Angela Travis:
CLASS OF 1993
Meadowdale High SchoolClass of 1993
Lynnwood, WA
Angela's Story
It was in high school I realized that sometimes one has to face their bullies, face their fears, their issues head-on and call them out for what they are before they can be dealt with in the proper manner. I realized also that sometimes, in certain situations, violence and force are indeed an answer. They may not be the correct one, or the best one, but they ARE an answer. What I didn't realize is that this one conscious decision would put me on a path from which I would never again be able to deviate. That single decision would cause so many ripples, ripples that would still be felt 25 years after the fact.
You see, ladies and gentlemen, I was a big girl in high school. By big I mean Big... Fat... Obese. Call it whatever you want. I don't care. I was a target for many people's angst, ire, and general nastiness back then because of my size, and that I didn't wear the popular brands, or have the best haircut, the best glasses, or because I wore braces (anyone even remember that I didn't smile for 2 years?). For the longest time, my lunch was a Coke and a Butterfinger because I only had $1 in my pocket and they only cost fifty cents each.
I look back on those 4 years and remember all of the crap I endured just to get through one... more... day.
I always wore a black leather trenchcoat with the brocade shoulders. I didn't hang out with any particular clique. In fact, I rarely felt as though I belonged, so I spent most of my time by myself. This apparently created another sub-clique that was outside the outsiders (if that even makes sense), much like the Isle of Misfit Toys. I had remarkably few people I would (or could) call friends, or few remarkable friends, whichever the case may be. I don't know if I even stood out, and I'm not sure I really cared to.
I just wanted to survive.
I attended Monroe High for the first semester of my junior year. Totally different world. The quarterback of the football team had been my boyfriend in the third grade. Well, after I had shoved him off the monkey bars and broke his arm, that is. My last day at that high school had been rather exciting, and I found I had somehow picked up a couple more friends. Fancy that.
When I graduated from Meadowdale, I was 16. I believe I was the youngest in our class at the time. I could be wrong. Mrs. Mac retired, as did Mr. Taylor. Jason Fifer was the ONLY person who invited me to a graduation party. The ONLY person. Shocked the hell out of me, to say the least. And what a party it was. Playing Mario Bros upside down on the couch while eating the best nachos EVER, hanging with his friends and his lady.
I tried three times - unsuccessfully - to enlist in the Army. It was recommended that, due to an incredibly low reasoning score on the MESA Test, I should look into something like Hostage Negotiation. This was mostly to discourage me from pursuing anything involving combat since "women weren't allowed on the front lines". When I failed the physical (0.03% over the body fat limit every...single...time...), I decided that I should turn my skills in another direction.
Not all such turns are right turns and not all directions are good.
After a few dead ends and s...Expand for more
ubsequent U-turns, I found a sort of "calling" in helping a friend acclimate to civilian life once he was discharged from the Service. Two (plus) decades later, I'm still on that same path, helping others with the same process. Sort of a Human Service Dog, if you will.
And I'm a very good dog.
Along the way, I married and divorced, gained and lost people I loved deeply and thought I cared about. Some of those losses are still felt to this day.
I made a couple of coast-to-coast road trips in two days, each way. Don't remember much other than North Platte rolls its sidewalks up at 1630, some Iowa cops chase each other around town for wont of something to do, and never ever "educate" Oregon State Patrol on the vehicle licensing laws of other States.
I had a child with a woman I thought I could trust, had a stroke a few months later, then put that same "trusted" woman in jail for domestic violence after she decided to beat me and try breaking my wrist when I attempted calling the police. Once she was released from jail, the State in its wisdom believed her to be the better parent (as the child's bio parent) and I've not seen my son since. It has been over a decade. Am I bitter about this? You better believe it.
That stroke and that relationship were both important forks in the road. (Forks, knives, spoons, skewers... Hades, the whole damned silverware drawer...) Along with shortening the fuse (and the reaction time) on my already wicked temper and honing the edge on my sharp tongue, the stroke wiped out a lot of my Short-term and long-term memory, that wonderful memory I held so dear and carried me through much of my life. I've found that if a person hasn't made some sort of impression upon me in my past, in some sort of manner (good or bad), then they are relegated to the trash bin in my brain. To put it bluntly: I simply will not remember you. Some of you may have experienced this at the most recent reunion. Isn't that right, Shelby?
As for the relationship, having someone tell you "I don't care if I kill you" and "If you love me, you will beat me" are very eye-opening statements, ones which will rattle even the most stalwart of souls. Having it done during a psych eval shortly after a stroke... Well...
At this point in time, I'm living my life day-by-day, sometimes a breath at a time. I don't take people at face value anymore, nor do I give them the benefit of the doubt. I spend a great deal of time with my family and close circle of friends, or just my my dog, doing the things that bring me happiness.
I'm still a big woman, much as I was in high school. I now have tattoos, lots of tattoos (maybe not as many as that rascal, Jeff), and I've plans to have more done. Each one has a story, a reason for being, a life of its own. I may tell you. Or I may tell you to go f... where to shove your intrusive line of questioning.
If you don't like what you see when you look at me, shift your eyes in another direction. It has taken over 20 years for me to like myself. I don't have the time, nor the inclination, to even try to get anyone else to like me.
If you wish to know anything else, ask. Assumption is the mother of all screw-ups.
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