The Nomadic Life

Restless and Bored

The New Chapter 26

It has to start somewhere. I have spent too many years teetering on the edge of change, staring into the abyss, paralyzed by fear. But there comes the moment when certain lines are crossed, when the weight of the past becomes an unbearable burden too heavy to carry for even one more step. The self-imposed pressure of it all pushes me to my breaking point.

All it took was one final, hateful remark from just the wrong person. Those harsh words still ring in my ears and at that moment, everything became clear. The choice was no longer mine. After today, there will be no turning back.

But where to go? In which direction will I drive? Memphis is four hours away, and just over three hours from Jackson, Mississippi, New Orleans. The choice becomes obvious. NOLA. Not just a tourist’s playground, but a city of reinvention, of opportunity and of second chances. If I am ever going to break free, this will be the place that will allow me to be myself. I feel in my soul this city is meant to be my home and a new beginning. This will be the place I can shed the version of myself that Richard calls a lecherous lump and finally become the person, I know is inside me.

Becoming a nomad is a lot like learning to ride a bike. At first, there’s fear. You crave the security of knowing someone is nearby to catch you if you fall. But that’s not what scares me. I’m not afraid of starting over. I’m afraid of failing. The last thing I ever want to do again is run back home, tail tucked between my legs, proving everyone right. Another failed attempt by the boy who just couldn’t handle the outside world. I hear Richard’s voice in my head, taunting me, reminding me of what a disappointment I am. That fear is my hurdle. My albatross.

For years, I believe everything Richard tells me. That I am fat and let myself go and that I have become unattractive, undesirable. That no one will ever want me. The sad part is those words aren’t hard to accept. I have heard them my entire life, from my mother, her husband, and others who claim to love me. “Only the people who truly care about you will tell you the truth,” I convince myself. And since Richard echoes their words, I start to see myself the way he does. By 28, my self-esteem is shattered.

It’s a Thursday morning. I don’t remember the exact month, only the brutal hangover from the Wednesday night beer bust at Jack and Jill’s downtown. My head pounds as I stumble into the kitchen, clutching a coffee mug that trembles in my unsteady hands. I have no desire or patience for conversation today.

As I wait for the water to boil, fragments of last night creep back into my mind. We had been swapping stories about our pasts, throwing around half-hearted plans for the future, pipe dreams, really, goals none of us expected to ever reach. But in the haze of alcohol, these dreams felt good. And then, like an unwanted echo, I hear my own drunken complaints resurface, grievances about my stifled life, spoken aloud for everyone to hear.

“Why are you telling us?” someone had asked. “Only you can change the path you’re on.”

A simple truth, but one I was not ready to hear.

Then Richard’s voice slices through my haze.

“I need fifteen hundred dollars.”

No good morning. No pleasantries at all. Not one bit of pretense. Just a demand, like this is the most natural way to start the day.

I turn, my eyes wide and mouth gaped. I am shocked and stunned. I have taken a huge step to better myself. I just started my freshman semester at Mississippi College in Clifton, and a student loan left me with a rare surplus of money. After covering tuition and books, I have just over twenty-five hundred dollars. For someone who is usually broke, it feels like a fortune.

I rebuff Richard’s demand, letting him know how ridiculous it sounds. After all, I am paying rent and helping in many other ways. But it is not meant as a request. It’s an expectation.

I have only been back under his roof for three months after a failed attempt to start fresh in Birmingham. Eight months there ended in defeat, sending me crawling back to the one place I swore I’d never return. But at least I did bring back something useful, I learned how to tend bar, and I loved it. I had found a job that fit my loud, outgoing and sometimes annoying personality perfectly.

Richard’s house is supposed to be temporary. Just a place to stay until I find an apartment closer to school. I pay him $200 a month in rent and work off the rest mowing the lawn, fixing his car and handling home repairs. The arrangement is mutually beneficial to all concerned.

Until this morning.

I state flatly, “no.”

But Richard is relentless. He guilts me, pressures me and twists the knife in ways only he knows how. And in the end, I cave and hand over the money, knowing full well I’ll never see a dime of it again.

For the next two months, I hate myself. The thought of allowing him to manipulate me, again eats at my very core. I feel used, betrayed and taken advantage of by someone who does nothing but tear me down. If this is love and caring, then I much preferred being disliked. It is time to end the horrific cycle.

Richard’s drama is constant. Dewey’s demands are growing. And Richard’s mother? Her hatred for me festers by the day. One morning, after yet another fight, this time about how ungrateful I am for her son’s “generosity” I snap. I break down and tell her about the fifteen hundred dollars Richard took from me. Money that could have gotten me out of her house weeks ago.

She sneers, calls me a liar.

And that is all it took. The reason and push I needed.

There are two things I will never tolerate and that is being called a thief or a liar. And in her manipulative little way, she just called me both.

Without another word spoken, I pack what little I own, throw it in the back of my truck, and drive south. I have no idea where I’m going.

I only know one thing: I will never again allow myself to rely on anyone else. Never again will I let someone else’s opinion define me.

It’s time to stand on my own two feet.

And so, my nomadic journey begins.