Water Project

The Water Project

an

Autobiography

The effects of near death in children

through personal experience

by

Leigh Scott

published by Leigh Scott

edited by Marie Lacey

Copywright 2016 Leigh Scott

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Confinement

Chapter 2: Outside

Chapter 3: Attraction

Chapter 4: Experimentation

Chapter 5: Unconditional

Chapter 6: Conformity

Chapter 7: Refinement

Chapter 8: Misfit

Chapter 9: Failure

Chapter 10: Solitude

Introduction Disclaimer

I decided that I needed to find some clarity and sift through all of my memory, recollection of my journey thus far. I have been hesitant to do this previously because of personal issues, family and the effect and affect upon those relationships. I am not putting this forth as a declaration of exact truths, nor as an exaggeration of events. Living life as I have there has been too much diluting of the senses along the way, too much alcohol and drug use to claim anything more than this being what I can recall from my experiences up to now. This is from my perspective as an Artist and is in my opinion. Names and places have been changed to preserve the privacy of everyone.

Chapter 1 Confinement

My earliest memory of my family’s first home was on Ware Street in Schenectady, New York, an old two-story wooden framed home with a large porch. I was alone, sitting in my crib intensely focusing on the well-worn maple trim posts, I amused myself by lobbing my head in a semi-circle from my left shoulder to right, back and forth until I was so dizzy, that when I stopped, my eyes would bobble back and forth as if my head was still moving. Being confined and left with no stimulus, I learned quickly how to become self-sufficient. A plan of action to escape became a part of my daily regimen. I was typically pulled up like a carrot by its base, a large female. I observed her responding to calls of Mom from the other little voices of children. She was an attractive thin but shapely Irish woman with brownish auburn hair, broad nose and fair complected. She kept her hair short and fingernails painted. She would relocate me to the downstairs family room and plop me into a play pen with octagon shaped netting that entangled my fingers as I would pull up on the sides. Other siblings filtered in and out of my sight and sound but was left largely without any contact or intimacy for most of my day to day existence. I was number five with four sisters, all within a year or two of each other. I was petite, small and graceful was my mother’s description, with sparse dark red hair, given formula as a means of comfort. I remember seeing my mother ironing in the same room while the television was blaring news events, vaguely recalling something being reported about John F. Kennedy. On another similar type of day into evening in this pen of confinement, I remember seeing Gilligan’s Island, hearing the theme song as the room darkened from the bright day. These types of days were dull, with incessant boredom blending into each other for what seemed to be forever.

Comfort that I recall came from a bottle of milk. A highchair strategically placed in the kitchen was a great perch for observations. I liked the kitchen, full of aromas, food being prepared by that large female who changed my soggy pants and fed me bottles. It was dark outside when I remember having my first taste of a pancake. It was slightly burnt and had a spongey texture, completely unlike my bottle. On another occasion, I was given fried eggs, chopped on a milk glass plate that had a large trimmed eyelet edge. I would fit my fingers into the eyelet holes and spin the plate, eggs whirling yellow and white in circles. I was quiet and watchful, always left on my own as I observed my surroundings through the comings and goings of others, mostly children but on occasion, a different larger, louder adult. On very rare occasions and always very late, an adult male would pass by. I remember the scent and brashness, displaying an avoidance of my curiosity. This was my first memory of my father.

I began to use things in my pen to climb out, escaping to the drafty wood floors, rugs and dust bunnies, following my mother from room to room in her day to day housekeeping activities. Her voice was always soothing to me, listening to her talking on the telephone or visiting with a next door neighbor. The stairs were ominous and I was taught by my siblings, especially Angie, how to rump a bump bum down them. Angie was light haired and spoke sweetly to me.

One of these days, a bit of excitement came into the family room. My mother had just arrived home and was carrying a little baby. I remember being curious and toddling up to her with my younger sister in her arms. My mother had a huge shiny black bag with her and a scarf on her head as she opened the blanket gingerly so I could meet my new sibling, Debra. She smelled like soap and formula and looked red skinned and tiny. She was born premature and was always smaller than everyone else. Her birth announcement in the newspaper exclaimed the arrival of the family’s sixth child as finally a baby boy erroneously. What was that, to sell papers in a largely Catholic community?

