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Hello my name is Lillian Jean McBride. Daughter of prestigious Pastor Randy McBride and his devoted wife Pamela McBride. I have 4 brothers and sisters who all are devout Catholics and get straight A’s in school. Of course I’m just like them, I am on honor roll and spend my Saturday nights at church youth group. I love to play soccer and even have a dog and her name is Mollie and she is a cockapoo.
So I lied, sue me.
I don’t even own a dog.
Lets see, my name’s right and my dad is a pastor and those are the only true things about that little summary. Where do I even start to tell you about the sick joke that has become my life?
Well it all started about a year ago.
My Mother Dearest. All I am going to say about her is: WHORE.
But at least she got away, that’s about her only accomplishment in 40 years of life, and no her kids are not included in that list of accomplishments because all of us are fucked up, just like her.
She got bored, can you blame her? After marrying a pastor, and popping out 5 kids she just got bored.
Not once , not even twice I mean hell my brother isn’t even my dad’s kid.
Well anyways, that’s what caused the annulment, her horny ways. But whatever. Currently she drinks 24/7 she smokes 24/7 and she fucks 24/7. She looks like a wet lollipop covered in dry hair and boozy film. The best part about my mom is that her maiden name is Dykes.
My Father. He is the Pastor I chatted with you about earlier. My mother cheated him on and he acts like it never happened, acts like God did it for a reason. BULLSHIT.
Walked right in on them and you know what he did after that? He walked right out. What he pretends not to see, doesn’t hurt him. What a routine he’s got going on.
Church, Sleep, Eat, Shit
Church, Sleep, Eat, Shit
Church, Sleep, Eat, Shit
I live with them equally, I guess. We all pretty much go see the other parent whenever we get sick of the other one. Except for Nadine, my sister, she basically lives at Tyrone’s apartment. Who is Tyrone, you ask? Oh, well let me enlighten you. Yes you guessed it, he is not white, nor is he a wholesome African American citizen. He is drug dealer slash convicted felon. But she likes him and so does my mom.
“Once you go black you never go back.”
Can you believe my mother said that?
When the Hell did she ever go black!?
I’m sick of everyone around me. Am I the only sane one? Ah Hell, am I even sane? You couldn’t ask my friends, seeing is that I only have one, and that’s a box of cigarettes.
They don’t care that I smoke; I don‘t even think they know. My parents are too busy trying to get Nadine out of trouble. Even though the person they really should be keeping an eye on is my kid sister Betsy.
“Betsy?” I said.
“Go away,” she hissed.
“Can you give me back my dolls?”
“Lucifer wants them.”
“Ok then, dinners ready.”
Yeah, she worships Satan in her spare time. And did I forget to mention she’s FIVE!
Yesterday she told me to Fuck off. Once again, FIVE!
The only person who gets me is Bobbi.
She’s crazy and I love it.
And well, she’s easy to find because she resides in the garage at my Dad’s house. We think alike, maybe its because we share DNA, or maybe it’s because we both see the shit that’s going on when no one else does.
She refuses to move out, even after her daughter did. And Papa preacher doesn’t and probably will never have the balls to kick her out.
“Grandma?” I said, “Mom cheated on dad with a male stripper.”
“I know,” she said.
“I don’t get it.”
“Don’t get what Lily?”
“How she could do that?”
“I do, I mean your dad is less fun than a lint tray, on a good day.”
“Oh,” I whispered.
“Want a beer?”
Oh, I have two brothers too. They’re younger than me.
Francis is 13 and more queer than Jessica Simpson’s hair stylist, and just incase you don’t know that’s pretty gay. He plays football. His position: right bench. I think he does it to impress my dad and hide his increasing homosexuality. The first time I realized he was gay was probably when I walked in on him dressed head to toe in my mother’s lingerie and modeling it off to our Mormon neighbor Bobby John. Bobby John never came back.
Curtis is my other brother, half brother if you must know.
My dad doesn’t even notice that he is not related to Curtis in any way possible. Maybe he does, and just ignores it. Seems like something he would do.
Anyways about 8 years ago my mom said she was pregnant and 9 months later she pushed out a Mexican love child. She named him Curtis and that was that.
All words that I would use to describe those who live around me day in and day out.
I don’t even know how it got like this. It wasn’t always so dysfunctional.
