I Don’t Make The Rules
I DON’T MAKE THE RULES.
by
Clem Mason.
warning: graphic language and description
(age-11-16)
(wc-2244)
I often wonder what could possibly compel a teenager to commit suicide. The last few days of my life has helped give me a glimpse into the depths of depression one could sink where those thoughts could emanate. However, bear in mind that the narrator of this story may be departed by their own hand as you read this.
My name is Karen Mosley. I’m sixteen years old as of this writing and a sophomore in high school. I don’t think it is necessary to divulge what city and state I live in. I have above average looks, a nice build and because girls mature much sooner than boys, above average intelligence. But all of these attributes does not prevent me from doing myself in. All I can say is: I am not a crook. Yeah, just like what Richard Nixon said.
I have been babysitting…I should say had been babysitting for the Smiths (not their real name) at least once a month for the last four years now. This time; the last time was no different than any other time. Mrs. Smith calls me up, comes to get me even though I have a learners permit and Mr. smith takes me home: but not without failing to come on to me in some suggestive way or another. No, I’m not imaging it or bragging on myself. Please, you should see this guy and you’d know.
Now Mrs. Smith is funny. No, pathetic actually. She sees herself as the queen of society and loves to flaunt their affluent position in life. Basically, she acts…phony. Mr. Smith? Basically he acts horny. Jennifer, their only daughter? She’s eight. Basically she acts like herself: a rich, spoiled little brat. I caught her in her mother’s bathroom draped in all her jewelry, looking at herself in the mirror. She was putting on lipstick when I opened the door. It made her jump and she smeared lipstick across her face.
“Karen, you scared me on purpose,” she winned.
“Right! Like I can see right through the door. What are you doing with all your mother’s jewelry, you little brat?”
“Ahmmm! I’m gonna tell momma you called me a brat.”
“Go ahead you little brat and I’ll tell her you got into her jewelry,” I promised. “Your supper is ready. Now put up that crap and wash your hands, lizard breath” I ordered.
“Ahmmm! I’m gonna tell momma you called her jewelry crap.”
“Yeah? And I’m gonna sew your lips shut. Now do as I say.” Sew her lips shut. It makes me laugh but it is the only threat that has any effect on her so why mess with success?
I left, thinking the problem was solved. Boy, was I wrong.
When the Smiths got home around eleven o’clock, Mrs. Smith goes right up stairs to freshen up and Mr. Smith takes his time, writing out the check. He is much too preoccupied with the curves of my body so I try to hide behind the banister. Finally, I go over and sit on the leather sofa so he can’t ogle my derriere. Just as we were about to leave, Mrs. Smith called from up stairs. I could tell by the sound of her voice it wasn’t good.
“Roger?”
“Yes, dear?”
She came running down the stairs with a look of panic on her face. “Oh good. You haven’t left yet. I need to ask Karen a question.”
“And what is that, my dear?”
She came up to me and stood with her arms folded: her demeanor was cold and unfriendly. One eyebrow lifted. “Karen, where is my diamond ring?”
A shock of emotion shot through me. I could feel the color leave my face. Hell, why don’t I just confess? It…it’s not in your jewelry box?” I asked with a shaky voice. Almost another admission.
“What jewelry box?” she asked.
I pointed. “The..the one in your bathroom.”
“Uh huh! Going through my things, are you?” she asked with much sarcasm.
Suddenly, I couldn’t breath or swallow. Another admission of guilt. “I just assumed everyone keeps… I didn’t take your ring,” I suddenly shouted.
“Then where is it?” she demanded to know.
“Just you hold on one minute, young lady,” Mr. Smith said. “That just happens to be a very expensive piece of jewelry we’re talking about here. I really don’t appreciate…
“And I don’t like being accused of taking something that I didn’t,” I yelled. “I don’t care how cheap it is.”
Mrs. Smith gasped and acted like she was going to faint.
“Cheap? Do you call $45,000 cheap?” Mr. Smith shouted.
“Roger, it wasn’t $45,000, was it?” Mrs. Smith asked.
“Shhh! Insurance,” he hissed.
She nodded, understanding.
“Look! Read my lips. I did not take your diamond ring,” I said. I was now more angry than scared.
“What made you look for it, Victoria?” he asked his wife.
“Because someone has been in my bathroom and my jewelry box is a jumbled mess. When I saw that, I just naturally looked for my diamond.” She turned to glare at me. “And now it’s gone. That was very careless, my dear.”
Then it came to me and boy was I ever relieved. “Oh yes, Jennifer was in with your stuff and…”
Mrs. Smith gasped and turned as white as a ghost. “How dare you accuse that poor, dear, innocent little girl, sleeping up there in her room. I think you would stoop to any depth imaginable, you…you miserable little tramp,” she hissed. “I think you should be horse whipped.”
“That was a terrible thing to say, Karen,” Mr. Smith said. “Now I have no choice. I’m going to search you for the ring.”
“Do it, Roger,” Victoria said.
She was actually going to stand there and watch her husband grope me, just like he has been wanting to do for years. Not only did she insist on it, she was going watch him do it.
I jumped back. “If you so much as touch me you mal-adjusted pervert, I’m going to scream rape so loud the supreme court will hear it.”
He hesitated.
“You are not leaving this house until I see that ring. Roger, call the police,” she ordered.
Why I ran, I’ll never know. I didn’t take the ring and yet I was running like I had. I may as well go to the police and confess. I went to hide out in the mall instead. They would never find me there.
