Welcome to The Dance Series... By Kristy Cato...
The Dance Series is an eight book series of the Lgbt world but has reached everyone from Straight to Gay, Trans, Bi, to Women and Men.
Its a journey of eight lives that have their own story to tell....
So come on a journey of love as no one has ever told...
EVERYTHING THAT'S GOOD COMES IN
PINK & BLACK
EVERYTHING THAT'S GOOD COMES IN
PINK & BLACK
By age six, Carrie is used to disappointment. With a mother who is either drunk or unavailable, Carrie grows up not knowing the joy of true love. But when she turns sixteen and meets Kim, a confident new student who has just moved to her town from Arizona, Carrie realizes that she is attracted to her. As she begins a relationship with Kim, she is suddenly immersed in the unknown. Carrie is in love.Carrie is on a coming-of-age journey and has no idea where she is headed. As she grapples with trust issues and learns what it is like to be different from her friends and family, she knows she must confide in Kim and tell her she is in love with her. But when she sees Kim talking to a boy in the hallway at school, Carrie feels afraid that Kim does not feel the same way. Even after Kim and Carrie profess their love for each other, Carrie still feels insecure and wonders if Kim is truly ready to embrace commitment.The Dance: My First Love is an engaging, contemporary romance that follows two girls as they let their hearts lead and experience all the emotions that accompany never-ending love
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My First Love
NO ON PROP 8
My First Love
NO ON PROP 8
My First Love
I dedicate this book
To my first love, my one and only true love,
THANK YOU FOR THE DANCE
AND FOR THE WONDERFUL YEARS.
YOU TAUGHT ME ALOT, I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU.
When I was growing up there were no books out there like this to tell everyone it’s okay to love who you love. So I write what’s in my heart hoping people will like it and, more important, relate to it. I wanted to write about love that is never expressed this way, in a loving way.
Please join me in these stories.
On My Own
Imagine being six years old standing on a stage, looking out toward a room full of parents gathered to celebrate the first of what will likely be just one of many achievements, a child’s first graduation. Kindergarten in California is an exciting time, not just for kids who get to wear white robes and receive little awards to signify they’re moving on to the first grade, but also for parents, some of whom bring flowers as they arrive and some who come with neatly wrapped gifts of celebration in honor of this special day. It can also be a sad day, especially for one little girl who woke up on this special day knowing that before she left for school, her mother wasn’t home nor was she anywhere to be found. That was me, Carrie.
Looking back now, I wonder how I was able to get myself up, make myself a bowl of cereal, take a shower, brush my sandy brown shoulder-length hair, and head off to school to my graduation. I was young and very used to taking care of myself. My mother was either drunk or hardly ever around. As most young girls are, I was a sweet girl who needed to be loved, and I continually looked for it from my mother but couldn’t seem to ever get it. It became easy to be quiet and reserved, because I didn’t have much interaction with other kids. I was petite, and as I was often told, I had the prettiest walnut-brown eyes and always kept a smile on my face. I can recall hanging on to hope inside that one day my own mother would see this in me, and that one day she would love me. I did well in school, kept my room clean, and stayed out of her way, as a way of trying to make her happy. I loved my mother and this was the only way I knew how to show her that. Most important, I wanted to spend time with her.
I recall getting to school that day. Tables were being set up in the room for everyone attending. On top of each table were names of the kids’ parents. All of us kids were asked to stand in line and give our family’s names and the number of chairs we would need for our family members. My teacher noticed that I was not in line. When she finished with all the other kids, she walked over to me and said that I needed to give her my family count and their names so my table could be set up. I looked up at my blond teacher, whose shoes were slightly worn and whose dress I remember having static cling at the bottom. She stood only about five feet two inches tall.
“My mom is my only family member and she can’t make it,” I said.
She was kind to me and said, “Well then, you can sit with the teachers until it’s time to go on stage.”
I felt nervous, but I said, “Okay, thank you.”
While all the teachers gave their speeches and served us punch and cookies, I looked around the room at all the kids having a good time with their families, and wished it were me. After graduation was over, I walked home. I was a latch-key kid, so when I’d get home, I would let myself in.
I arrived home to find that my mom still wasn’t home. I don’t even think she came home the night before. She did that a lot, which meant most of the time I was on my own. I sat down to watch TV, hoping my mom would be home soon to make some dinner, but by 8 p.m. when she still wasn’t home, I decided to make myself a peanut butter sandwich. I had to scrape the mold off of the bread because mom hadn’t gone food shopping in a while. There was nothing to eat, really, other then cereal, a jar with barely any peanut butter left in it, and a little bit of milk, which I was saving for my cereal in the morning.
Growing up I didn’t really have a bedtime because Mom was hardly ever home. When she was, she would just send me to bed when one of her boyfriends was with her, or when she just didn’t want to be bothered with me. Although my mom would go through boyfriends what seemed like every month, they were always the center of her attention.
That night, I fell asleep watching TV. It was around 1:30 a.m. when my mom came home drunk, yelling at me to turn off the TV and go to bed. Sometimes I stayed in the living room with the TV on because I was afraid to be in the house by myself, which happened often.
The next morning mom was home. I tried to show her my graduation certificate, but she barely glanced at it before putting it down on the table. There was no "I am proud of you" and no "I am sorry I couldn’t make it.” Later on that day, I found my graduation certificate under a glass with water rings on it, as if she had been using it for a coaster. I took it, wiped it dry, and put it away.
