My Guardian Angel, Nancy

Come and travel with me, dear readers, to a time long ago. I was a young lady of only seventeen years of age. My life up until this point, was riddled with hardships, pain and great sorrow. I felt alone, empty and lacking of any real knowledge of love and kindness. I was trying to run away, but she kept holding me back. I am speaking of my mother who kept throwing me out, but then having me arrested and charged with being a runaway and incorrigible. I even ran all the way from Westwood to Hillsdale in search of my older sister’s apartment, which she shared with two other girlfriends. I did find it, late one night in the dark, on a cold February night.

Of course she let me stay the night, but unbeknownst to me, she had called my father, who was divorced from my mother at the time. And told him that I just couldn’t stay with her because it just wouldn’t work out. That I needed to go back home. She, of all people, knew too well what that entailed. She had gone through her own piece of hell being in that home, and knew that it was now my turn. But alas, Kathy had no sympathy for her younger sister. None at all.

By the time the afternoon rolled around, there was a knock at her front door. Of course, not suspecting what was to happen, I answered the door. Standing there in front of me were two Police Officers. I tried to slam the door shut as fast as I had mistakenly opened it, but to no avail. I ran for the phone and dialed my father’s number. I was crying into the phone, scared, begging him to please make them leave me alone, and to come and get me out of there. He told me he couldn’t do that, and that I had to go with the Policemen. I just hung up the phone and stood there completely numb. I couldn’t believe she had called my father and they had both decided the best thing to do with me was to have me arrested right at her front door.

They placed me in the back of their car. And off to the Hillsdale Police Department we drove. When we arrived there, a Detective came out to speak with me. He brought me into his office and told me that my mother had charged me with running away, and with being incorrigible. I had no idea what that word even meant at the time. I heard him, but was too scared and sick to even blink. I began to cry again, but this time, I couldn’t control myself, and there was no stopping me. The Detective thought this was, apparently, odd behavior. He asked why I was so upset because I had to go back home. Between sobs and hysteria, I tried to explain to him what I had to endure in that house in which they were planning on sending me back to. He listened silently, and then had a look of complete disbelief on his face. He thought I was lying and making the whole thing up. I assured him I wasn’t lying, but also admitted there was no way of proving what I was saying, was there.