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I arrived at the rehab running late as usual. Going from one job to another was getting to be a drag but something kept me coming back. Tonight I was scheduled to teach 40- odd people about the disease of addiction. As I entered the classroom where I would give my presentation, my mind drifted way back to another classroom and an image of the little girl I used to be came into focus. I could see her so clearly sitting at her desk with her head down and her shoulders hunched, dreading the taunts and cruel teasing of the others yet always hoping for an offer of friendship. She was wearing a raggedy little dress and her socks had long since disappeared halfway into her shoes. Her thin, wispy hair was dirty, as usual, and fell into her eyes. She had a sinus condition, probably caused by allergies, that made her nose run constantly and, as she wiped it with the back of her grubby little hand, she left a dirty smear right above her lip. The kids all said she used to stick pencils up her nose and they would laugh and giggle behind their cupped hands. Lots of times she saw the teachers laughing, too. I don't remember when she stopped trying to defend herself. She knew it was a lie, but no one believed her.

I do remember how desperately she wanted to belong to that little group of grade school children. I remember how she envied the other little girls. They wore bows and ribbons in their carefully curled hair and had clean white socks trimmed in lace and patent leather shoes. Their dresses were brightly colored, starched and stuck out at the waist over the crinolines that were so popular back then. They carried square, metal lunch boxes with Campbell's soup in the thermos compartment and a little pink folded napkin next to it. Their whole being advertised the fact that they were dearly loved.
This little girl wondered what that felt like. Her own mother spent most of her time laying on the stained and smelly gray couch in the dark living room of the small Cape Cod house with the two huge trees out front. There were always babies around in her early years, and her mother was always holding onto one of them, like a huge baby herself, slack-mouthed and devoid of expression. She smelled bad and wore what were commonly called "house dresses", shapeless, flowery cotton wraps with snaps down the front. Her teeth were rotten and her whole body gave off a sour smell. In spite of all that, the little girl yearned for her mother's attention, for some acknowledgment

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