she had a love for healing people when she met my dad. They worked together for two years before I “surprised” them.

They had lots of friends, given that my dad was an active member of the community. He’s one of the top rated cardiologists in Miami, people would fly from all different states just to see him. I look a lot like my father. We both have blonde hair that we keep in a messy hairstyle, blue eyes, slender yet distinguished facial features, and a boyish Colgate smile, like my mom calls it. My parents’ best friends lived in our neighborhood. Beth and my mom have known each other since high school. Her husband David is also a doctor, and my dad actually introduced David to Beth when he and my mom started dating.

David and Beth had daughter named Julia. Naturally, Beth stopped working when they had Julia; Beth and my mom were always on the same wavelength. I am two years older than Julia, and have known her since the day that she was born. Obviously, I don’t remember it, but my parents said that the day she was born, I was one of the first people to hold her, and that I gave her our first kiss right on the lips. I called her my baby and from then on everyone just nicknamed her, Babygirl.

One of Julia’s first words was my name, she couldn’t say Sebastian, and ended up saying Sebby. She has called me that ever since. Julia and I did everything together, and when I say everything, I mean everything. From taking baths together, to sleepovers, lemonade stands, Sunday school, playing house (which she insisted), summer camps, swimming, playing board games, Legos; you name it, we did it. She was like a boy only she smelled good and had long hair. She was the yin to my yang, the peanut butter to my jelly, the milk to my Oreos, and the hot fudge to my ice cream.

I love to take credit for teaching Julia everything she knows, no seriously…I showed her how to walk, ride a bike, swim, color in the lines, read, catch bugs, make mud pies and cuss. What? I was a boy. She loved to think that she is the reason that I am understanding, sensitive, loving, smart, witty and funny. Babygirl is a lot of things, and witty and funny are not one of them, I always laugh at her for trying. She still hasn’t got the part that I’m usually laughing at her and not with her.

We had a pretty normal upbringing, like I said before, my parents only wanted me; now, Julia’s parents were another story. After they had Julia, they tried to have another child almost immediately. Being so young, I never understood what was going on. As I got older I would overhear Beth crying to my mom that her “friend” came again. I wasn’t sure what that meant at the time, only that it usually happened once a month.

Growing up together seemed normal to me. Our parents were always doing things together; barbeques, vacations, dinners, birthdays, every celebration was spent together. I pretty much saw Julia every day. Her parents were like my second parents and vice versa; our parents had a running theme that we would end up together. Our mothers were practically planning our wedding from the day she was born. 

 

When she was six and I was eight, our dads built us a tree house in her backyard. It had taken them almost a month to finish it. I had brought over lots of toys and games for us to play with one afternoon. I had climbed the last step of the ladder before I abruptly stopped, shocked at all the pink and purple splattered everywhere. A pink comforter with fluffy pinker looking pillows were in the corner, a table with a purple cloth and tea cup set was on the opposite side, her play kitchen was set up in the middle, and a weird fuzzy looking rug was right at the entrance. She even went as far as putting her dolls and stuffed animals in random places.

“Surprise!” Julia yelled. “Do you love it?”

“Wow, what did you do?” I questioned.

“I made us a home. Isn’t it lovely?” She sighed contentedly, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Babygirl…why did you do this?”

“What do you mean…I’m nesting.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know, my mom said that’s what I was doing, I thought you would know.”

I could see how excited she was, and I didn’t want to ruin it for her, but this was not what I had envisioned.

“I thought we were going to do this together?” I suggested.

“I know, that’s why I said ‘surprise’!” she shouted with her arms in the air.

“You don’t like it?” she whispered, bowing her head.

“I didn’t say that, it’s just that I thought it was going to be more like a fort. You know, a place where we could hang out and play. Not so much this,” I explained, pointing around me.

“We can still do all that, we can just scoot some things over. We can make room for your things and mine. You know I’ll share with you.”

“Okay…how about we do that right now. And, maybe, we can tone down the pink and purple, maybe add some black and blue?” I pleaded.

She shrugged her shoulders, “Okay.”

We spent the next hour moving things around to make room for my stuff. We agreed that the comforter and rug could stay, however, the kitchen and teacup set was axed.

“Are you upset with me?” I asked.

“No, I’m not upset. Just, sometimes, I wish I had a sister,” she pouted.

