This book has been done for a few years now... Then put away.. It is NOT finished.. Needs much work.. I have just not been ready to go over it again..Soon I will. So here are the first 14 pages..of the beginning. I will not post the entire book as I think some parts are not appropriate for all to read. Right now this is not about grammar or punctuation.. Simply the beginning.

Chapter 1
My Reality

I was so young, too young to have such a vivid memory. I was in my mother’s arms, a place I wanted to be, my small arms clinging tightly around her neck. I was about to be admitted into the hospital for an operation to correct a detached tendon on the right side of my neck, which caused my head to list to one side. The room was enormous to my infant eyes; everything was white and sterile with no toys, no windows, and just three oversized cribs with bars on the top like a cage. Two of the cribs were empty and one had a little boy in it, thumb in mouth, as his mother sitting next to him rubbing his back and hair all the while whispering to him. My mom carried me across the vast white tile floor to the nurse waiting by the oversized crib with the door held open. She placed me in the cage with the vinyl gray mattress and then turned and walked away. The nurse then closed and secured the door.
I watched mom walk toward the big double doors that we had entered moments earlier. I pulled myself up my hands clutching the bars; my head cocked to one side and screamed, ”Momma…Momma.” She just kept walking across that big room and never looked back. I can remember her peach skirt, white blouse, long beautiful black hair and her white shoes that went click, click, click across the tile floor heading towards the man in the long white jacket. They both left and I watched the swinging doors slowly squeak to a silent stop as I was still screaming at the top of my lungs for Momma to come back.
Mom was not one to take anyone to the doctors, but in this case she demanded the surgery to be done early, against the doctors wishes and the rest of the relatives who all felt I was to young. But Mom always got her way.
2

She brought me to the hospital for the much-needed surgery or I would look retarded and deformed, I was bad enough without looking like a freak
I don’t remember anyone else being with me in that big room. I recall crying and then lying down on the vinyl mattress when I was too tired to cry anymore. I did, however, have a surrogate stepsister, Sharon, with me on the day of surgery and every free moment thereafter. I don’t remember Sharon being there when I was admitted, although later I was told she was. I don’t remember her because I only wanted my mom. Years later, Sharon told me the day of my surgery was her 16th birthday and that would have placed my age at 1 year and 4 months. An incredible age for me to remember, but I do. Not only do I remember it consciously but have dreamt about it many times.
Apparently the deal was if she stayed with me, Mom would give her a big sweet sixteen party after I got home. Sharon would have stayed with me without any deal as she nearly raised me for the first few years of my life. I was scared and cried, Sharon promised me a whole case of Hershey’s Chocolate Bars if I was a good girl after my surgery.
I awoke to find myself in a constricted, heavy, off white body cast from below my rib cage to underneath my lower lip. The cast had metal clasps in the front that made it removable. It immobilized my back, neck and shoulders. I know I cried when I woke up, but I don’t remember any pain. I remember wishing my mother was there.

3

I was in a regular hospital bed with retractable side rails, when I saw Sharon she smiled and ran her fingers through my hair, then reached over to the brown mica night stand next to my bed and pulled open the drawer to reveal the case of chocolate bars. I was on a liquid diet for days so the candy bars eventually melted, but it didn’t matter. I always remembered that Sharon kept her promise. Mom’s promise of a sweet sixteen party never did happen.
I didn’t see mom for my entire stay. Not until she came to sign my discharge papers, acting like a concerned parent, all the while with her new found free time she was looking for husband number three. When I went home, the weight of the new cast made it impossible for me to move or sit up unattended.
I was usually propped up in the corner of a room or against the headboard of a bed with pillows on both sides to prevent me from falling. This went on for 6 months and the cast was designed to be removable to allow for physical therapy. I would squirm and fight when she tried to put the cast back on and this would infuriate me as well Mom. Mom did not like to be fought and I’m sure I paid my dues for doing just that.

4

I was three and a half years old when we moved into the big wood house in the small town of Waterville, Maine.
There was myself, Ginger, (a name I always hated) my older sister by a year Cheryl, my youngest sister by a year Mae. And last but not least my only brother Joey. Waterville was a town known for its paper mills and its bars. A bar on every corner the wives always complained. Like hundreds of other small towns, throughout the United States, it was a quiet, decent area to raise a family. A town where very few were well off, and the majority struggled to make ends meet.
Every one had similar problems, drinking husbands, too many kids, and hardly enough money to keep food on the table let alone enough money to pay for the oil to heat the house in the winter. Most of the neighbors took care of their houses, their yards and gardens, if they had one. Many of the kids on our block looked like orphans. They ran around in clothes that were usually two sizes too big, or if you didn’t have hand me downs, you wore clothes that were too small. Our feet were always black by the end of the day, not that it mattered. It was summer who needed shoes. We were all alike, and we really didn’t care about clothes.
We cared about building forts and playing hide and seek, kick the can and catching bumblebees in big mason jars during the day, and fireflies at night. Mom taught us that if you took the tails off of the fireflies and stuck them to your forehead they would still shine for a while. I remember nights running around the back yard with all of our foreheads a glow.