I was becoming more ambulatory, able to interact outside the pen, I could interact with the other children. Angie would treat me like her baby, emulating Mom. However, on one such occasion, I attempted to reciprocate the gesture, attempting to feed Angie by making use of a metal pale and shovel. Lacking the dexterity, I apparently moved too quickly, hitting Angie in the chin, creating an emergency situation. She required stitches and was not willing to play with me from that point forward.

I began to tag along with the troupe of four older siblings. Keeping up was always a challenge. The oldest, Julie, six years my senior with dishwater blonde hair, blue eyes and glasses. She would create hardships and obstacles to alleviate herself of being burdened with having to include me in her play. She would tell me fantastic stories about monsters in the attic crawl space and inside closets to hinder my inclusion. I was persistent. This was much more interesting than confinement and could not be swayed. She would attempt to bribe me which was easily accomplished with jelly beans and other penny candy. She was very accomplished at being musical. She could take an empty box of candy and blow into it, making a one note flute. I was amazed by her. The more she tried to extradite herself, the more I tracked her every move and was now able to go outside on limited outings with my siblings.

I loved being outdoors. The air was fantastic. The scent of the grass and the horse chestnuts, the evergreen trees and the hydrangeas was hypnotic. I would try to catch a squirrel, even chase after a neighbor’s cat but could not move fast enough. At one point, I managed to grab a small cat that had stopped by some shrubbery. Unfortunately, it was urinating and I ended up with cat urine on my hand. I decided I did not like cats. The smell was memorable.

The troupe of siblings was often given a little bit of change and permission to walk a block away to a neighborhood store at the corner of Caster Avenue and Green Street without having to cross any streets. Mom would have Julie pick up a loaf of bread or some such things. Noticing the world around me, I always thought that the color green was not included in enough things. I would notice the use of a lot of primary colors like on the packaging for bread, Red, Blue and Yellow but excluding green. Why would anyone exclude green? The little store sold bubble soap, pick-up jacks and penny candy. I learned from observing my sisters that if you told the adult behind the counter that it was your birthday, you would be the recipient of a huge cigar-like pretzel. I made the end of my pretzel so soggy, sucking on the end of it all day.

I enjoyed going to the store and was able to traverse on a weathered red tricycle that had been Julie’s first mode of transportation, now as my own. Negotiating the sidewalk down the hill seated, but I would have to pull my bike up the way home or abandon it all together if I was in a hurry, trying to keep up with everyone.

My Mother would go next door and visit our neighbor who also had a house full of children. I remember my mother taking our neighbor’s trash out for them. The smelly odor of the metal cans filled with beer bottles, the flies at my eye level. The neighbor had a lot of issues requiring my mother to check in on her. Between the two households, the children wandered everywhere all of the time.

Saturday mornings were the best. The television broadcasted cartoons and silly kid shows like the Monkey’s. I could have a bowl full of frosted flakes cereal and put as much sugar on it as I wanted, scrapping my spoon on the bottom of my bowl like sand at the bottom of the lake while bouncing around the family room, up and down the stairs till the pint sized minions would all be turned outside to play, dressed and sugared up, ready to find a new adventure.

On Sundays, we would pile into a huge station wagon. The push buttons on the radio would entertain me sitting on the hump of the floorboard in the front seat. Church was unnervingly long. Having to wear vails was not for me. I did not want anything in my hair or on my head. I did good to keep clothes on at all. I did not like anything confining in any way.

Sometimes, Mom would stop and pick up a green and white polka-dotted box filled with glaze donuts. These were wonderful and what a way to start your day! Upon our return back to the house, she would cook bacon and eggs, toast for Father. He always made honking sounds with his large nose and a cloth handkerchief, cleared his throat, made coughing noises and primped. He never passed a mirror without viewing himself. He limited his exposure to the hordes of children. Neither of the adults seemed to have much interest or direct contact with the miniatures. I remember him vividly, on one quick pass through the family room while the little ones were about, Debbie now roaming the floors, crawling about, the father guy stopped and picked up a plastic effigy of a Catholic Saint from a side table, uncovering a hidden milk-dud stash, retrieving one out of the hollow inside of the statue and smelling it with a scowl and placing the piece of candy back on the table beside the statue. He was not comfortable around the troupe at all.

