There is a new song out called “Class A Team” by Ed Shereen. The first time I heard it I knew what it was about, and it is a beautiful tune with some very dark, sad lyrics to go with it. Every time I hear it on the radio, or on my Ipod, I think back to when I was a child. I remember elementary school, junior high, and high school, and all the promise that has gone to waste.
I won’t name any names out of respect for the family, on the odd chance that someone from home comes across my blog. If they have known me for a long, long time, they could very well figure out of whom I am speaking. I don’t want that. I don’t want people asking the family to talk about it if they are not ready to talk about it to the person who is inquiring.
Growing up there was a girl in my neighborhood that I would play with. I believe her family moved in when I was around four years old, and we became playmates. Her mother and father went to school with my parents, and had known each other for most of their lives so it was only natural that me and their daughter would play together quite often.
Many of my childhood memories involve me spending the night over there, her spending the night at my house, sneaking out at night to toilet paper someone’s house, retreats, playing at school, playing after school. We would walk to and from school together since school was only 2 blocks away and she walked right by my cul-de-sac on the way.
Junior high found us not having so much to do with each other. She was popular and I wasn’t, so our experiences were completely different. While I was always the odd duck, she was talented in art, good in sports, surfed, attractive, thin. She wasn’t waif thin, she was fit, in shape, athletic thin. She was one of the “cool” kids.
In high school we car pooled together, since her older sister also went to the same school as we did and gotten her license. We were on the basketball team together for two years, but I stopped playing after sophomore year. She became a painter while I dabbled in writing. She had talent. She used beautiful colors.
She was beautiful, vivacious, full of life. When I was pregnant I spent a lot of time on FB and found her sister on it and asked her about my childhood friend. My childhood friend got hooked on drugs. I am not sure which one, crack…heroin….meth…..does it really matter? She is homeless somewhere in northern california, in and out of homeless shelters. Her parents have put her through rehab multiple times before they realized that they couldn’t help her, so they let her go. She gave birth to three children with three different men. Two of them are living with their fathers, one was adopted by her parents.
I have never met the boy, but I want to tell him that the girl I knew growing up loves him. The girl I knew growing up would do anything for him. The girl I knew growing up would give up drugs in a heartbeat just to be with him. I want him to know that the woman that abandoned him isn’t his mother, she isn’t the girl I grew up with anymore. She is an addict, and though in her heart she loves him, misses him, and wants the best for him, the drugs have taken over her and made her someone different.
She was so full of life, of promise, of energy….it breaks my heart to hear what has become of her possibilities. My heart goes out to her parents, her sisters, her children, and her family that wonders every time the phone rings if they’re getting “the call”. My heart goes out to those who were closer to her than I was. My heart goes out to those who watched her ruin her life and had to walk away because there was nothing they could do. My heart goes out to her. I hope one day that she finds her way back home.
