Subterranean Redux & Blackhawk Summer: A Memoir in Two Parts

By Stefanie August

Written after the untimely death of the authors mother, these two memoirs reference the years following that incident.
An uncanny and provocative look at becoming disabled at an early age and fighting one's way through.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stefanie August
• Release date: Jul 18, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463042687

Stefanie August

I have worked professionally in the arts and entertainment industry as a performer, artist manager, agent, creative consultant, writer, producer, and strategic planner since 1983. With my focus turning to indie publishing, in 2004 I co-operated Rapha Publishing, my first foray into operating a vanity press. We specialized in developing books and marketing strategies for authors of various genres. Moving on from Rapha in 2007, I offered my services in a similar vein under my own name via www.stefanieaugustwritingservices.webs.com producing projects for indie authors, students, and businesses. In 2012 I co-created TigerKat Publishing, Inc. which can be viewed at www.tigerkatpublishing.com To date we have produced four CD’s and seven books under the TigerKat imprint. 2018 brings me back to showcasing my work as a solo author and consultant under www.saugustcreative.com My education includes a Bachelor of Music cum laud from the University of Bridgeport, CT. and two years of Finance studies as part of a Master’s program at Golden Gate University in San Francisco.

Book preview

SUBTERRANEAN REDUX

little byrd books

2nd Edition 2019

www.saugustcreative.com

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For Lucy

I am subterranean, born under stars tremendously challenged - an implosion in the universe between unlikely souls - a jangle a given a regret - two lovers tumbling into each other for one night - the night which brings me to life. A memoir of my formative years would be a sad and scary read; my life between 1 and 5 dismal and not to be speaking of at length since there are worse cases than mine. Still when I speak about it in therapeutic settings it makes me cry until drowning in my own snot from a deviated septum brought on by an incident during those formative years that I would rather not review; surviving what most would deem abominable: how could all of that happen to one so young?

In those days before child welfare and foster parents were a norm, those days when families by all outward appearances were respectable well-groomed educated reliable normal, those days when what happened behind closed doors was only whispered about when the abuser was away for any length of time, when neighbors checked in on the wife / mother and children to ensure safety, in those days when the wife / mother and children were too afraid-tired-scared-brainwashed to leave their abuser: what the abominable part of the entire mess boiled down to was what will the neighbors think!

Still I have made it through the matrix of life, scarred yes, but no longer afraid to tell my story when the opportunity arises, for sharing is part of healing and heal we must we children born of rape who are then given to parents who turn the back of a hand to the cries of the little one who wets the bed instead of teaching them to toilet properly: making them sleep in the bathroom on the cold floor, naked and alone. I am not the only one who has suffered at this hand, but now you know: you have a hint at what the early part of my life was like.

In this snippet I am willing divulging bits and pieces carefully so the snot will not choke me if I begin to cry; I will not begin so much at the very beginning but at the time before I became who I am in this moment. There were those years between 6 and 13 that were awful too, though as one ages one adjusts to knowing that soon one will be free, either by death or by being cast out into life without a paddle, which is my case.

Here the story begins: changing some names as in a fictional account, for name changing is a good way to allow me to leave those who are still living a modicum of peace, yet honor the memory of those deceased who were kind and not so kind to me, since I am not writing this to be a tabloid sensation or movie of the week on one of those TV channels desperate for drama.

I was born in August, 1960 or thereabouts, to Lulu and Leon, my parents: the subject of much roil and tempest, since he being a drunkard, and she a chronic depressive had only one thing in common: they were both terrific writers. Working their craft in New York City as those Beats did then, seeking asylum from work of any kind, Leon had hooked into a group of friends that included Lulu. They were intellectuals attending parties where great literature-art-politics and societal issues were discussed, where the bongo was beaten, and the marijuana cigarette was shared. As the mind expanding consciousness of the 60’s began there - so did I.

Sometime during November 1959 there were two sisters at a party enjoying jazz and cocktails, one drunkard. The younger sister, wanted to experience love for the first time with an older suave sophisticated handsome drunkard, all of an hour is what it took, the rape that brought me into being. But wait! It was not his doing -- but his undoing that bore me: for she seduced him!

Being in the family way, they hid her burgeoning girth under thick sweaters until she could hide no longer, then kept her at home until she could not stand it; this free spirited flower who did not realize the magnitude or consequences of her actions. Once born, they took me away from her immediately and gave me to Lulu, preparing her broken heart months in advance for what she was to become: my mother by proxy since it was her Leon who had done the deed! The romantic engagement Lulu desired became a marriage done immediately without celebration and so we became a family - Lulu, Leon, and me.

I was fortunate, for I had three mothers: one Jasmin, one Lulu, and one Gram who insisted I be kept, victims all, and well beyond repair long before I arrived. Our tragedy: that we could not emotionally, physically or spiritually come to some loving arrangement as kin. Tolerating each other as sisters before and after the occurrence of my being born, Lulu and Jasmin were polar opposites, one given to reading and attempting to write great literature, the other to running wild. Gram in all of this was a complicit yet docile participant, hands full of dishes and dirty diapers, forced to labor for these two spoiled products of her own loins as they tolerated her with as much respect that they did for each other: full of harangues and punishment if Gram did not comply.

Jasmin’s greatest punishment was to promise me a home as a child and never supply it -- other things always seemed more important. As I have gotten older I have begun to detest her for the things she promised and did not follow through on as well as things she made me do to be close to her. I do not wish to detest her, yet how can one love a mother who births you then gives you away, promising to return to make a place for you, promising to keep you safe, then leave you with people who do not want you in the first place? Gram who advocated for my right to be, was punished for that by Lulu and Jasmin: oh it was a tangled, tangled web they wove, those subterranean daughters of an abuser. Jasmin in all of this complicit, not yet 17, sent to live with her grandparents, free in New York City to be that burgeoning sprite, with no sense of consequence or of what poor Lulu and Gram had to deal with (me). Dubbed the slut by her own father, that tramp by Lulu, all the while belittling her own mother (Gram) at every turn by running wild in Manhattan, while her grandparents slept with their earplugs in, for the bedroom in their apartment faced the street, and even after midnight the traffic rushed by in a whirl of honking horns, screaming sirens, and squealing tires. An easy deal for this errant child: Jasmin slept in the living room on a tiny couch next to the front door, had an extra key made when the grandparents were not looking, and bolted out of the building by taking the stairs down-down-down to the basement, where she then took the elevator back up-up-up to the first floor to exit