Looking Up my Past

 There was a funny thing with our friends the Sims, when I was little, and another when I was fourteen.  When I was little, the girls, who were older, took a baby in a bassinet around the yard and took off her pants and poked her with a stick.  Us younger kids didn’t know what to do, but we knew it was wrong.  I’ve never forgotten it, after all these years.

Then when I moved to San Mateo at fourteen, they were staying nearby, and we were talking about the movie “Psycho”.  I had of course not seen it, and had no desire to do so, but when the girls were alone with me, they told me the story, and I was appalled.  We were staying at a motel until we found our house, and the shower in the motel scared me to death.  Again, they had managed to terrify me, but without my parents caring at all.

These were two scary girls, tall and still blond, and I was five feet tall.  But no one would have believed me in either case, so I didn’t bother to tell my parents.  I don’t remember the girls’ names or much else about them, but they represented pain and agony to me.  I don’t think I could have done anything different, but I didn’t even try.  Powerful older girls meant I had no recourse.  At least I thought I didn’t.

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