Late one evening, Father came home with another man accompanying him. This other man smelled of tobacco, was heavy set with a loud, deep hoarse voice and a cigar carrying on about pigeon stew. Both men smelled like the neighbor’s beer trash. They were working together on a project of some kind. I vaguely remember talk about a porch being built and knew that Father had some business related to wood, Scott Lumber. I believe this gruff man he invited over was a builder who befriended my father to exploit his business connection. His name was Nicks. He was my godfather.

On occasion, I would climb the stairs and go even further to the attic. There was a huge wood desk that was my father’s. There was all sorts of little desk accessories that I was not supposed to touch, rubber stamps, invoice books, carbon paper that made for interesting play time. I quickly discovered that my father did not share the sentiment nor like little children messing up his stuff which made me even more attracted to what was supposed to be off limits in his view. My mother did not restrict our limits and she was the ruler of the roost.

Our mother’s parents, Grandma and Grandpa Cawley were a short drive to Ward Street. We would pile into the car and invade Grandma’s house. She was a petite, little Irish woman who was fussy and liked things kept just so. She kept plastic covers on her sofa which she referred to as a teat. We were an unrestrained horde of invading miniatures who were ready to play with Grandpa! He was always full of fun and mischief. He was a short, balding, grey haired, soft spoken man in his sixties with heavy framed glasses who loved his tobacco. He had a cloth bag that if you picked it up, it began to laugh. He always had some form of tobacco on hand, either Redman in his cheek, a pipe full or a cigar. All of us loved Grandpa. He would let us blow out the matches when he lit his pipe. He would take the time to play with us. He would lift me up in the hallway and let me hit the chimes for the doorbell, fooling Grandma into thinking someone was at the door.

Grandpa took just me for a walk on one sunny day to a little corner grocery store. He bought the pistachios that were died red and showed me how to crack them opened. They were salty and turned my fingers red. He also bought me a little cup of napoleon flavored ice cream. I had never had ice cream before. He helped me take the pull tab lid off and handed me a little wooden spoon. It was frozen solid so he had to take the spoon and dig into for me, breaking it into small chunks. I was so cold and so wonderful. He made me feel so special, he was the best guy I have ever known to this day!

My mom and my Grandma never really seemed to be very close. My Grandma was very traditional. She would decorate her house for every holiday including Saint Patrick’s Day. Grandpa would buy her Easter Lilies for Easter. She always had chocolate candy bars and peanut butter cups for us. She cooked very typically Irish foods that my mother shunned. On one of our dinner visits Grandma cooked corned beef and cabbage. I remember the blue and white china and the lace table clothes with the Duncan Phyfe furniture. There was always some potatoes included in whatever she served. If it was a very special occasion, several different kinds of meat dishes were served.

My mother had two older brothers and one younger brother, Jim, Joe and Jack. Jack was Grandma’s baby and still lived at home. He was an electrician by trade and had been in the Army, like my Grandpa who was retired Army. Jack had a small dog named Sparkly. She was a white and brown Jack Russel looking terrier. Jack was a quiet, chain smoking unfiltered cigarettes in his late twenties. He was very thin, lanky, had light brown wavy hair, pale blue eyes with thick framed glasses and a very pronounced Adam’s apple. He seemed so lonely, solitary, and always tinkered with his cars. He loved fast cars. One of his cars was big red Ford Fairlane. He always had several vehicles. One of my favorite cars he owned was a silver Stingray. He taught my mother to drive and the pair use to race cars in their earlier years. I heard bits and pieces of a story about my mother flipping a car over during her first driving lesson, wheels spinning in the air as they walked away from the wreck. The two seemed very close. Jack would take the troupe on outings. On one such occasion, he took us to see Lady and the Tramp. He fell asleep and snored through the whole movie. He often napped on the couch. I think he had a night life that us little ones were not made aware of. On another outing, he had taken just me with him to a car show, muscle cars everywhere and I got to ride on his shoulders. He was such a cool guy and he loved Snoopy and collected neat things. He had a sword collection and a beer stein collection from all over the world. My mother believed I was just like her baby brother. He always took care of whatever my Grandma needed done, being a dutiful son. He would cut the grass and I would follow along behind him. He would hang the Christmas lights on the house and I would help hold the bulbs. Anything I could do to hang out with Jack was alright by me. He was a lot more interesting than a bunch of sisters. He would play board games with my Mom and her other brother, Uncle Joe on the back porch were there was always a cooler filled with iced down cherry birch sodas and beer. They would play monopoly and scrabble late into the evening. During one of these porch game nights, Jack had something waiting for me in a bucket. Grandma was not happy about it and it had to stay out on the back porch. I remember him being so excited to show it to me and how it smelled. I looked inside the large yellow bucket and saw a huge toad. He laughed so loud at me response and surprise. My mother was accustom to his little surprises. When she was young, he put a mouse in her playhouse to scare her. He loved to play pranks. He included me on a secret Santa purchase of Christmas bicycles for my older sisters late one night after we saw a Christmas parade with floats.

