Lips Unsealed Read Online Free Page B

natural gifts had already taught her how to cast powerful spells simply by wearing a halter top. Jean also taught me how to smoke. Along with another girlfriend, Bonnie, we snuck down to the far corner of the football field between classes and puffed away while listening to Carly Simon albums on a portable tape player.
    She also introduced me to booze when I slept over one weekend and we got plastered on Boone’s Farm apple wine. The fun didn’t stop there. The two of us used to watch the Dallas Cowboys run through their workouts at Cal Lutheran College. The team set up camp there everysummer before the preseason. Jean liked to watch the good-looking, hard-bodied athletes practice, and she took me along for company. We wore halter tops and short-shorts, and were quite the Lolitas as the players ogled us.
    I’m sure there were older, more age-appropriate women around scouting the players for extracurricular activities. For us, it was an amusing way to spend a summer day. It was harmless fun. Some of the players had probably wished it wasn’t innocent. Bob Hayes, the Cowboys’ Hall of Fame wide receiver, kept a protective eye on us. He made sure the younger players didn’t get any ideas. He also lectured us about being good girls.
    One night Jean and I ran away from home. Both of us had been punished for something that seems insignificant now, but was a big enough deal back then to get us grounded. We snuck out of our homes, met at the local Kmart, and decided to leave town. We walked out to the road and stuck out our thumbs. Who motored by? Bob Hayes. The World’s Fastest Man slowed down, and then stopped when he recognized us.
    He had Jean and I get into his car and then drove us back to our homes. He gave each of us a stern talking-to about being careful and safe.
    But home was the last place I wanted to be. My dislike for being there had intensified from the initial confusion and uncertainty I experienced when my mom and dad split due to the hardships Walt’s drinking caused, as well as from the nonstop burdens of helping my mother. She needed more and more help, too. Something happened to her around this time that was never explained. She grew weak and almost feeble. It was a gradual downhill slide that occurred over months, until one day she stopped getting out of bed.
    She was usually able to prepare meals for us, but otherwise she stayed in bed and I had to pick up much of the slack in running the household and caring for the little ones. When I asked my dad what was wrong with Mom, he said she wasn’t feeling well. He didn’t offer any more information.
    I was forced to figure things out on my own. From conversations thatI overheard, I learned she was taking lithium and occasionally seeing a doctor. Then there was talk about the possibility of putting her in a psychiatric hospital for an undetermined length of time. That really scared me. I had no idea what that entailed, but my imagination went straight to the worst: shock treatment, a lobotomy—losing my mother.
    I don’t know how or why, but she gradually emerged from her depression before she had to be hospitalized. It was still a long time before she returned to normal. As much as I loved her, her illness was one more reason I didn’t want to spend much time at home. It debilitated her, but it also put an enormous load on my teenage shoulders.
    I went through a stage where I lied about my family and told all sorts of tall tales whenever someone asked about my home life. I went so far as to say my father was actor Chuck Connors from the TV series
The Rifleman
and that I was related to Ohio State’s All-American linebacker Randy Gradishar. I lied all of the time. I can’t even remember all the stories that I told.
    In a way, I went into survival mode by inventing my own reality. Instead of facing the reality of my life, I made myself into someone else. For a while, I went through a stage where I decided to be a bad girl. I dressed in dirty jeans and