“I know.” I hated to see Julia upset; I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings. I knew she put a lot of time and effort to make our fort special. I cheered her up by playing house that afternoon. Julia loved to play house, she was the mom and I was the dad, and her baby dolls were our kids. There wasn’t anything that I wouldn’t do for her, even at the young age of eight.

 

You could say that it was a little strange that my best friend consisted of a girl. I mean, I was a boy I still needed to hang out with other guys. I hung out with Andrew Jones sometimes, only when Julia was away with her family. On the rare occasions when I wasn’t with her, I would hang out with Andrew.

Andrews’s friendship and mine abruptly ended one afternoon when I was pushing Julia on her backyard swing. I had slipped and called Julia, Babygirl in front of him. He made fun of my pet name for her. The older I became, the more aware I was about calling her Babygirl around people. I couldn’t help it. She was my Babygirl, always and forever.

The best, and most memorable times were when she would smile; I loved Julia’s smiles. She’s beautiful; her blue eyes, long wavy blonde hair, thick eyelashes, and high cheekbones with delicate facial features. There’s a tiny beauty mark on the right side of her nose, and her bottom lip is thicker than her top.

You could definitely tell that Julia's best friend was a boy. She was tougher than nails. If Julia cried, she had reason to cry. If she did cry, it was because she was hurt, like the time she stepped on a bee, or when she was running too fast down the stairs and tripped and broke her arm. That was a good one; she milked that injury for everything it was worth. I spent the next month catering to her every want and need; from playing Barbie dolls to dress up.

 

Now don’t think Babygirl and I didn’t have our spats. She could get mad over the stupidest stuff. I remember once when she was maybe eight and I was ten. I was over at her house, because I didn’t want to get groceries with my mom. She wanted to watch The Little Mermaid for the tenth time and I wanted to watch X-Men. I was only joking. I turned it to X-Men and she screamed at the top of her lungs.

Her dad came in, and asked what was going on. Julia lied. She told him that I pushed her, and I had to sit on the steps for ten minutes. Every time I looked over toward her, she stuck her tongue out and smirked. I wasn’t going to be her friend anymore. I was going to find a new best friend.

As soon as her dad had finished lecturing me about hitting girls, and told me that I could go play. I made sure she knew it.

“I’m not your friend anymore. You’re a dumb girl, I hate you,” I said quietly, not wanting her dad to hear me call her a dumb girl. I probably would have had another timeout.

Julia’s bottom lip quivered, followed by her big watery tears.

“I’m sorry, Babygirl. You’re still my friend,” I promised, changing my tune. I hated to see her cry. It did something to my insides that I couldn’t explain.

“Am I your best friend?” she asked.

“Yes, you’re always going to be my best friend.”

We fought about other things too, mostly dumb things, like whether we were playing house or cops and robbers, Connect Four or Chutes and Ladders, swimming or riding bikes. Needless to say, Julia usually won. It was hard for me to say no to her.

 

Her parents continued to try for a baby for most of our childhood. A few weeks after Julia turned nine, she told me that they were going to get her a sibling from a special place where parents went to get kids who didn’t have a home.

“I don’t understand how they can do that, Babygirl? Do they buy a boy or a girl like you buy groceries?” I asked curiously.

“That’s not what Daddy said, it was more like applying for one. It’s called adoption. I guess they have to do all this paperwork stuff, and then we have to wait for someone to call us, or something like that,” she replied.

“How long does it take for them to call you?”

“I don’t know, he said it took longer for a baby. I told them that I don’t want a baby. I want someone close to our age so that they can play with us. What would we do with a baby, Sebby? It would be boring. Oh, and that I want a sister.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. What did they say?”

“They said that it was my decision too, and that they also wanted someone to grow up with us, now we just have to wait.”

 

Julia and I continued in our normal routine for the next year. Julia and her parents were thrilled. They had been scouting agencies to find the perfect one and they had finally found one.

“Sebby!” Julia yelled. “Sebastian…Sebastian…Wait for me! You’re going too fast. I can’t pedal as fast as you!” she shouted. I slowed down my pedaling for her to catch up.

“You’re such a slow poke, Jules,” I teased her. “I’ve taught you how to go faster. You need to hold your butt in the air and power your legs. I can’t keep your pace. My legs are too long,” I explained.