As the year seemed to last so long, the weather turned colder and the days became noticeably shorter. We were having to wear long pants and long sleeves, jackets and coats. The leaves were turning colors and the smell of firewood and chestnuts fills my memory. The earliest Christmas I can recall was a family room filled with wrapping paper littering the floor as my sisters wriggled about and dug into their gifts, opening each and screaming with delight. My father briefly intermingled, having opened a gift, a velvet maroon shirt that he tried on and then disappeared from the room. One of my sisters had gotten some pixie sticks and shared that tasty sugar with me, showing me how to open them and enjoy them first thing in the morning, the gritty sweet taste.

My mother’s family was always intertwined with ours. The second oldest was Joe. He was a Jesuit Priest. We would see him in full black on Sundays. This was not the case with her oldest brother, Jim who was not around much. He was very tall, thin, balding with pointy eyebrows with a hooked nose and smoked continuously. He lived in Rochester, New York. He did very well working for Eastman Kodak and was married to an opportunistic woman of means, Marion with yellow blond hair, piled up high. They had a daughter, Katie who we referred to as Katie from Rochester. On very rare occasions, Jim would bring Katie down to Grandma and Grandpas’ when we were not around so we really never knew very much about them. We would get hand-me-downs from her, her discards. She was around the same age as my oldest sister, Julie.

We would send our camera film to him and he would send back pictures and more film for Mom to take pictures. My mom was never very good with a camera. You could always tell it was a picture she took by the misshaped way she framed the shot and that it typically included a blur of a thumb in one of the corners. I remember Mom always taking pictures with an instamatic camera but there were never any baby pictures of myself.

One of the earliest picture of me was taken by a professional photographer. I must have been three or four. Mom had decided to get each of us all dressed up and have a picture taken, one at a time. She had her hair all done up and all six of us little girls in shiny shoes and little dresses. She went first, posing as instructed by the man on a tall stool. The camera was on a tripod and had a huge flashbulb. Next was Julie, then Angie, the third was Jamie followed by Jeanie. I watched, observing that after each sibling had posed for the camera, they were given a piece of candy. The photographer pointed to me to follow as the others had been instructed. I wanted my piece of candy up front and would not willingly cooperate. The gentleman was not accustom to having to negotiate with a toddler. Being the one in charge, he had me get up on the chair but he could not make me smile. I did not want to smile till I had my piece of candy. He persisted and took a few shots with me grimacing. He continued to object to my behavior and told me that I would get the candy afterward because having the candy in my mouth would not make a good picture. So I told him that I would not put it in my mouth until he had taken the picture and promised just to hold in in my hand until the job was done. He finally conceded and took my picture with the candy in hand and a smile on my face. Lastly, the baby, Debbie with wavy ringlets bright red and pale white skin was plopped up in the chair without any issue as I enjoyed my well-earned spoils.

Just because the adults were bigger, I wasn’t intimidated. I found the adults to be more interesting to observe, besides, they often had cookies and or other sweets and could be persuaded to share. I began to seek out adults and converse with them about all types of subject matter. They seemed to respond favorably to my curiosity which made for a mutual exchange of companionship and snacking.

