My parents separated when I was 18 months old and then went through a nasty divorce/custody battle that didn't end until I was four or five. During these tumultuous years we lived, first, three blocks from my Dad and attended the same Ward (congregation). Then my Mother and some of the kids (including me) moved into a small trailer (in a senior trailer park where no kids were allowed). And finally my Mother and I moved to Utah to move into an old farmhouse with my Grandmother and bachelor Uncle, where we had chickens, a coal heating furnace and not much else. At seven my Mother, oldest sister and I moved into a rented house. At eight we moved again.
This led to my young social development being stifled. I was naturally shy. Painfully shy. And I had fear of separation from my mother. I had no friends. My life was lonely, swallowed up in books (a happy escape) and a mother who was struggling to protect children being abused by their father thousands of miles away.
At age ten we moved once more, this time buying a house on "the hill" in Logan, Utah. I will never forget the first week we attended church. My shy awkwardness was an unintentional cloak I wore, shielding me from peer relationships. But I longed to have friends.
Somehow, as the years passed, I slowly made friendships. Friendships which started on the shaky ground of my awkwardness, but which grew slowly until they seemed more stable. It filled a hole in my spirit that had been missing. This was normal life. And I wanted normal more than anything else.
The year I turned fifteen my Mother was selling our happy house, the house where I had finally found myself in so many ways. I mourned like I was losing my life. Because when you are fourteen your friends, your house, your small piece of identity IS your life. Because the house was being viewed (sometimes at a moment's notice) my Mother let me know as gently as she could that we would not be able to celebrate my birthday. This was devastating. Leaving my group of friends had been the most heart-wrenching prospect of moving. I called my friend, Heidi, and cried and cried. There was nothing to be done.
The year I turned 15 the weeks and days leading up to my birthday that year rang in like a death knell. Each day closer to that day brought with it a sad disappointment that grew and grew. Finally, my birthday arrived. It was a Friday. The weather was the perfect cool, yet sunny autumn day that late September sometimes blesses us with. I went through my school day with stoic motions. I arrived home to a quiet house where I greeted my Mom and went upstairs to my room, finding solace in listening to The Smiths on a loop.
Soon the phone rang. It was Heidi. I perked up. Maybe she was calling to wish me a happy birthday! But no. She asked if I could come over to her house and help her with her homework. I hemmed and hawed, but she was insistent. She needed me. Dutifully I headed out my front door and walked down the street to her front door. She let me in and we headed towards the kitchen where her school books were layed out.
"SURPRISE!!!!"
From behind the kitchen counters leaped 8 of my closest friends. It was a surprise party. My heart leaped. There was laughter and friendship and lots of junk food. Heidi informed me it was a sleepover and instructed me to head home quickly and throw some things into a bag for my stay. I ran home with a thrill.
That night we did everything 15 year old girls should do. We ate pizza, talked about boys, painted our nails, played UNO, consumed mass amount of junk food. As the sun began to dip we found ourselves in Heidi's backyard, jumping on the trampoline, bouncing each other higher and higher and laughing uncontrollably. At this very moment I paused and surveyed the scene. This is what I had always wanted. This was what my spirit had longed for. And, like a miracle, it was here. I had it. I could scarcely believe it. In a life that had, up to this moment, seemed to rob me of everything I felt I needed, here was exactly what I needed.
We headed inside to get ready for bed. With sleeping bags laid out in front of the basement television and junk food spread around we started the discussion on what movie to watch as the late night would shift into early morning.
Three or four movie choices had been rented from Blockbuster and were brought forward to the court of public opinion. I was fine with three of those movies, but the fourth movie was rated R. Growing up a Mormon in Utah, this was a serious no-no. It was against my house rules to watch rated R movies and most adult members of the LDS faith don't watch them either. These girls were girls I knew well. They were all in my Ward. They were church leader's daughters. I knew they had the same rules I did. I timidly expressed my desire to not watch the R rated movie. This was met with instant resistance, with peer pressure dialog straight out of an After School Special.
"But everyone has seen this!"
"Christian Slater is SO hot!"
"No one will know!"
"I've heard there's only one bad part and the rest is okay!"
My timidity grew into forced-casual speech. "No, let's pick something else. I really wanted to see the other movie". Their pressure grew. And then I became stronger in my protestations. "It's MY birthday. I should get to choose the movie."
It was to no avail. Eventually Heidi slipped the movie into the VCR and the previews began to roll. I stood in the doorway of the basement, viewing the scene before me. Balloons, candy, friends. But I knew I could not break that rule.
"If you're going to watch this movie then I am going home and anyone who wants to come with me can sleep at my house."
I stood there. Like a stone. Waiting. I was sure that a few, if not all of them, would stand and join me. That these girls would choose what was right. They didn't. Not even one of them. I paused in that doorway, letting my eyes sweep over my group of friends, then turned and walked up the stairs, out the front door and down the street to my house. The midnight autumn was now bitter and chilly. I entered my house, where all was dark and quiet, and climbed up the stairs to my room.
The year I turned 15 I slipped into my bed and cried myself to sleep.
At church on Sunday those girls shut me out as surely as if they had slammed a literal door in my face. Monday at school was the same. The week that followed was the same. I was alone. Again.
The year I turned 15 is the year I lost all of my friends.
The year I turned 15 is the year I learned that doing what you think is right can be very, very lonely.
The year I turned 15 is the year I decided that I wasn't going to be a Mormon anymore.
But that's a story for another day.
