Olivia Toczynski
Memoir: Wilson-Scott
Road to Nowhere


       We both knew why I was there; I had issues.  I smiled
like I was an innocent fifteen year old girl, nothing
to hide, nothing to cry about.  Which chair do I get?
Margot took her seat, got comfy, waited for me to sit
across from her.  She clutched a notepad, ready to be
filled up with notes and definitions of me.  I
squished into the huge grandpa chair facing her,
trying to make myself as small as possible.  Maybe she
won’t notice me; how do I start?
       She asked me questions.  “How’s your family?”
       “It’s Average.  I have two brothers, a mom, a dad.”
This isn’t too bad.  It was casual, like we were
getting to know each other at a coffee shop.  Except
at this coffee shop I was uncontrollably nervous and I
had trouble breathing.
       “Friends?”
       “Yeah.  I have a few really close friends.  But they
come with problems. ”  Margot’s really cool and
understanding.  This is easy.  I’m talking about the
one person I know best.  Me.  Me me me.  And I can’t
feel bad about it cuz that’s why I’m here.  I’m here
to talk all the fuck I want about myself, and she’s
here to listen.  For fifty minutes...and seventy
dollars.
       Everything just suddenly started to pour out.  “I got
caught stealing.”
       “Did you stop stealing afterward?”
       “Nope.  You know what I did after I got caught?“
Margot waits.  “Got caught again.  Then I got caught
sneaking out.  My mom got sick from my mistakes.  She
got weak and tired. She threw up.  I made her throw
up.”
       “Did you stop sneaking out?”
       “Nope.  I snuck out a different window.  The thing
is, both my brothers moved out and all the attention
is on me.  I’m not a bad kid, they just have no one
else to focus on.”
       “What do you do when you go out at night?”
       “Go to parties.”
       “Is there alcohol involved?” Uhhh...she’s young, she
understands...”Yeah,” I said hesitantly, unsure how
her reaction would be.  She waited.  Something clicked
inside me.  “I know they have the right to be worried,
and obviously it’s better that they care than not
care, because how fucked up would my life be if they
just let me do whatever and didn’t give a shit about
me?  But sometimes that’s how it seems.  And oh my
god.  There’s been so many times when I woke up in the
morning after a night full of fun and just wanted to
tell my mom everything.  I wanted to tell her about
they boys and swimming at two in the morning and going
to San Francisco and being cheered for by a whole room
of people.  But they wouldn’t understand.  They’d
think I’m so bad.”
       “But wouldn’t they be happy to hear about you?  You
and your real life. Wouldn’t they be thankful to know
what you’re really up to, instead of the life second
life you force them to believe you lead?”  I was
silent, these words just struggling to come out.
       “My mom would.”
       “Why not your dad?”  I was looking down now, at my
hands.


       It was the summer of stealing.  We’d wake up around
eleven, get dressed, get in the car, and then as the
question of the day:  Where should we steal from
today?  It seemed like there were so many choices, and
of course there were since we were the best shop
lifters in town!  By the end of June, my drawers were
overflowed with clothes.  It got to the point where
I’d steal something because I could, not even because
I wanted it, but it was all in good fun.
       This specific day I felt exactly like all the other
days walking into Target.  I had my empty backpack,
waiting to be filled.  As I walked through the
automatic doors I felt good.  I knew I’d be walking
out with hundreds of dollars worth of goodies; crap
that would end up in some overflowed drawer in my
room.
       Target was full that day.  It must have been a Monday
or Tuesday because it was obvious they had just
restocked.  I looked around but nothing really
appealed to me.  You know in the movies when someone
gets high and they finally fine the food they’ve been
craving, angelic voices sing in the background?  Well
that’s how it was walking into the nail polish eyes or
they jewelry section.  I don’t want to say I was in
heaven, but there’s nothing else to compare it to.
Those stupid fluorescent lights made everything so
desirable.  They fool you into thinking you want some
eye shadow when you don’t even wear make-up.  Maybe
it’s more like being drugged up than being in Heaven,
but either way, it was insane.  Carmen was going
crazy, piling clothes up over her handfuls of makeup
and jewelry.  It was always really funny when we’d go
to the dressing room and they’d ask us the famous,
“How many?”  Even though we were panting from carrying
so many clothes, we always responded with a pretty
confident, “Six.”
       At some point along the way, I slipped a few earrings
into my bag and grabbed some glow sticks for
Halloween, and when Carmen was done doing her thing,
we headed out.  When I’d walk past those security
guards, I got such a rush.  The whole time I’m headed
towards them, as I pass them, and even when I’ve made
it outside to the car, is amazing.  It’s a roller
coaster.  It’s thrilling and exciting and my heart is
beating;  I’m scared, but once I’m on I can’t get off.
 And after all the fright and excitement is over
-after I get off the ride, I’m a little nauseous and
the only way to fix it is to do it again.   That day
was just like the rest, except once we were out the
second set of sliding doors, I noticed the freakishly
huge security guard and a casual looking guy with an
earpiece cornering us
       “I know what you guys stole,”  He said pretty
plainly.  We glanced at each other but didn't move or
make a sound.  “Why don’t you guys just come in and
we’ll talk and everything will be fine.”  As I’m
looking around to see if I can run for it, I hear
Carmen say “We’ll just come in.”  Dammit.  We shoulda
ran, not that I really had the guts to.  The man led
though one of the Employees Only doors, down a white
hall, and through another door.  When the man and a
new security guard got a hold of all the things we had
tried to steal, they locked me and Carmen in some tiny
room with uncomfortable benches and a tinted window on
the door.  I just sat there looking down and let my
eyes burn.  Fuck my parents are gunna kill me.  Aughhh
why’d I do this?  I’m gunna be in so much trouble.
They’re gunna hate me forever.    I looked up at
Carmen and both of us just smiled hysterically.  How
funny is that?  Get caught stealing from Target with
the girl you’ve known your whole life; The girl who
lives in the same house as you and whose parents are
like a second set of parents to you.  And it’s not
like we were stealing anything that would make us look
cool, like a T.V. or a Barbecue.  Nope.  We were
stealing glow sticks.  Oh god.  We’re so retarded.
       The room was just filled with laughter the whole time
we were locked in there.  Comparing how much trouble
we were each going to be in, followed by out of
control laughter.  “My parents are gunna put me on
restriction for like two months!” Carmen spitted out
in between chuckles.
       “My parents are gunna be even more disappointed in me
than they were before!  I’m not gunna have a life
anymore!” HAHAHAHAHA!
       At some point we noticed a security in the corner of
our little room.  we started making faces at it.
Who’s watching anyway?  We got up off our jail-like
bench and started dancing all over the place.  I shook
my booty and stuck my tongue out.  Carmen snapped her
fingers and did silly little dance steps.  We sure
showed THAT camera.  In the middle of our dance party
I looked out the window and noticed a T.V. in the next
room with the image of me and Carmen on the screen.
Crap.  They’re recording us right  there.  And not
only that,  but the new security guard was sitting in
her stiff chair trying to hold back her laughter.
God.  Why’d I shake my booty?


