One night I lied to my parents about where I was going and how I was getting there. I lied and said the parents of a friend were driving me and said friend to a local mall when we were actually heading downtown. And we were planning on hitchhiking there. As we were walking out of town with our little 14 year-old cork-thumbs stuck up looking for a ride, a car pulled over. It was a familiar looking car, I knew it well because it was my dad’s car. While not too happy about finding his daughter hitchhiking, my dad obliged to taking us to our destination. I wasn’t a nice kid then, and he was just trying so hard to keep things calm and smooth. I lied about our destination, as I wasn’t really allowed to go downtown, and had him drop us off at the closest local mall where there were buses – we told him we were going to be hanging out there for a while and then my friend’s parents would be picking us up. When we were sure that my Dad was gone and wouldn’t see us, we hopped on a bus and went downtown.
We got into all kinds of trouble that night, and I ended up lost and disoriented. I ended up sleeping in a house that was being in the middle of being constructed with a bunch of other kids. I was an upper-middle class kid from the burbs, these kids were authentic street kids with nowhere to go. I never called my parents to let them know that I had no intention of coming that night.
The next morning, I awoke, freezing cold, and tired of this adventure. I decided to hitchhike home. I had long lost my partner in crime and decided to go it alone. A very sketchy guy picked me up. My spidey senses were tingling – this was wrong, all wrong. But I wanted to go home. I got in the car, told him where to take me. He said no problem. It was a straight road, with only one left-hand turn that would take me home. When we approached the turn, I gave him a heads up that the turn was coming. He smiled. He blew past the turn and kept on driving. I think he might have also put his hand on my knee, or I could be making that part up, I don’t remember. I get butterflies in my stomach if I have to cross a busy street, imagine what my stomach was doing at this particular moment. I knew what he was going to do, try and do. I knew in my gut what was going on and I was scared shitless. My body reacted and I puked. I threw-up all over his passenger seat. He pulled over, cursed a blue streak and kicked me out of the car. I walked the rest of the way home, crying, dry-heaving – upset about so many things.
When I got home, I wasn’t greeted with anger. I was greeted with that kind of silence that exists when something has gone very, very wrong and there are no words.
The radio was on, and they were reporting that they had found the body parts of one of Paul Bernardo/Karla Holmoka’s victims encased in cement.
For all my parents knew when I didn’t come home that night, something unspeakable had happened to me.
I still feel so guilty for putting them through that.