My parents’ relationship to Mr. Nicks coincided with our family’s move from the Ware Street home to a brand new, much larger home. As added incentive, Mr. Nicks built this home and named the street it was on after me, Leigh Lane. This house was huge with an even bigger staircase that was split with a landing at the entry foyer. Upstairs was the formal living room, dining room, kitchen with a large breakfast nook. There was a dishwasher and lot of cabinets, one of which that had a corner lazy susan. This became my favorite hiding place for hide and seek. I could climb into the cabinet and spin around to the back of the lazy susan and not be detected at all, hiding behind pots and pans. The upstairs hallway had a full tub and shower combination bathroom, the master bedroom with another bathroom and two other bedrooms, one of which was my own that I shared with Debbie. It faced west with a view of the mountains off in the distance. Downstairs was the laundry room, a paneled family room with a built-in bar, a bath and another bedroom that Julie and Angie shared. We had acquired a silver cat named Misty that hung out in their front bedroom window, away from the noise and struggle with us little ones. There was also a huge storage closet underneath the stairs. This closet was always filled the most interesting stuff, toys and things that were like finding hidden treasures with the discovery. There was a sliding glass door that went out to a covered breezeway to the large, two car garage that had a rooftop patio.

Being that my mother’s parents were so close to us, they also moved to a new home that Mr. Nicks built on the next block, Maggie Drive. I could walk across the street, down the sidewalk to their house, just catty corner, one house away. I could stick my feet into the front of my hand-me-down shoes and scoot them on my feet all the way there. Candy was never too far away. Their home was split level as well, smaller but comfortable. Upstairs, Grandma had her formal living room furniture and plastic clear seat covered sofa and chairs that crunched when you sat down. We were not allowed in the living room or dining room unless it was a very special occasion. The kitchen had a nook and a back deck porch overlooking the backyard. The patio below had the metal swinging settee and chairs from their old houses covered porch. Grandpa planted tomatoes and zinnias on the west side of the house along the side of the garage. In the garage, they kept a second refrigerator that was for beer and sodas. Downstairs was the family room. In the center of the family room, there was a pool table that was off limits to little people. It was white with black trim and red felt and took up most of the room. Along the back corner was a full length bar with Jack’s beer stein and sword collection and Joe Cool interspersed and fully displayed. Jack even bought Grandma a little pendulum clock. It wasn’t a grandfather clock like she wanted but she was happy her baby thought of her. Grandpa had filled the room with his house plants. Most of which were very old, begonias and rubber trees. He even had a Venus fly trap that we would feed flies to.

Sometime during the transition between one house to the other, my Uncle Jack’s dog Sparky had gotten run over. He was terribly saddened by this. He ended up getting a new dog, a small Boston bull terrier. She was black and white and Penny quickly became Grandma’s nemesis. The dog was completely spoiled by Jack and would poop on Grandma’s rug underneath the pool table. This would aggravate her so much and to add further injury to the insult, the dog would drag its bottom along the rug, making skid marks. Grandma would get so infuriated by this little creature, she would chase it around the den with a spray bottle of Lysol disinfectant. Spraying it in the air at the dog. The dog would often have gas and the chase was on, around and under the pool table they would go.

Grandma was always entertaining. She and Grandpa had their routine. When she needed a break, she would go to the beauty parlor, usually a neighbor’s basement and have her hair tinted a pale shade of lilac or blue. She would often make trips to Walgreens to purchase skeins of yarn for her next crochet project, a chevron blanket or shawl. He would get his fill of her fussiness and disappear into his gardening or some sort of building project, being a carpenter by trade. As the quintessential Englishman, he loved his gardening and tobacco. He had special names for my baby sister and me, being the babies of the family. He called me Tiger and her Flame. He was very exacting on his construction projects and kept a pocket protector full of sharpened pencils and pens and a pocket knife handy as needed. He loved all things Hawaiian. He had a lamp that had a base of a hula girl, grass skirt and all. He had spent time in Oahu during his years in the Army. He had various things such as candlesticks made out of gun shells, pastel framed drawings of the flowers, hibiscus and bird of paradise. He stayed in Hawaii separated from Grandma for quite a while years prior. He always took time to notice us. He had a fish tank and if one of us kids were crying, he would pick you up and offer your tears to his fish in the fish tank. One of his more cynical remarks was to tell us to go play out on the highway if we were getting too rambunctious. He would feed us candy, wind us up and send us back home.

During the summer, having to maintain two houses, Grandpa went back and forth quite a bit for a while. I vaguely remember something happening to the old house and there was a fire. I don’t know if they had tenants or what happened but the other house was no longer an issue.