       My mornings were always pretty quiet before school.
My mom left before I woke p and my dad just sat in the
kitchen reading the paper while there was a whole
world going on in my room.  Music, hair, eyeliner,
coffee, phone calls and clothes.  I hear my dad stomp
down the hall.  My shoulders rise and I hold my
breath; I automatically tense up because I know he’s
coming.  He pounds on my door while he lets himself
into my room, looking all around even though I’m right
in front of him.  “Breakfast is ready!” he says,
always just a little bit too loud, I think just to
bother me.  I finish tying my shoe and head to the
kitchen as fast as I can, because I don’t want to piss
him off.  There’s a little plate with a small pile of
eggs and two pieces of toast waiting for me.
       “Thanks Pops.”
       “You’re Welcome,” he says in this really weird tone.
The “you’re” is stretched out and the “welcome” is
short and tune-like.  God.  That “you’re welcome” gets
me.  It’s like he would do anything for me but act
like it’s no big deal.  He could bring me back to life
after I got stuck in a burning building and he would
still respond with that no problem, no big deal,
you-know-I-care-about-you-but-I-don’t-want-to-say-it-out-loud
kind of “you’re welcome.”  And the worst part is, I
can tell he doesn’t believe that I’m actually
thankful.  He thinks I’m just saying the words because
that’s what I’m supposed to do.  My dad  doesn’t feel
genuinely thanked, and I don’t feel genuinely you’re
welcomed.
       I finish my breakfast.  As I get out of my seat the
chair scoots back, making a few thumps in our quiet
kitchen.  My face burns and I glance up at my dad,
scared shitless he’s going to be pissed about the
noise. The water from the sink fills up my glass
quickly, but not as quickly as I drink it.  My back is
to my dad, and all I want to do is get the hell out of
that room.  I tilt my head back to get the last sip,
and I hear my dad’s sharp voice coming from behind me.
       “You know...” he starts off slow, “do you think you
look good in that?”  I let out an unsure grunt, not
knowing what to expect from him.  “You don’t look good
in those pants.  You’re not attractive.”  Fuck.  My
stomach felt sick; I could feel the tears coming.  I
walked away calmly while my insides twisted and
shredded, not letting the man whose words stabbed me
see my face.  I won’t cry in front of him.  I won’t
let him win that power.  I  get to my room, feel my
tightly clenched face release, and let the tears fall.
 It hurt so bad.
       God.  I hate myself.  I hate these fucking pants.  I
knew I had to wear them that day.  I had prove to him
that I was strong and he hadn’t hurt me.  I tried so
hard to convince myself that I wasn’t unattractive,
but it was impossible. My tears just got stronger and
heavier.  I looked in the mirror and felt disgusted
with myself.  I look fucking terrible. I’m stupid.  I
punched my head and pulled my hair, trying to knock
his words out of my conscience.  Why?  Why am I
letting him win?  But that’s just how it was.  Just
once I wanted him to look at me without that hint of
disappointment in his eyes.  Just once.  I wanted more
than anything to please him;  I wanted to be good
enough for him.  That was the last time I wore those pants.