12.3

I remember when my grandma bought this for me. And yes, she bought it for me. She just told me to share it with my siblings. I had just started my sewing class back in freshman year of high school. I didn’t need to do any work outside of school hours, but I found that I had a knack for the craft and wanted to work on my own things. And I used it quite often actually; probably the only person in my household to use it for productive value. My mom didn’t know how to turn the damn thing on, and my sisters would just sew lines in cloth.

A few years later my parents divorced, and my mother thought it was her right to just waltz out with my sewing machine. It became her sewing machine, and she made sure to let me know of it. I had to ask permission to touch it. I think she used it as a tool to force me to visit, which is probably why I haven’t done any serious sewing in years.

I was always afraid someone would fuck up the tension and/or burn out the motor, which is why I hated when others would use this machine. Turns out that exact thing did happen. My ex-stepdad thought it was a great idea to let my 6 year old stepsister play with the sewing machine. She was just turning dials and pushing buttons and giggling. He didn’t seem to care what she did, as long as she wasn’t bothering him. Long story short, she did something she obviously wasn’t supposed to and the motor stopped working. Then the third divorce happened before my mom could use his money to get it fixed, and she complained about having to pay real dollars to get the damn thing working again. Whatever, I hope it breaks again. I hope it blows up her kitchen table.

10.24

I remember when we bought these damn fireplaces. I don’t quite remember if my parents bought them as gifts for their parents, or if they just convinced said parents to waste their money. I mean, they definitely keep a house warm. A small house, which is perfect. But you can buy a space heater with the same power for 10% of the price.

I think it was right around the same time that we were remodeling the living room. This was probably the third time my mother wanted to change everything in there, and wanted to add a gas fireplace. She then went to all our family and friends and would not shut up about how warm it kept the house. She never thought to pass along our energy bill though.

I honestly thought (and still think) that these just showed a bit of overcompensation. We had a real fireplace… that my mom rarely used because she would chip a nail. And we had a perfect, brand new heating system. Two separate systems, actually. One for each floor of the house. But that didn’t matter. She liked expensive things, and convinced two people to waste their social security checks on these.

3.19

I remember not wanting to do it. I hadn’t talked to her in over six months, but she has her ways and I was young. She came back to me in such a way that I completely forgot why I chose to remove myself from the situation in the first place. I know I’m the child, but as an adult, I should have been given a little respect and acknowledgement. Actually, it’s not just an adult that deserves all that; every child deserves the same. But she never gave that to me. She still doesn’t. Yet, for reasons I will never fully understand, I decided to break those six months. The reason she chose to contact me? She needed a maid of honor in her wedding. It was less than 10 months after her and my dad’s divorce was finalized, and she couldn’t wait to jump back into matrimony.

The wedding itself was very lack luster. I’ve always hated over-sentimental situations, especially ones that don’t mean what they should.

It was a cute place to have a wedding, don’t get me wrong. But if she had actually loved him, and not had a relationship based solely on her intense lust, the event of a wedding would have been very different. And to no one’s surprise, it ended prematurely. She called it an annulment, but I call it what it was: another divorce. I think she knows that a was a dark place in her past since she refuses to speak of him or the time she shared with him. I never liked him anyway, but I can’t help but to shake my head. I warned her. I even re-warned her after that was done, but it didn’t seem to sink in before marriage number three swirled down the drain. And now every time I drive by that adorable house, I have a memory I can’t erase.