As I wrap up the story of Dennis Steed, in its third act, the circumstances seem of pertinent interest. At the top of Yucca Valley, at the head of Indian Canyon, above U.S. Route 62, the wind howls constantly, a low hum of of cooling power. The single floor, red clay tile roofed, house, is surrounded by a wall and is accessed through an iron gate. I love this low trust architecture in the Southwest. There is a cooling tub on the patio to the north. To the west is a sandy yard home to six trees, including a fig. A covered patio of concrete supports two picnic tables and a heavy bag. Upon the picnic table next to the grill, before this kitchen window where I stand and write, suns a lizard of unknown make. Each morning he has been there catching the eastern rays of the rising sun that slide under the patio roof. I suspect this lizard is our extraterrestrial agent of account, he who reports on us to his evil master and that council of dark angels at his bleak heck and thrall.

Bunny the adorable pitbull cavorts here on occasion, when she is not curled in repose. In the living room to the north, on the other side of the wall of domestic division between this kitchen and dining room and the living room, strums and picks southpaw Dennis, on his grandfather’s orthodox guitar. The lizard listens and approves.

The dinning room is heaped with books around the brick wood stove platform, the long oak table piled with fighting and training sticks, a staff, and head gear and gloves.

…

Homeschooling with Janice Byrd

She was never really a teacher. She just sat me in front of a screen and expected me to do it on my own. In this program I did I was alone and still not to good at this stuff. She would get mad as hell at me if it was not correctly done. But wouldn’t even help me try and figure anything out. I tried to figure it out and research on my own and she’d get mad at that—and it was absolute bullshit. The class was horrible, not teaching me anything. That went on for two to three years and I quit, was done with her version of schooling and started teaching myself. At about tenth grade, four years in, I was pretty much just done and she made it seem like I was dropping out of school. The big conundrum for her was she took me out of my original school and put me in her own online school.

So, if I was given something on the school site, I kind of just half-assed that and went onto history sites and history channels and read actual documents instead of their stuff. They taught me the same Roman course three years in a row. I started learning about vikings and Norse mythology on my own. I’m going to get my GED and getting a better job soon, actually living my life. My Dad was not home to help me, and the stuff that follows happened at the same time as my home schooling.

…

Alien Incarceration

My Mom always said to me that she was always incarcerated as a kid. For starters this dude, him and his two friends, killed some kids and went to prison. He wrote a book in prison about him not doing it and she bought their books and skyped with the main dude from prison, gave him money even, a lot. It was fucked up; she was acting more like a serial killer, loved the documentaries about serial killers, she was into the most fucked up stuff, not leading her on a good path. And then it got even weirder. She went on like a week trip out in Arizona with Steven Greer out in the wilderness and they got to do this weird shit, like guessing what is inside of a box, and it was a crystal sphere.

This is where she loses it; During Covid when she was locked up; this is where she gets into all of her research. I didn’t know about it because I was locked up.

We went to a store and bought some hobby clay. I was already in trouble. We were messing around with it: I get this tiny ball and she gets this big ass ball and makes a dragon. It turns out that her wedding ring was right next to the clay and she accuses me of steeling her ring. I sat in the living room while she ransacked and destroyed my room. I come back, I have nothing in it and have the door slammed behind me and had nothing in there, nothing, but holes in the wall. For the next six months she comes back into the room twice to three times a day and asks me what I knew and I told her, which was nothing.

I had my own bathroom connected to the room, it was a big house. She had an outside lock on the door. I had a window, a desk, mattress and bathroom. They would come in and give me food. My Dad felt terrible. He would come in and talk to me and cry and say he was so sorry and didn’t know what to do. For the entire six months he searched for that ring, dug through dog shit, never found it. He is the only reason I’m not insane. I got like bad anger issues and realize I act crazy and stop immediately, I know that I’m lashing out and not going to be like her even though I was so fucked up for having to deal with her. She was very angry, very violent, very sad, always projecting, saying nasty things.

