Content Warning: This chapter contains depictions of verbal family conflict, body shame, and an emotionally intense situation involving an altercation framed as a kidnapping attempt. While the tone remains humorous and absurd, the scenario may evoke stress for readers sensitive to chaotic family dynamics or childhood emotional neglect.

A Bitch of a Beach Vacation

We had gone to Virginia Beach.

I remember sitting in the motel room watching MTV. The video for Nine Inch Nails’ Perfect Drug had just come out—it was the world premiere that weekend, and it played several times a day.

There were six of us: Mom and Dad, my sister Jean, my brothers Sterling and Skyler, and of course, myself. It was almost normal. Almost.

There was this running joke that we were four only children. NJ was six years younger than me, Sterling was about six years younger than her, and Skyler about three years younger than him.

The motel was a few miles off the beach. We couldn’t afford to stay anywhere closer. Mom made sure we all knew that. It was Dad’s fault, she said—he spent all our money on booze, cigarettes, and lotto tickets.

I didn’t care. I just wanted to go swimming and watch MTV. Specifically, I wanted to see The Perfect Drug video again. I thought it was so cool when Trent Reznor rose out of that green bath of, presumably, absinthe.

Going to the beach, though, was a chore. Get ready. Sunscreen up. Bathing suit on. And, of course, the obligatory fat-kid embarrassed-about-my-body T-shirt to wear into the water.

Then I’d have to wait for everyone else to get ready. Then we’d pile into the station wagon and drive to the public beach entrance.

Of course, there wouldn’t be anywhere to park when we got there, and we’d spend another fifteen minutes or so driving in circles.

One of those trips, I guess Mom or Dad just got fed up and parked illegally. We parked in the Dairy Queen parking lot. It was for customers only.

When we came back from swimming, the tow truck driver had just started to strap our car onto the back of the truck.

Mom shoved the car keys into my hand.

“Run. Get into the car and lock the doors. Take your sister. Don’t unlock the doors until the tow truck is gone.”

With that, she pushed us both forward—and we took off running. I didn’t stop to think about it. Neither did NJ.

She started yelling that we were being kidnapped.

The tow truck driver pointed out we were parked illegally—that the Dairy Queen manager had called to have the car towed.

Mom wasn’t having it. She stuck with the kidnapping story.

Eventually, the tow truck driver gave up and called the cops.

It turned into a thing. The Dairy Queen manager came out. People in the parking lot were gawking. It was a whole scene.

The cops told the tow truck driver to leave.

The DQ manager gave us all free Blizzards.