5

We had a big back yard that was pretty much all hill. I loved to climb into the old wooden barrel that Grampy had given us and roll down the hill. I would do it over and over, then climb out when I was too dizzy too stand, I would flop back on the soft cool grass and watch the clouds spin against light blue skies.
Summer brought the sunflowers that I adored. They grew along the back fence, every year like clockwork. They were huge to me. I wondered if I would ever be big enough to touch the top of the flower.
We lived on a horseshoe shaped road that started on Water Street, a two lane busy street, then curved around back to another area of Water Street. Water Street was a main street that had a river across from it that ran into a mill. It was also lined with three and four storied old wooden apartment buildings. Our house was on Carey Lane situated right in the middle of the horseshoe. We rarely got traffic on our little horseshoe road. We lived in a big old drafty house, with three bedrooms upstairs and one bedroom downstairs. To my young eyes these rooms were huge, the upstairs rooms especially. The room to the right was large with a closet that ran the length of one entire wall. None of us liked that room because, we were sure there was an old man (a ghost) that lived in that closet. Our mother had told us that he has lived in that closet for years and years, just sitting in a rocking chair destined to look at his old face in an antique mirror, forever. Mom said God put the man in the closet because he was evil. I wondered what he did that was so bad that God would punish him for so long. He must of made God awfully mad.



6

We were all so young and impressionable, we believed her. She told us the old man could not get out unless we let him out, but that did not calm our fears.
Many nights I lay in this room, to afraid to go to sleep. Many days I spent with my ear to the old paneled wall of the closet, listening for any noise and positive I heard the squeak of his rocker.
The day that I moved to another room I was so happy, at last I thought that I would not have to listen to all the noises of the old man. Not have to worry about him coming to get me in my sleep.
Cheryl and Mae were moved to the room across the hall. My mother had given the old man room to Sharon, Rhonda and Ada, three half sisters of Mae, their father was Conner, the man she moved in with after my father, Ken was sent to prison.
Connor was a single parent of six whose wife died in an automobile accident. He had dark greasy hair and was a drunk. Alcohol was all he cared about. He didn’t care for his kids, he didn’t bathe and he didn’t work. He was drinking to die and eventually did.
Ken, my father was in prison for breaking and entering. Something a lot of my relatives were involved in, mom being the organizer of this group. I never met my father he went to prison when mom was three months pregnant with me.
I felt better knowing that I was not alone, that help was only a room away. I also felt bad because I knew they came to live with us because they had no choice. They were between a rock and a hard spot. A drunken father, or an abusive guardian, only the girls came to live with us. The boys swore never to see my mother again.

7

I was given the room that was at the back of the house; this was connected to Cheryl and Mae's room. I had always wanted that room. It was the smallest in the house but that did not matter to me. It was about 10x12 and had the most beautiful strawberry wallpaper, somewhat old and faded and peeling in some spots, but, I didn’t care, it had a sloped ceiling that came down and ended half way across the ceiling. I didn’t know it at the time but that room was going to become my stairway to heaven.
There was so much going on at that time in our lives. My mother was between husbands She had been separated from our 3rd. father Charlie, my only brother’s father. Charlie was a tall thin man with thick curly brown hair, who was quick to smile. Your typical laid back quiet guy. Why my mother divorced him I will never know. He was a good father, not just to my brother but to us girls as well. He certainly did not want the divorce, I remember him begging my mother, to reconsider. He was, for a short time, my protector. He rarely stood up to my mom, but I do remember on one occasion, when my mom was going to take the belt to me. He grabbed her hand and held it tightly they stood there looking at each other. Moms eyes furious at his interference, his eyes serious and demanding her to let go of the belt, I laid there waiting, naked from the waist down, to see if he would back off which sometimes happened or if he would stand up to her. He didn’t back down and I was saved from the belt that day.
On a cool breezy day when I was about four years old my Great Granny came to visit. I hated it when she came. Mom was telling me to kiss my Great Grammy goodbye (or at least that’s what we called her). I don’t know if she really was our Great Grammy or someone Mom wanted us to think was related, either way we knew better than to question her.