I even remember one time, before Curtis and Betsy were born; we all went on a family vacation to Florida. We swam, went out to eat, and Pam even held Randy’s hand. She even smiled, and it wasn’t one of those fake, drugged out smiles that she does now and did many times before. It was real and genuine.
But who even gives a crap; it’s all screwed now.
I’m screwed and so are they and there is no amount of praying or therapy that can change that.
Lets just hope that I can fend them off until I can get out of this hellhole town and find someone who will marry me even though I excessively sweat and have man hands.
Praise The Lordy.
Today I left. Skipped down the hard cement in my plaid skirt. Too bad I ended up at St. Jude Catholic Academy, that’s my school. It, like my life, is Hell. The kids are aliens. Fat ones, skinny ones, green ones, creepy ones. Everyone knows about my dad’s job and my sister’s abortion.
My mother told me not to be a slut, like Nadine.
Was she freaking serious!?
My mother, telling me to not be a slut, what a joke, what a fucking joke.
There’s a boy. Green eyes, jet-black hair. Once he asked me for a cigarette, a “cig” in his words. He made my body get hot, but shivers covered my arms as I handed him a friendly smoke.
He winked. He WINKED.
Then it ended. He left; he walked away back to his car. Its red, his car that is.
When I got home, my dad looked up at me from his papers. Probably writing another gay-ass homily for church that night.
“My friend is coming over tonight,” he said.
Shit, another member of the church. Last time my dad brought home someone for dinner, it was some loner creep who gave my sister a full ‘up down’ when she got up from the dinner table. His name was Rusty. And the sad part was that he made that name up, if you’re going to change your name, don’t make it one that doubles as a red, brown metal-eating material that causes lockjaw. Rusty touched my knee from under the table and later that night I puked.
“Oh great,” I muffled.
“Her name is Fay.”
What kind of name is that?
“She has two children.”
“She goes to the church.”
“She has wings.”
“Lillian,” he said, “I just implied that Fay flew and you agreed, are you even listening to me?”
I ran out to the garage. My leather shoes squeaked as I reached to grab a soda. Woke Bobbi up. Her face wrinkled as she stirred, looking like a newborn hamster. Licked her translucent lips as her thin slits became eyes.
“Lily?” she croaked.
“Bobbi,” I smirked.
Sitting up, she frowned.
Oh God, I thought.
“What’s wrong, Lil?”
“Oh shut up, you bitch.”
“Excuse me, grandma?”
“You come back here when you’re done lying,” she spoke.
“I’m just getting a soda, God damn it.”
I turned away. Bobbi is such a delirious hag, too bad she’s right.
The truth is I just want to get away, fly to some normal place; maybe I can grow wings just like Fay. Where would I even go? All I know is that I would probably take Bobbi with me, she would know her way around the world seeing as that she was born about 1853. I would grab Bobbi by her oversized moo moo and take off to the sky. We would laugh about my mother and keep each other warm when the stars came out.
My Grandma just called me a Bitch.
What the hell?
That damn doorbell ringing just to spite me.
“Francis get it!” my dad yelled from his bedroom.
From the top of the stairs I watched my brother’s skinny legs run to the door, if I didn’t know him I would think he was an anorexic 7 year old.
I walked back into my room, without bothering to see who was there when the door opened. I buried my head into my pillow and listened through the wall to Nadine and Tyrone talk.
“Come on, Nad,” Tyrone mumbled.
“Ugh, no,” Nadine moaned.
“Take off your shirt and then hand me the needle.”
“Not now,” Nadine said tiredly.
“Bitch, you will do what I say.”
“My dad is fucking downstairs, Ty, lets do this later.”
“I want ta high now, hoe.”
“JUST GET OUT!” Nadine yelled.
“Fuck you, Bitch.”
“God, I hate you, don’t even bother coming back for the drugs.”
“Ah come on gurl,” Tyrone whispered.
“Don’t touch me you son of a bitch.”
“Meet me at 12 at ma crib and I’ll apologize.”
“Shut up, Ty.”
Pastor Randy once told Tyrone he wasn’t supposed to be in Nadine’s room, let alone in our house. Ha, like that even fazed him, truthfully I think that my dad is scared to confront him again; he might get shot in the face.
God bless Tyrone.