Never Broken: Songs Are Only Half the Story by Jewel

been hit enough to know I hated it. And this girl was big, half Samoan, and outweighed me by a lot. That, I was wise enough to not point out. But still, here I was, facing certain death and feeling more like throwing up than like fighting. My antagonist leaned in to push me, and as she did, she whispered in my ear, “Next time I push you, just run.” I looked in her eyes and could see she had no fight in her. We were both victims of the group around us. But the others had formed such a tight circle I didn’t think I could break through it without one of them hitting me for running. Luckily, there was a guy who stopped in a beat-up old Toyota truck when he saw the commotion on the street. He opened his door and he hollered, “Hey, you need a ride?” I had no idea who this man was, but just the presence of an adult made the blood lust dissipate in the group, and I walked to the truck and got in. He didn’t say a word that I can recall. I told him where I lived, tears quietly streaming down my face. He was kind enough not to ask me about it.
    My home life began to turn sour as well. Larry, it turned out, was controlling, rageful, and mean. It started with small outbursts, where his anger didn’t match the trigger—after doing chores one day I covered an unused portion of dog food with Saran Wrap and put it in the fridge so it would not go bad on the counter. He found me in my room and screamed that he would now have to throw everything away because I was so disgusting as to put animal food in the fridge with our own.
    Another time, a neighborhood friend and I were playing in the storm drains with some other kids, throwing rocks and yelling in the long tunnels to hear our echoes. I lost track of time and Larry came looking for me and heard us playing in the storm drain. He ordered me out like a drill sergeant, grabbed my wrist, and dragged me home. He was a quiet volcano during the walk to the house, but at dinner he exploded and let me have it. I was eating peas and they kept falling off my fork, which seemed to be driving him nuts. My aunt was chatting nervously, trying tokeep the peace as she felt the tension escalate, and to keep Larry calm. The veins began to bulge in his face like a rabid pit bull. “You make me sick! You are a fucking slut and you make me sick! You fucking whore! I bet you have been fucking all the boys you were playing with today!” My aunt just kept saying meekly, “Now, Larry, let’s stay calm, Larry.” I remember looking at her and thinking, It’s your job to be protecting me. What are you doing? It was then I realized she must have been in complete denial, or that she had her hands full protecting herself and she couldn’t protect anyone else. All I knew is that it was my job to keep the tension from spilling too badly onto my little cousin Catty. I already knew how to toe the line and be as small a target as possible, to just do my time.
    I had no money to get home, and I couldn’t sing or raise money easily in the suburb we lived in. I was stuck until my Alaskan dividend came through. Every Alaskan resident is paid a royalty from the oil the state sells, as long as you have been a resident for a year. I would have to stay in Hawaii half the school year while I waited for the check, and I often listened to music as an escape. I remember Kate Bush helping me to pass much of my time. I wrote to my mom about how miserable I was. She reminded me to hold the pink stone she had given me a few years earlier. It was a piece of smooth round rose quartz. She said she had one too, and to imagine an invisible silver thread that tied the two together. That tied us together. I would fall asleep at night with it clenched tightly in my hand.
    School life at least eased up a bit once all the local kids learned I could yodel. I dare say yodeling saved my life. Well, it saved me from a lot of fights, anyway. There was a very proud cultural heritage among the locals, and many of the kids performed