Walking Briskly Away from A Happy Ending

Image by Jose Antonio Alba from Pixabay

In my mind, my choices were to live a boring life of poverty or run off with a much older man who promised a glamorous, expensive lifestyle. I ran off with the man.

I didn’t know it but the man, Leo, wanted me to fund that seductive lifestyle by selling pussy. That existence would be many things, but boring would not be one of them.

I’m a survivor.

I was in love with an older man who did not love me. He wanted to use me. My naïve nature and love for him were the enablers.

My idea of love between a man and a woman came from the romance books I read and what I saw on TV. Those unrealistic expectations blinded me to anything but my desire for a fairy tale ending.

I didn’t know that he didn’t love me; he said he did. I believed.

I jumped on the road to destruction and ran as fast as I could toward a horrible faith. There were hints of the ugliness behind his promises. I could have stopped dreaming and gone home to my parents. I didn’t.

Here is an example of how easily I could have returned home.

Leo and I were partying in an abandoned apartment building. There must have been a couple of hundred people there.

Someone cleaned out a floor and put in gaming tables. There was a bar with free drinks, and every kind of bad person you could think of was in attendance. It was a “Mack” party.

For reference, in case you are unaware, The Mack was a black exploitation movie from 1973 about a pimp and his multitude of whores. Everyone wore these fantastic clothes — fur coats and revealing sparkly dresses. Everyone dressed like pimps and whores.

There were drugs, alcohol, pot, magic mushrooms, pills and money everywhere. Everyone looked wonderful and was high, having a superb time — until the police busted the place. We were not supposed to be doing drugs and drinking in an abandoned building.

The police burst in and busted everybody in the building. They took everyone downtown.

Tonight was one of those times where my decency protected me. When they emptied my purse at the station, they didn’t find what they expected to find. Among my effects was my work ID and my checkbook. There were no pills, no condoms, no cigarettes, and no drugs in my purse.

One of the older white policemen stopped and said, “Wait a minute. This one doesn’t match. Don’t fingerprint her. Looks like she’s got a job.”

Another policeman looked at me closely and said, “Isn’t that Ben’s daughter? Call him.”

I didn’t realize the kindness the officer had shown me until much later in my life. If my fingerprints had gotten in the system, I would have had to explain on every application for every engineering job I applied for later in life. Because the officers recognized me, besides not taking my fingerprints, they put me in my cell separate from everyone else.

Everyone saw when my father came in to pick me up. They let me out of the jail cell, handed my items, and walked away with my Dad — who was pissed.

They blew my bad girl reputation.

Dad asked me, “What in the world are you doing? Are you doing drugs?”

I told my dad, “I’m not using drugs. I was hanging out, having fun. I want to be a model. They have contacts.”

I disgusted my dad. He tried to talk to me, but I didn’t want to hear it. I knew everything. He knew nothing.

I’m certain I disappointed my father terribly.

I could have gone home with him that night. I did not. Instead, I went back to stay with Bella and Leo.

The police let everyone go after a night in jail. The police wanted to break up the illegal party to capture the names and fingerprints of the bad people at the party.

My self-esteem and intelligence were nowhere to be found. I would not get off my path to destruction easily.

Not returning home that night cemented my bad decision making in place.

My path was set. I was walking away from a decent life and I did not care where I was going. I thought I was headed to a happy ending. Instead, I was walking away from a decent life and into a hellish life.

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