I always loved my grandmother most of all. I suppose that was coz my
parents were always cold to me. Being the reason behind their unsuitable,
unwanted marriage - the mistake - I guess we really got off on the wrong
foot. I suppose that's also how things ended up as they did - with me
homeless.
Grandma died when I was 7. She was an incredibly wealthy lady, my grandfather having been an early computer tycoon, who left all he owned to his beloved wife, who in turn granted my parents her house, and quarter of her billion dollar bank account. It was this quarter that deepened the rift between me and my parents further as twice that amount was, deposited on her death into a high interest account, secured until the day I reached 20. For this so obvious favouritism my parents hated me even more, cutting me out of their lives, sending me to a mid range girls boarding school, keeping tallies of any money they spent on me, demanding I repay them when I turn 20. Then, when their amazing ability to spend money managed to exhaust their inheritance they committed suicide, leaving me to find their bodies, and deal with their debts.
With my bank balance cleaned out, and my inheritance untouchable for another 2 years, I paid the debts with every material possession gathered by myself and my parents, managing to cover everything, but leaving me destitute, and relationless. Always a loner, I was now completely on my own, my few possessions in the boot of my newly acquired 83 Honda civic, with no house, and nowhere to go. So I did the only thing I could think of. I drove. All the way to Los Angeles.
I got a job in a hole of a diner, waitressing. It was a truly awful job, and it only just allowed me enough money to get gas for the car, and pay for the single room bed-sit I now lived in. I lived off rolls and other scraps, bludged from the kitchen at work. I survived from pay check to pay check for 22 months, hiding behind baggy clothes and dowdy makeup to avoid the stares and pinches of the often rowdy clientele. It wasn't really a life, but I was surviving, and every day was one day closer to the day I could get myself a nice little home, and live a happier life.
Grandma died when I was 7. She was an incredibly wealthy lady, my grandfather having been an early computer tycoon, who left all he owned to his beloved wife, who in turn granted my parents her house, and quarter of her billion dollar bank account. It was this quarter that deepened the rift between me and my parents further as twice that amount was, deposited on her death into a high interest account, secured until the day I reached 20. For this so obvious favouritism my parents hated me even more, cutting me out of their lives, sending me to a mid range girls boarding school, keeping tallies of any money they spent on me, demanding I repay them when I turn 20. Then, when their amazing ability to spend money managed to exhaust their inheritance they committed suicide, leaving me to find their bodies, and deal with their debts.
With my bank balance cleaned out, and my inheritance untouchable for another 2 years, I paid the debts with every material possession gathered by myself and my parents, managing to cover everything, but leaving me destitute, and relationless. Always a loner, I was now completely on my own, my few possessions in the boot of my newly acquired 83 Honda civic, with no house, and nowhere to go. So I did the only thing I could think of. I drove. All the way to Los Angeles.
I got a job in a hole of a diner, waitressing. It was a truly awful job, and it only just allowed me enough money to get gas for the car, and pay for the single room bed-sit I now lived in. I lived off rolls and other scraps, bludged from the kitchen at work. I survived from pay check to pay check for 22 months, hiding behind baggy clothes and dowdy makeup to avoid the stares and pinches of the often rowdy clientele. It wasn't really a life, but I was surviving, and every day was one day closer to the day I could get myself a nice little home, and live a happier life.