8

I didn’t want to kiss her, I just couldn‘t. So I ran and hid under the front porch of the house. The longer I crouched under the porch, the more I felt the cold of Maine’s autumn seep into my bones, but I could handle it. I felt less cold under the house than looking into the solid ice of my Great Grammy’s eyes. I could feel the chill of the damp ground through my thin cotton pants and worn t-shirt.
After what seemed like an hour, the door flew open I could hear Mom complaining about that rotten kid or something as my Great Grammy shuffled her walker across the warped dried wooden planks of the porch. Shish Plump, Shish Plump, Shish Plump and then I heard the distinct sound of Mom helping her down the three steps with her sharp angry stomps followed by the soft barely heard ones of my Great Grammy.
I stayed under the house for a while knowing I was in deep trouble. I had run away from Great Grammy again! I just couldn’t kiss her. I promised Mom I would this time and she said, “I’d better or else!” and I was terrified of the or else because that could mean anything. I should have just closed my eyes and kissed her. But to kiss a real live witch scared me to death. To even think of her cold dark lips made me shiver. She was real old and wrinkly, her fingers looked as dark and crooked as old tree branches. She looked like an old carved mummy, her wrinkles were deep cracks, as dark as mahogany, chiseled crevices on her cheeks that did not sag, as if to prove she was made of solid wood. Her long white hair only accentuated her dark wooden skin, making her look dead, but still alive and breathing. My eyes drifted down to her feet, her dirt encrusted long nails were black with age.


9

Today she was wearing a blue dress she called her ‘snapper dress’ because it had little buttons that snapped down the front. I wondered if anyone ever told her it was a nightgown.
I thought of her legs as thin as spindles, her long toes with thick discolored nails were exposed through soiled tattered slippers. Her arms were covered with veins, and were thin as broom handles.
She always looked at me mean she looked at everybody mean. We all knew she had powers, even the grown ups knew. According to everyone Great Grammy had the power over blood. I had been told by Mom and heard all sorts of stories from my relatives; about my Great-granny being a witch, and that she had the power to stop blood. I was told of how she was called on by many people, pleading for help for their loved ones. Once it was a girl who cut herself with an ax and once it was a woman in a car accident who was bleeding from the inside, until Great Granny stopped it. I was also told she had the power to not only stop blood, but to start it. I heard stories about how she would make people bleed from everywhere. Out of their mouths, ears, nose and they even cried tears of blood. I was scared and believed every word!
I listened as Mom helped her into the car. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but I was sure it was about me. The car door slammed and I tensed, holding my breath. I could hear the loud, angry steps as she made her way back to the house. I felt the dirt and pebbles fall into my hair through the cracks of the old weathered wood floor as she stomped her way across the porch and slammed the door.

10

Raining dirt I thought. I tried to brush, as much dirt out of my hair as I could, but I knew there was nothing I could do about the dirt stained pants. I thought about staying under the porch all night but I knew she would either find me or I would freeze to death.
I went into the kitchen, where my mother was having her coffee and smoking her endless supply of Marlboro cigarettes. The minute I looked at her, through that smoky room, I knew that something terrible was going to happen. She sat there at the table while I stood in the middle of the kitchen waiting for my punishment. She glared at me, taking drags off her cigarette and rolling the tip of it on the ashtray, as if she were concentrating on a big problem. Her hair was straight down as always. Mom is full-blooded Apassamoquoddy Indian. So she had Indian black hair that looked like wet oil in the kitchen light, tan skin and high cheekbones. She was very pretty. But had eyes that could glare through you when she was mad. Like she was right now.
She snuffed out her cigarette and took me by the hair and led me to the bathroom. I knew what was coming, because this punishment has been happening for years.
She started the ritual of telling me I will learn to listen to her and that she has to teach me. She then filled the tub with cold water and ordered me to get in as she told me over and over how worthless I was, how people don’t know the true me, a devil behind a baby face. The afterbirth, she would yell, you have to be the afterbirth, and my real daughter is walking around out there. You are nothing like the other kids and you never will be. She went on about wanting to abort me and now she had to pay the price with a demon child. 'I will drown the demon right out of you!" she yelled.