The grim faced policemen surrounded me in the food court, right in front of my friends. It was the most embarrassing, humiliating moment in my life; being read my rights and lead to the squad car, past all those curious, unsympathetic stares, in hand cuffs. If you ever think about stealing something, I hope you don’t get caught because this really, really sucks big time.
“I want my phone call,” I yelled from my cell. “I’ve seen the movies.”
The guard came over. “Gonna call yer lawyer?” she asked.
“No!”
“Gonna call yer parents?”
I frowned. “No way.”
“Who ya gonna call?”
“Ghostbusters, bitch. Now let me out of here, right now!” I screamed.
She mean faced me. “You better watch your mouth young lady or you could be in a world of hurt,” she warned.
“What’s your badge number? I’m not messing around with you. I am so goddam mad I could spit nails”
She got her keys out and opened the cell door. “Settle down, girl. You can use that phone there in the office, Just don’t give me no trouble, hear?”
I pounded those buttons with a vengeance and waited. It rang twice.
“Hello?” came the reply. It was Victoria.
I disguised my voice as an eight year old girl. “Is Jennifer there?”
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“Oh, I’m a friend of hers in school and I want to invite her to my birthday party.” I said.
“That’s very nice of you. I didn’t know she had any friends,” she admitted.
Duh! It was quite a wait, then sweet little Jennifer answered the phone. “Hello? Who is this?”
“I’m your worse goddam nightmare, you insufferable little brat,” I hissed. “Now you listen to me and keep your mouth shut. If you don’t tell your mother what you did with that ring, I’m coming after you when I get out of prison and not only am I going to sew your lips shut, I’m also gonna sew your goddam eyes shut too. Do you hear me?” I screamed. I didn’t wait for an answer. I slammed the telephone down hard and slumped down in the chair. The guard was looking in the window with a bewildered expression.
No, my parents didn’t teach me to talk that way but I’m sure you can understand my frustration. I am sitting here in a jail cell, accused of taking a very expensive ring. I’m telling you straight, I didn’t take the ring but I have a good idea I know someone who knows where it is. Now, all I have to do is wait and see if my threats reaps any rewards. Waiting is the hardest part.
Do you know what really hurts me the most? My parents aren’t sure I didn’t take the ring. That hurts. They don’t even want to listen to my side. It is so quiet here in my house that you could cut the tension with a knife. Mom just sits around and cries and dad won’t talk to me. Just because I was caught shoplifting when I was thirteen years old. It was only a… It doesn’t matter what it was. I was caught stealing and it hurt my parents beyond repair. In my mind, they have never forgiven me for it and that is why they now think I took Victoria’s ring.
I was in up stares in my room when I heard the telephone ring. The conversation was low and very hush-hush. In a moment, dad called me to the telephone. I went down and grabbed the receiver and gave him the dirtiest look I could muster. “Who is it?” I demanded of him.
“It’s…it’s for you,” he stammered.
“”No duh! Hello,” I yelled into the phone. “Who the hell is this?”
“Hello, Karen? This is Victoria.” She sounded so apologetic.
“What do you want?” I yelled. Dad reached to touch my arm and gave me a frown. He was shaking his head. I jerked my arm away from him. He walked away.
Karen, I…am so sorry. I cannot apologize to you enough.”
“Why would you ever want to do that?” I snapped.
“Jennifer told me what happened. She said you scared her and she accidently dropped my ring in the toilet. The plumber found it in the drain this morning.”
“Don’t you mean sewer?”
“Karen,” daddy said. “Please be civil.”
There was a long pause. “Can…can you ever forgive me; us?” she asked.
“Victoria! Can I call you Victoria? I’ve had a really, really bad day and right now, I’m not in a very forgiving mood. Do you understand what I mean?” I asked in a mock civil tone.
“Yes. Yes I do.”
“Do you! Really? Have you ever been falsely accused of stealing an expensive diamond ring?”
“No. No I haven’t,” she admitted.
“Have you ever been arrested in a public place and taken away in hand cuffs in a police car front of all your friends.”
“No Karen, I haven’t”
“Did your parents ever let you down right when you absolutely needed them the most?”
“Eh…no. I haven’t.
“Then you don’t even have a clue; no concept whatsoever of how I feel, Victoria. Do you?” I didn’t wait for an answer. I slammed the telephone down. I looked at my father and he was shaking his head. He looked so sad. Oh, boohoo!
“Karen,” he said. “We didn’t teach you…”
“You had better back off from me, daddy before I say something to you we both regret.”
He shrugged and looked away.
Yes, I was rude. But I think I have a good reason to be. I am really bitter about this. I may never forgive my dad for not trusting and believing in me. However, I do think I will live long enough for the pain to dull: which brings me back to my first question, Many teenagers faced with simular situations might not cope as well and many have taken there life for it. Sometimes for even less. It could be a long, brooding problem with many suicides. Who knows?
Look; sure I got a bad rap. Big deal. Since, I have talked it over with my friends and they understand. And my parents have come around too. I’m lucky there I guess. Yeah? Who cares? I do. I really care. The point is, if you get into trouble, real or imagined, innocent or guilty, talk to someone. I didn’t say life was always good and beautiful. Sometimes it really sucks and some teenagers have killed themselves because of it. For that , I am truly sorry. What a wasted life But that’s just my opinion and I don’t make the rules.
THE END.
If you liked this story and you feel the poor, old author deserves compensation in his retirement for this creation, please feel free to send $1.00 to Clem Mason, c/o Backwater Publishing. 66021-0213.
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