the back, the petite white girl wearing a miniskirt and leather jacket complete with an ’80s tidal wave of bangs. I knew enough by then not to take the bait and kept looking out the window, sensing a punch line coming. He made it over to me and said, “’Cause, honey, I am seeing stars !”
It was the first time I’d heard this line, and it did make me laugh. I would have the opportunity to hear him say the line to others many more times that year, as we always seemed to be on the same bus line.
I took care of myself, and took jobs where they came up. I gigged quite a lot during this time, which is how I bought many of my nicer schoolclothes. I was frugal, though, and saved everything I could, keeping my cash in a box in the cupboard. Sometimes my dad and I traveled on weekends to remote towns for shows. Sometimes I would sit in with other bands or players I had met through the years.
One such musician was Paul. He was the father of three young girls and had a nice wife. My dad and I had been to his house several times to rehearse. On this occasion my dad was back in Homer, and Paul asked me to do the gig solo with him. I was probably fourteen. The gig was at the Gaslight Lounge, a small, dingy place, but it paid two hundred bucks, so I learned the songs—a blues set—and he played rhythm and lead. When the gig was done, we went into the small back room to get our jackets. Paul turned to hand me my coat, leaned in quickly, and tried to shove his tongue down my throat. I was afraid and frozen and quiet. I pushed him away without saying a word and walked out without my coat. He let me go. I walked down the street at 1 a.m., in broad daylight. I had never been so thankful for the midnight sun, lighting my way to our little black home with the white trim. It was freezing out, but I did not shiver. A numbness settled over me, and a fear that touched something much deeper in me. This feeling would take years to understand as well.
Around this time my mom picked up and moved to Seward. There was a fire sale of her art and antiques, everything was sold. Shane was in Switzerland on an exchange program he managed to get into, Atz Lee went back to Homer, and I stayed alone in the house across from the cemetery so I could finish out the school year at Steller. I made my own meals and got myself to school just like I had always done, but I didn’t have my favorite roommate upstairs to visit with anymore. To remedy that I would hitch rides to Seward on weekends to see her.
My school’s administration was flexible, and when I realized I was able to fulfill my credits and class duties in four days each week, I was free to commute to Seward the other three days to be with my mom. I had aroom there that I plopped my duffel down in. My mom lived upstairs in the attic, which had been converted into a living space, and she had a roommate as well. I cried a lot in this house. I was too busy surviving to cry in Anchorage, but in Seward a sadness and a fear came over me. My mom seemed sad too. She said she had developed a heart condition and had to rest a lot, and I did not see her much. I spent my time riding my bike around the idyllic town and pushing my body on runs over Resurrection Pass, a famous trail where a race was held each summer. Running had become a freedom for me. I would run as hard as I could to get beyond anxiety and to a feeling of calm. Flying across the mountaintops, down steep valleys, hearing nothing but my breath and my heartbeat. And my thoughts.
In Seward I had a lot of time on my hands, and heard through the grapevine that there was an American Indian powwow up north—a large gathering of many tribes open to anyone who wished to learn more about their culture. I had long been drawn to Native American culture, and my mom had taught me to do medicine wheels. My mom’s roommate and I hopped a train up to Denali, where the gathering was held. I had never been to Denali National Park and the sight from the train
It was the first time I’d heard this line, and it did make me laugh. I would have the opportunity to hear him say the line to others many more times that year, as we always seemed to be on the same bus line.
I took care of myself, and took jobs where they came up. I gigged quite a lot during this time, which is how I bought many of my nicer schoolclothes. I was frugal, though, and saved everything I could, keeping my cash in a box in the cupboard. Sometimes my dad and I traveled on weekends to remote towns for shows. Sometimes I would sit in with other bands or players I had met through the years.
One such musician was Paul. He was the father of three young girls and had a nice wife. My dad and I had been to his house several times to rehearse. On this occasion my dad was back in Homer, and Paul asked me to do the gig solo with him. I was probably fourteen. The gig was at the Gaslight Lounge, a small, dingy place, but it paid two hundred bucks, so I learned the songs—a blues set—and he played rhythm and lead. When the gig was done, we went into the small back room to get our jackets. Paul turned to hand me my coat, leaned in quickly, and tried to shove his tongue down my throat. I was afraid and frozen and quiet. I pushed him away without saying a word and walked out without my coat. He let me go. I walked down the street at 1 a.m., in broad daylight. I had never been so thankful for the midnight sun, lighting my way to our little black home with the white trim. It was freezing out, but I did not shiver. A numbness settled over me, and a fear that touched something much deeper in me. This feeling would take years to understand as well.
Around this time my mom picked up and moved to Seward. There was a fire sale of her art and antiques, everything was sold. Shane was in Switzerland on an exchange program he managed to get into, Atz Lee went back to Homer, and I stayed alone in the house across from the cemetery so I could finish out the school year at Steller. I made my own meals and got myself to school just like I had always done, but I didn’t have my favorite roommate upstairs to visit with anymore. To remedy that I would hitch rides to Seward on weekends to see her.
My school’s administration was flexible, and when I realized I was able to fulfill my credits and class duties in four days each week, I was free to commute to Seward the other three days to be with my mom. I had aroom there that I plopped my duffel down in. My mom lived upstairs in the attic, which had been converted into a living space, and she had a roommate as well. I cried a lot in this house. I was too busy surviving to cry in Anchorage, but in Seward a sadness and a fear came over me. My mom seemed sad too. She said she had developed a heart condition and had to rest a lot, and I did not see her much. I spent my time riding my bike around the idyllic town and pushing my body on runs over Resurrection Pass, a famous trail where a race was held each summer. Running had become a freedom for me. I would run as hard as I could to get beyond anxiety and to a feeling of calm. Flying across the mountaintops, down steep valleys, hearing nothing but my breath and my heartbeat. And my thoughts.
In Seward I had a lot of time on my hands, and heard through the grapevine that there was an American Indian powwow up north—a large gathering of many tribes open to anyone who wished to learn more about their culture. I had long been drawn to Native American culture, and my mom had taught me to do medicine wheels. My mom’s roommate and I hopped a train up to Denali, where the gathering was held. I had never been to Denali National Park and the sight from the train
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