JUNEBUG - by Cherie Doyen

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June’s story begins on a tiny farm in a sleepy little railroad town, buried in the depths of rural America. Don’t look too closely at the sagging porches and the chipping paint. Through June’s eyes, it’s a place where nothing is as it seems, a place full of secrets. June lives with people who claim to be her family; she’s not sure. Pieces are missing. