The Move That Didn’t Make Sense

When I was 11, I got shipped to Boston to live with my dad and his “new family.” Even now, I can’t say I understand the why of it. He hadn’t exactly been lining up to be Father of the Year before that.

If I had to guess, it wasn’t about me. It felt like a power move against my mom. Or a way to look good for his new wife and the neighborhood crowd. Either way, I was the accessory. Not the priority.

Rich Neighborhood, Wrong Kid

They lived in a very affluent area, the kind where you can feel your sneakers being judged. I didn’t fit. I knew it. They knew it. The other parents made sure their kids knew it too.

So I didn’t have friends. Not because I was shy, but because the door was already shut before I even knocked.

The Stepsisters and the House Spy

I had two “stepsisters.” One was about three years older than me, the other was my age. Both were ballet dancers.

The older one was cooler, at least sometimes. The younger one. Different story. She was basically assigned as the household spy. Everything I did got reported back. Inside the house, outside the house, probably in my dreams too. If I breathed wrong, somebody heard about it.

My Only Friend Had Four Legs

The only comfort I had was my dog, the one I brought from Kokomo. He was the one living thing in that place that actually wanted to be near me.

And nobody wanted him around. I wasn’t allowed to let him inside. The other dogs bullied him because he was the smallest, like they had a little canine pecking order and he didn’t qualify for citizenship. So my one friend was stuck outside, and I was stuck inside, and the house managed to feel lonely in both directions.

The Blizzard and the Disappearance

That winter there was a blizzard. One day my dad let my dog out “to use the bathroom.” It was unusual, because if he wasn’t on a leash he’d usually run off.

I went outside and he was gone. Just gone.

The house backed up to a big wooded area, so I went looking for him. I remember the cold, the panic, the way your brain starts making horror-movie versions of reality without your permission.

I did find him. Thank God. And that’s when I realized something I didn’t have words for at 11.

The Part That Still Hits

That wasn’t easy to watch or deal with as a kid. I cried a lot. He was my only friend. Losing him, even temporarily, felt like the last thread getting cut.

And it taught me something ugly early. People will punish what you love just to prove they can.