When ‘Break a Leg’ Almost Happened

Scene: Band festival circa 2005.

For those of you unfamiliar, many (middle/high) school bands attend what is dubbed band festivals in which concert bands and orchestras from neighboring towns congregate in an agreed upon location and have a competition. It’s not so much an ‘I’m a winner, you’re a loser’ kind of competition though, so I’m not sure why they call it such.

The stages each band has to participate in are as followed:

Part III

I’m writing out my life in a timeline, so to experience my story the way its supposed to be told, start at I Was That Girl In School… then proceed chronologically by post date.

It was over. My mind was racing and I was full of emotions: happy that he was gone; angry about what he did; relieved that I was still alive; sad that I let it happen; scared that he would come back. What do I do now?

First thing was first: lock the door. After he left, I ran to the door and switched the lock in place. I went to the front door that was never used and made sure that one was locked as well. I looked at the clock in the kitchen. It was mid morning; right around the same time that my class would have been released, which also meant that I was to head to work.

Part I

I’m writing out my life in a timeline, so to experience my story the way its supposed to be told, start at I Was That Girl In School… then proceed chronologically by post date.

I know what you’re thinking: “How does it get any worse?” I had mentioned in another post that I endured being blackmailed into having sexual encounters with The Recluse because I knew that it wouldn’t last; once he had his way with me, I would be back in the arms of the one person I truly loved. How messed up is that!?

I Was That Girl In School…

I’m writing out my life in a timeline, so to experience my story the way its supposed to be told, start here and continue.

I was that girl in school that other girls didn’t like (so I’ve been told). I blossomed earlier than most of my peers of the female variety and boys noticed. This was roughly the same time I began my life phase as a gothic chick. Not that I worshipped the devil or anything. I just wore black EVERYTHING: baggie pants with chains hanging off the back, way too much eye liner, studded everything, topped off with black shirts (usually decorated with some sort of mean or funny quip written on it). I’m sure I scared some people, but I liked the way I looked and I didn’t care what other snots my age thought. I started dating a guy