Some things she used to say, “A drop-out fucking loser, failed the sixth grade, you’re a fucking loser.” “Failure,” she would say, very angry sad personal things. She also beat the shit out of me, but that is fine. She used this rhinestone belt with buckles and beat my knuckles while my hand was on the table. She had this baton she hit me across the back with, choked me with my own shirt once, grabbed the back of the shirt and choked me and held me up.

She would have these insane outbreaks and threaten to kill herself, kill my Dad, all this outrageous shit. Never able to defend ourselves, we let her do what she wanted. So we had to lock the guns up in the safe.

I was let out in February about my birthday, about to turn 14 years old, got my bike and a few books, that’s it. This is where I meet my best friend. I was friends with him in 5th Grade and he saw me at a bus stop and he said, “Is that you, Dennis?”

That’s the only reason I have some friends, before him I was stuck at the house all day with no friends.

This is about the time that Mom went to the trailer and stayed in that thing for three days, did not come to the house for water, bathroom, nothing, and she comes out a different person. When she came out of that trailer she sounded like a different person, went from a normal woman laugh to an evil, witch cackle.

“Woe is me, I have endured eternal suffering,” was one of the very first things she said to us. She proceeds to tell us that aliens came down and talked to her and that she forgives me for what I did, “stealing my ring and throwing it away.” Yet how are you going to be this eternal suffering forgiver and not be able to give up on the ring, which I did not steal and she talks about it almost everyday of my life. That can show you how different people can be.

After she came out of that camper I did not know who she was. After that it was when I really connected, with my Dad, it was just me and my Dad and I could talk to him. Before he had been away so much with work. Now he was helping me emotionally grow, talking about all of the things she says to us about us and that we are there for each other and that he was still taking care of her even though she always gave him the nastiest hard time. I kind of thank my Mom for me being able to get closer to my Dad. If I didn’t know my father I would be a miserable bastard.

When I was about 15 I started coming out here and getting grounded and she did her eternal suffering and gave me my stuff back. After that she was even more alone and she has to take care of that big property. She was gone for a month straight in India and I took care of the property—everything was fine. But when we go away for a week a chicken dies, plants die.

We were in Idaho visiting our family for a week, came home to ten dead chickens and half the plants are dead, but claims that she does so much—deluded. She also has delusions of grandeur, the perfect human being, that she endured eternal suffering and has evolved more than other humans, is smarter and thinks differently—yeah you do think differently, because you’re missing something, a dumb woman. She might be school smart, but has no common sense. Like imagine you and me are eating dinner at the table and she looks at me like that [dead eyes]! Creepy, right. “Can I not stare?” she says. “Well, it looks like you are about to murder me.” If you ask her a question she will stare at you for 20 seconds before she answers you. That’s no healthy.

Sure she has dementia and sees aliens and they come down and talk to you. I think the aliens thing is unhealthy for her. I think that there are aliens out there, but her obsession over it and astral projection, and evolution of the human mind, its not good or her.

One day I snapped and said, “I don’t want to hear this, can you please stop,” and she says she has forgiven me for stealing the ring and goes on about she is the Eternal Forgiver and she says it was the best thing that ever happened to her, me getting locked up—by her—losing her ring and talking to aliens.

I told her that she had zero remorse and must not be my mother and she says she did nothing wrong.

She was kind of dabbling in serial killers. She was always a crazy ϲunt in Colorado. But moving to LA and then Covid, seemed to drive her fucking insane.

I think Ozzy just died, my second favorite musician.

If Dad gets a job somewhat random we will move there. If he doesn’t we can move to Idaho someplace cheep. Because all the money basically goes to my Mom. He promised her. He is not even married at this point, just has an adult child he’s taking care of who has a spending problem. She spent over 500K on a mobile APP. That is why Dad drives a Prius, 500K on the Game of Thrones game! And I only have one pair of pants, this pair right here, I’ve worn for two years. She spent 200 bucks on this meal [shows a plated dish picture on his phone], did not take a bite.