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haunts // 2002-07-22

the first thing i did when i came into work this morning was sit in my office and sob. that's because i received this email...

Hey there sis :)

It's [P*]...I hope you don't remember me as the awful step-sister that I was. I adored you, whether you saw that or not.

I wasn't sure if you check this email but it's the only addy I could find for you. I was doing a google search for the O* family for fun and I came across your Amazon.com reviews. It looks like you're a mac person too...I have a dual-processor 533 G4.

I can't believe it's been so long since we've seen each other...I know you probably don't have very fond memories of your time at Selma, but I hope you have at least a few. I came back to Grants Pass in 2000 after leaving my ex husband. I've made a fresh start and I have a pretty great life here. I just recently found out that grandma and grandpa's house in Selma is for sale again...it brought about a rush of nostalgia--good and bad.

I haven't talked to dad for at least 4 years, I think the last time was when my mom died. [Dad's new wife] has never made me feel welcome in his house, so I have kept my distance. My daughter (she's 5 now) really wants to know him, but I'm not sure I want [dad's wife] in her life. You know what it's like to have a step-mom, and I know how my mom was with you and [your sister]. I wish she could have been a better parent to all of us. The only thing I can say in her defense is that she was a very damaged person.

How's [your sister]? I hope she is doing great. I wanted to come to her wedding but I wasn't able, and I lost touch with her too.

If you don't want to write back, that's fine. I wanted a chance to say thanks for being my step-sister, and I wish I had appreciated you a little more than I did back then.

P*

... i'm not sure i can explain why this made me so sad. i'll try. the time me and my sister spent (when i was in fourth grade) living in selma with my dad, his screwed-up wife, her daughter P*, and my alcoholic grandfather was very, very awful. P*'s mom was, as she puts it, a "very damaged person". she and her sister would do drugs in front of us kids, deal drugs out of the house, push us around, and verbally abuse us, among other things. there are other things i can't quite talk about. just know it was horrible. P*, my stepsister, was screwed up, too, most likely from having such a messed up mother. after half a year of being there, my sister and i called my mom up and cried and told her how horrible it was, she came to take us away and i never saw P* or her mom again. i heard that her mom died a while ago, and i wasn't surprised. i wasn't sad either and i feel horrible about that. so to hear from P* now is a big surprise. it's true, she doesn't have a good relationship with my dad or his wife because she was so fucked up for so long. but hearing from her gives me hope that maybe she's changed. i don't know. i suppose it's the flashback to this time in my life where i was living in a horrible place and feeling horrible about myself. that's the last thing a nine year old needs.

i went back to the house we lived in, the one P* talks about, about 6 or 7 years ago. i was driving back from california, and decided to stop by. it was strange, because i knew exactly how to get to the house, winding through back dirt roads, over bridges, down a long, long gravel drive. i hadn't been to that house in 12 years, but i knew the way exactly. i drove up to house, parked, and walked down the long driveway. (it was much more beautiful than i remembered it. the place is very rural, houses spaced apart for miles sometimes, beautiful trees and fields and streams. if you've spent time in southern oregon, you know what i'm talking about.) i knocked on the door, and an older woman came out looking puzzled. i told her that a long time ago i lived in this house and wanted to walk around the property to see what it was like now. she invited me in, but i declined. seeing the inside of the house would have been too much. so i walked around the yard, saw the collapsed worm beds that were my grandfather's attempt at industry, the pasture where we kept our crazy shetland pony stunky, and walked through the woods, following the creek that ran down behind the land and eventually dumped into the rogue river. the swimming hole that we made when i was little was still there, filled with crawdads and water skimmers. it was a hot summer day and it made me feel better about the time i spent there. it was awful, sure, but now the place was just really beautiful and quiet.

so yes, i understand when P* wrote that she felt that rush of nostalgia when she heard that the house was for sale again. it's good and it's bad. and that's also how i feel about getting this email.

before // after