My mom was a big drinker, which made her look a lot older then she actually was. I didn’t know how old my mother was at that time, but I remember her looking really old to me. She could be pretty scary at times, with her dark black hair and bags under what I assumed used to be her pretty blue eyes. She usually looked so worn out and beaten up—scary, like I said—which for a little girl is not what you want to see. I spent plenty of time playing in my room by myself and did lots of reading, because I wasn’t allowed to have friends over. I wished so badly that I had a brother or sister. I felt really lonely playing on my own all of the time.
By the time I was eight, it became clear to me that my mother hated me, yet I didn’t know why. I remember her saying mean things to condemn me and she would put me down all of the time. She told me I was a waste of time and space. I just tried to stay out of her way. I knew to never ask for anything because she always said she didn’t have any money. When I was ten, one of the girls in my class passed out invitations to her eleventh birthday party. I couldn’t believe I was invited to my first birthday party. I had never been to one, let alone had one of my own. I was so excited when I got home! I showed my mother the invitation and asked if I could go. She said, “Sure.” I remember running to my bedroom to find my best dress, though I knew I didn’t have many. The dress I picked out was a pretty pink one that was bought at the thrift shop, like all the rest of my clothes. I asked my mom if we could go out and buy a present.
“If you have to bring something to the party, then you can’t go,” she said.
I told her I didn’t have to bring anything, just so I could go. I knew I wanted to bring something, so instead of buying a gift, I got some paper and a handful of markers and made what I thought was a really pretty card. I was so proud of it I couldn’t wait until Saturday!
On Friday, I double-checked with my mom to make sure she was still going to take me to the party; she assured me that she was. Although the party wasn’t until 3 p.m., on Saturday morning I woke up really early full of excitement about going to the party. I went into the kitchen to make myself a bowl of cereal and noticed Mom was not home. I ate, I watched cartoons, and waited for time to pass, hoping for my mother to come home. Around 1:30 p.m. I got tired of waiting, so I decided I would get dressed for the party. I grabbed my card off my dresser and sat on the couch, waiting patiently for my mother to come home. At 2:30 p.m. I started to get nervous. I had a sick feeling and somehow knew she wasn’t coming home.
Needless to say, I woke up on the couch later that night around 9:30 p.m. I got up off the couch, went into my room, took off my dress, and got in bed and cried myself to sleep. I was no longer afraid to sleep in the house alone from that night on, because I realized no one would ever hurt me as much as my mom did. After that night, I never asked her for anything ever again.
A New World
By the time I was fifteen, I was really good at staying out of my mother’s way and doing my own thing, which meant keeping to myself. Sometimes I got to come home and sometimes I didn’t, it usually depended on if she needed me to stay away because of her boyfriends being at our house. Since I had no friends, I learned to be creative about where I would stay for the night. Aside from that, all I ever did was homework and listen to music in my room on the clock radio. I also read a lot. I promised myself that when I had kids I would spend lots of time with them and give them all the love I always wanted but never got from my own mom. I knew I wanted at least two kids. Being an only child was very lonely and I didn’t ever want them to feel the loneliness that I did growing up. I knew the kind of mom I wanted to be. I wanted to give them all the birthday parties I never got to have and I wanted every Christmas we would someday share together to be the best that any kid would ever dream of having. I planned to take them to all the places my mother never took me, like the zoo and the circus. I know it seems like I should have gone to some of these places on school field trips, but it cost money to go with your class and my mom never had any. Well, at least that’s what she told me.
I was always that kid who had to stay behind in the library while my class was away. One time, I was left behind and felt so happy to find a book that told all about the circus. I was having so much fun reading this book, even as I saw all of my classmates arriving back from the field trip that day with popcorn, balloons, and hats. I wasn’t sure what to think. I didn’t feel sorry for myself, though, because sadly, I didn’t know any different. I thought this was the way it was supposed to be and that I could do all of these things with my kids when I grew up. I learned to focus on my future as a way of distracting myself from the life I was in. I knew I was going to get a great job so that one day, I would have the money to take my kids places and see everything we wanted together, for the first time. It gave me hope, something to look forward to.
When I got to high school, I wanted to make friends. I remember thinking, though, what was the point if I could never have them over? I did manage to meet a few boys, but I never really had a boyfriend. As with teenage girls do, I kissed a few boys, but nothing serious ever came of it. I just really wasn’t into it. My plan was to get a scholarship to college, live in the dorms, and make lots of friends. All I had to do was keep my grades up and get through the next two years. Then I would be free to go and be happy.
As a young girl growing up I was confused about who I was because I never had anyone to teach me that all people were not the same. When you are different from your friends and family, it can get lonely and hopeless. By writing my stories, I want to give hope. By age six, Carrie is used to disappointment. With a mother who is either drunk or unavailable, Carrie grew up not knowing the joy of true love. But by the time she turned sixteen and met Kim, a confident new student who had just moved to her town from Arizona, Carrie realized that she was attracted to her. As the relationship developed between her and Kim, Carrie suddenly found herself immersed in the unknown. Carrie is in love. Carrie is on a coming-of-age journey and has no idea where she is headed. As she grapples with trust issues and learns what it is like to be different from her friends and family, she knows she must confide in Kim and tell her she is in love with her. But when she sees Kim talking to a boy in the hallway at school, Carrie feels afraid that Kim does not feel the same way. Even after Kim and Carrie profess their love for each other, Carrie still feels insecure and wonders if Kim is truly ready to embrace commitment. The Dance: My First Love is an engaging, contemporary romance that follows two girls as they let their hearts lead and experience all the emotions that accompany never-ending love.