She tilted her head to the side. “Well…that’s not fair, Sebby. You’re a boy and I’m a girl. I’m never going to be as big as you. What are we going to do when you turn twelve next month? I just turned ten, and you’re only going to get bigger,” she muttered. “Your dad is so huge it hurts my neck every time I have to look at him.”

“Babygirl, you know I hate it when you whine like that. We will figure it out like we always do, stop worrying.”

She sighed, “I’m not whining. You just don’t understand what it’s like to be a girl, Sebby,” she argued, sticking her tongue out at me. I swear that girl stuck her tongue out at me more than I could count.

“You’re right, I don’t understand,” I retorted. “That’s why you’re getting a baby sister. Now I’ll have two baby girls I’ll have to look out for.” I smiled and looked back at her face, she looked upset. Ouch, I didn’t mean for it to hurt. I was only teasing her.

“You know you’ll always be my number one girl, Jules,” I reverted. She gave me a huge smile. I hated to see my Babygirl sad.

“What’s going on with that adoption process anyway? I thought she was supposed to be here by now,” I asked.

“I don’t know…Mommy says that good things come to those who wait, Sebby. So that’s what I’m doing…I’m waiting,” she replied matter-of-factly.

“Where are we going anyway?” she asked.

“Just keep pedaling, it’s a surprise!” I yelled as I pedaled faster.

“Oh man....you are going too fast again!” she hollered.

I saw her lift her butt in the air and pedal her tiny little legs as fast as she could. I couldn’t wait to surprise her. She was going to love this. Julia’s laughs and smiles were the best. I tried to make them come out as much as I could. We finally arrived at our destination fifteen minutes later. I knew we were a little ways from home, and it was all right. I would take care of Julia. I would never let anything happen to her. I reached the newly found spot before she did, posted my bike on a tree, and turned, just in time to see Julia approach. She was all sweaty and flushed.

“Phew!! Holy crap, Sebby, that took forever, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to pedal back,” she worried.

I pulled back all the pieces of her hair that fell in her face. “It’s okay, Babygirl, you can jump on the back of my bike and I’ll ride us back.”

“What about my bike?” she asked. She had just gotten a new, hot pink bike with even brighter pink tassels that summer. I knew she wasn’t ready to part with it yet.

I helped her off her bike and parked it against mine.

“We’ll lock it up on the tree. I’ll have my dad come back and get it with us. Or…we could leave it here, and come back for it tomorrow. I have a feeling you’ll want to come here a lot this summer.” She agreed with a slanted smile and a nod.

I placed her hand in mine, and walked her back to my surprise. I made sure to walk in front of her. The trail was a bit daring for Jules, I knew she would do it. Jules never said no to anything.

“Be careful, Babygirl, step where I step okay,” I cautioned, leading the way through the rough terrain.

As we approached my surprise, I looked back at her. I wanted nothing more than to see her face. Her eyes sparkled, and her face glowed with a gigantic smile.

“Oh my God, Sebby!” she shrieked. “You found us a waterhole? How did you find this?”

Growing up in Fort Lauderdale could be a pain. There never seemed to be that many kid friendly things to do. 

“I found it last weekend, when you were with your parents at the adoption place. I haven’t seen any other kids, so I think it could be just ours. I added that tire swing for you,” I bragged, proud of the fact.

“Is it very deep? You know I’m not that great of a swimmer, like you,” she protested. I knew Julia better than I knew myself.

“You aren’t that bad of a swimmer, for being such a shrimp,” I laughed.

She crossed her arms over her chest. Wait for it. Wait for it. There it is; the tongue again.

“Hey…I’m not a shrimp, you’re just a bean pole!” she laughed. It really wasn’t as funny as what she made it out to be. I wasn’t laughing at her comeback. I was laughing because she was laughing so hard at her comeback. I think she found it epic or something, like she pulled one over on me.

I walked over to my backpack and pulled out a bright pink floatie with purple circles on it. I waved it in the air, teasingly.

“You brought me a floatie!” she shouted, running up to me and jumping on me like a leech.

“I love you, Sebby!”

“I love you too, Babygirl.” 

That, I’m sure, was a little strange too. I didn’t care though. I loved her, and she loved me. That I was sure of. Though I became cautious of saying that too, not wanting the wrong people to hear Julia and I say that we loved each other. They wouldn’t understand.