The Leigh Lane house was great. The yard was sloped from the very back of the lot being the highest. We would take the moving boxes and roll down the hill in them. Mom was kept busy, painting the inside, making her new home just right. We would have to stay outside all day. Being so fair, I remember being so sunburned that I had huge blisters on my arms. To keep us out of her hair, Mom would give us a quarter a piece and let us walk to the local playground and another one of those neighborhood grocery stores, Nealsons’ for penny candy. Nealsons’ was a house converted into retail establishment. Upon entering through a rusty screen door advertising Sunbeam Bread, the store smelled of detergent, pizza and sugary candy. One of our regular purchases was for a bar of soap that had a tiny toy in the center of it. There were shelves with boxes of candy lined up with the penny candy on the bottom shelf, within my reach. On the counter by the clicking and bell ringing sounds of a register was a white box with deep-dish pizza cut into squares for sale. Pizza became a top pursuit for me from then on.

On one such trip to Nealsons’, I discovered my love for caramel. Sugar babies were really good but Milk Duds were better. Unfortunately, I did not have enough money to buy the Milk Duds but I pilfered them anyways. I stole them. No one suspected a thing or at least they did not indicate that they did. Once at home with all of my sisters, I began to consume my ill-gotten gains much to the chagrin of my tattling sibling Jeanie. She screamed that I did not have enough money for those! How did I get those! Mom, Leigh has Milk Dud’s! I was prosecuted, found guilty and had to return the milk duds. I was so humiliated and now I hated Jeanie. She was a little more than two years older than me, very dark complected and brunette with big brown eyes. She loved to play with dolls and do very girly things. She shared a bedroom with Jamie who was two years or so older that she was. Jamie had dark Auburn, thick wavy hair and wore dark framed glasses and green eyes. She and Grandpa shared the same birthday. Their birthday was the first I remember being celebrated in the new home with a chocolate frosted cake, colorful plastic train on top, while sitting on the redwood furniture in the covered breezeway.

Jamie was very bossy and played with a little girl named Susie. They would go back and forth between the two houses to play so Jeanie was always odd man out. Jeanie would include Debbie in her doll play. Debbie had to wear glasses and had a terrible temper but she was always willing to do whatever the older sibling wanted, just to be included. She and I were always lumped together as the babies.

I did not find either of them to be any fun. Any chance I had to get back at Jeanie, I exploited. On one of our outside only days, I found some daddy long legs and discovered that Jeanie was terrified of the little creepies. I scooped up one and threw it on her. She screamed like she was on fire. I felt vindicated and sought other ways to torment her as often as I could. We were very comfortable in our new home, running all over the neighborhood, settling in, Mom decided we needed a dog to kind of look after us in our adventures.

During an early morning Mom was in the backyard with our new dog, Rex. Rex was a beautiful German Shepherd that my mom was house breaking. She had taken him out to take care of his morning business without a leash. The South side of the yard backed up to a busy street and a brown delivery truck was speeding up the hill, hitting and killing my mother’s dog in front of her. I saw her in the yard in tears holding the dog. I wanted to go to her but she yelled back for me not to come out. I had never seen her so heart broken.

With so many little Indians about, there was always some mischief involved. Debbie and I like to pretend we were self-sufficient. We would take my little glass tea set into the downstairs bathroom. We would have high tea with water I fished out of the toilet. I would then close the toilet lid and it became our table, just the right height. This worked well because we were too short to reach the sink or at least without great difficulty.

Late on another such day while we were downstairs watching The Munster’s, Jamie and Jeanie formed an alliance. Jamie and Jeanie had a mutual appreciation for baby aspirin. Jamie acquired a full bottle. She and Jeanie went into the downstairs bathroom and behind closed doors, divvied up the bottle for pill popping consumption. Being the one in charge, Jamie would have two for her, one for Jeanie, giving herself the majority of the bottle. Jeanie ended up alerting Mom to the fact that she was not feeling too good becoming sick to her stomach and had eaten several baby aspirin. Mom rushed Jeanie off to the hospital to have her stomach pumped. A few days later, Jamie confessed to Mom what she had done and had gone undetected and without a hospital visit.

Sometimes our play was out of bounds. On one of these afternoons, Jeanie had a little neighborhood girl over and they were playing statues in the front yard. Statues was taking who was next and spinning them by their arm and letting go. When you let go, the one that was spun around is supposed to fall and freeze like a statue. Apparently the little girl flung Jeanie a little too hard and Jeanie went flying, landed wrong, breaking her collar bone.

My opportunistic