A page out of my book-The Gingerbread House on LaCollina Drive-Her Gilded Cage

Chapter Two:
Her Gilded Cage

(A page from Chapter Two-unedited version)

 

               

               

For the first few weeks, I dreamt about my mother, she had no face.  Standing in a doorway she waved to me, welcoming me back home.   Excited to see her I make my way towards her but the closer I feel I’m getting, the further away she became.  I started to run out of panic but she is gone before I reach her. Not giving up, I continue to run as fast as I could until I find myself looking out from the back window of a familiar car.  Below me I see the street lines zipping by taking me away from my mother.  I felt trapped and restricted.  I began to bang on the window hoping to brake free screaming “I WANT MY MOM” but the station wagon keeps on driving away. I hear Mrs. Erickson’s voice from behind me as she drove in the car. “You’re the problem, I’m taking you away” was all she said, over and over again all I hear is “I’m taking you away.”  It echoes in my mind and I just want it to end I want to escape and so I go back to banging on the window with all my might, until it shatters into a thousand fragments. I than find myself falling, and I see street lines zipping by me faster and faster until I awaken.

 

            Although Gary was next to me in bed, I felt alone and sad.  It wasn’t the first time I’ve had that dream, but each time it seems my mother is going further away and her face is becoming more unrecognizable. I could no longer remember what she looked like, and wonder if I even ever knew her. Something else about the dream that up till then I tried not to think about, her waving to me.  For a long time I thought she was waving hello, that she was welcoming me back home but perhaps she was saying goodbye.

                In the passing weeks at the house, I began to address Mrs. and Mr. Spector as Mom and Dad. The Christmas decorations were all gone, all that remained was the tree, stripped of its ornaments and lights as it stood neglected wilting away.  When it was nothing more than a lifeless tree brittle to the touch, it was thrown out. A trail of dead pine needles leading out the front door was all that was left behind, until Mr. Bill, the maintenance man, vacuumed them away.

                Mom was often lost in thought, with a cigarette in one hand and a glass of wine in the other she often gazed out the window, longing for some kind of freedom.  She felt trapped and alone. Her singing career was on hold so she could raise a family, only she couldn’t even do that as that job was also taken from her. Once a lead singer in the group The Ronettes, singing songs such as “Be My Baby” she was slowing becoming like the Christmas tree, wilting away, stripped of her glamor and sparkle.  It was too much too soon, a mansion in Beverly Hills, three kids many dogs and all in a short amount of time. Though she seldom left the house, she hardly seemed present.  Even if in the same room she was somewhere else, detached and alone.  The only thing that awoke her from her trance, was the sound of Dad’s voice screeching through the hallways calling out for her and promptly she went. Her only escape would be signing up to Alcoholics Anonymous. Weather she felt she needed it or not, was not the concern, getting away from Phil Spector was.

A Page Out Of My Book-The Gingerbread House on LaCollina Drive-Caged Behind the Wall of Sound.

A painting I did of the house I grew up in.

Chapter One:                       
A Pair of Twins for Christmas

(This is just the first page from Chapter One-an unedited version)  

      Her name was Mrs. Erickson but I called her mom. As a foster child, I called a lot of people mom. Mrs. Erickson was actually my social worker.  Her job was to find me a family with the hopes that one may actually adopt me; however, I wasn’t alone. I also had a twin brother and Mrs. Erickson thought best to keep us together.

Gary, though 30 min younger than I, took the role of older brother. He protected and looked out for me. He even talked for me. Though having hyperactive tendencies, I was often quiet. I didn’t talk much due to a speech impairment. It seemed no one could understand what I was saying, no one but Gary, witch I’m sure is why Mrs. Erickson didn’t want to separate us, as I was completely dependent on him. Other than having a speech impairment, I was also slow. I didn’t learn as fast as Gary or any of the other kids our age. It’s one reason why I not only called Mrs. Erickson “mom” but all my teachers as I really didn’t know what a mom was. To me it was any lady who looked out for me, read stories to me and pretty much hugged me when I was feeling sad or stood up for me when all the other kids laughed at me for doing something foolish, such as calling teachers “mom.” As a foster child, with little understand of the world around me, I had no idea what parents were but Mrs. Erickson was desperately determined to change that as the years for us being adopted were quickly running out. At the age of five, we had already been to many homes and would be families but with no luck.  However, Christmas was just around the corner and things were about to change.

The Spector’s were a family on the verge of separating. They had already adopted one child in the hopes of keeping their marriage going. Donte was only a few months old when adopted but it was kept secret as Mr. Spector wanted everyone to believe that he was born into the family.  To do so, he had his wife hide a pillow under her blouse whenever friends came by giving the illusion that she was pregnant and handed out births announcements weeks before his arrival.  Because Donte had the same mulatto skin tone as Mrs. Spector, no one questioned it. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to keep the marriage going so three years later in 1971 Mr. Spector decides to adopt another child but all that was available in such short notice was five year old twins.

Mrs. Erickson looked optimistic as she drove Gary and me to our next home-located in the town of Beverly Hills-a dream place for any foster child. The road was LaCollina Drive it was a private narrow road a short distance from the Sunset Strip. Minding the speed bumps, Mrs. Erickson drove her station wagon up the winding road as I gazed out the window exploring my new surroundings. Some of the houses were half hidden and nestled behind foliage and walls blanketed in vines while others were out on display with their elaborately manicured gardens and cobblestone entrances, not at all like the simple stucco built tract homes that I was accustomed to. What was missing were the sounds of kids playing around or any indication that there were kids at all. There was no unattended bicycles or footballs waiting to be thrown. All I heard was the sound of dogs barking in the distance.

Further up the road I saw an elder lady sweeping her porch. She had snow-white hair and upon seeing us, a kind and warm smile. She stopped and waved at me as we drove further up the road. Once she was out of sight, I turned my focus to a long chain-link fence covered heavily in ivy with signs warning us about guard dogs and trespassing.  We followed the fence until we came to the entrance where other signs were displayed. Although the wrought-iron gate was wide open, the signs warned us about entering.  Electric fences and killer dogs were meant to keep us out, but Mrs. Erickson drove in anyway and according to a sign... at her own risk.

Two guard dogs greeted us at the entrance while viciously barking at us from within their cages where they were further restrained by a heavy chain attached to a metal pole. As Mrs. Erickson got out of the car, leaving us inside, she saw one more sign before ringing the doorbell. It had a picture of a gun pointing right at her and read "NEVER MIND THE DOGS BEWARE OF OWNER."