11

I cried that I would do better and that I would kiss Great Grammy next time she came. "I promise, mom I promise! "I pleaded. My pleading only made her laugh.” ohh no Ginger she smiled you are going under.
She forced my head under the water. I did not bother to fight...I knew that fighting would only make it worse. I had struggled in the past and only ended up swallowing and gagging on the water. This always made her laugh when I came up gagging. She would pound my back and say that’s it girl, remember it!
I learned to hold my breath until I thought my insides would burst and when I thought that I couldn’t take another second, she would let me up. It infuriated her that I did not struggle and I did not gag. She yanked me out of the tub and told me to get dressed. My sisters were already in bed sleeping, so I put on my pajamas shivering from the cold water of the tub and the chill of the house. Then I went to bed, in my strawberry room that always made me feel better.
I don’t know how long I slept, but some time later; she woke me up and told me to come down stairs. I was groggy and a little scared. I thought that she was going to put me in the tub again, but when I went down stairs I did not hear the water running, that was a good sign. She ordered me to stand at the bottom of the stairs near the front door to our house. I stood there in the middle of the night, in my blue and yellow flowered pajamas that Grammy had given me last Christmas. I stood there so long, that I started to think that maybe this is it. Just stand here for a few hours, listening to her pace the kitchen floor. Occasionally hearing the strike of a match or the clink of the spoon in her coffee cup.
12
I was getting tired and wanted desperately to sit on the stairs no more than a few inches from me, but I didn’t dare. I started to wish she would just put me in the tub again, so I could go to bed. I was cold and tired and I just wanted to get it over with. The only heater was in the dining room a big round grate on the floor. On the weekends all three of us girls would sit on the grate in the mornings. Sometimes I would sneak down on cold nights and sit in the middle, letting the heat blow my pajamas into a ball around me with its warmth. Looking down at the sparks. How I wished I could sit on the grate at that moment, my teeth were starting to chatter.
Finally she came to me and said that I don’t appreciate anything, that I think I can do as I want, that I thought I was sooo smart. And that if she can’t control my behavior, she is going to take me some place else to live. She went on about how I tried to kill my little brother, that I was evil, and tried to push him down a flight of stairs. I don't remember this event, but I believed it for years. Believed I was bad. I thought I was evil.
At the same time I was relieved, I knew the only place she could take me was my grandparents. They were both alcoholics, but they treated me like I was their child. I was born on Grampy’s birthday, so whenever I saw him, he would say, “Here comes the best birthday gift I ever got.” He claims to have named me Ginger even though my mom did not like the name. They made a deal if I was born on his birthday he could name me, if not, then she could. I wanted to go to my grandparents...I prayed that was where we were going.


13

I walked out to the car in my pajamas the cold grass and leaves biting my bare feet, I climbed into the passenger side. Mom got in and started the car. Then she turned to me and said, “I know you think you are going to your Grandparents, but you are wrong, little girl. They aren’t able to teach you what you need to learn any more than I can. I am taking you where all little girls who don’t listen, end up...I am taking you to the graveyard, where you will live until you smarten up.”
I immediately reached for the door handle; I managed to get the door open, but Mom grabbed me and slammed the door closed. She then held me by my hair as we drove through the dark streets of my hometown with all the shadows of the night looking scary and dark with spirits lurking behind every tree heading to the graveyard, as she had promised. When we reached the cemetery she grabbed for me, I didn’t want to get out of the car and was screaming and crying, begging her to take me home. There were no houses around...only woods and this huge graveyard.
She pulled me by the hair from the car...lifted me over the black wrought iron fence of the cemetery and threw me to the cold hard ground; which seemed like a ten foot fall. She didn’t say another word, just turned, got into her car and drove away. I was screaming hysterically as I watched the red taillights disappear down the long road into the darkness.
I couldn’t tell you what happened after that, because to this day I don’t remember. I don’t know if I went to sleep or walked around. The next thing I remember, it was morning and I was in my Grandparent's car. They were talking about taking me home with them, until mom calmed down...Grammy was talking,“ I just don’t know what it is about Ginger, that her mother just can’t handle?

14

They are like oil and water, those two, I am afraid one day she will really hurt her.”
Grampy didn’t say much, it was early and I am sure his mind was hooked with the beer waiting at home.
I stayed with them for a week or so and then had to go home. Whenever I had a mind not to listen to mom, all she would have to say is, “do you want to go for a ride?”
Mom met a woman named Liz. Liz was a very tall, fat woman, with a large mass of uncontrollable black curly hair. She had a big round face with dark hair above her lip and double chins. She had a face you could read like a book, and it always said don’t mess with me. And believe me we didn’t.
Liz and mom became friends. It wasn’t long before Liz started living with us. They made a deal that Liz got free room and board and mom got a baby sitter and the opportunity to go out and find her next husband. Liz and mom had a lot in common.
They both came from the same area, they both wanted to be married, and they both believed in witchcraft and preached to us kids that we had the ability to see dead spirits. A curse we inherited from my Great Grammy she said.
So for many nights, while us kids were in the living room, Liz and mom and any other friend they could get, were either in the dining room or the basement having séances, or using the Ouija Board. I remember one night in particular, because it scared the life out of me.







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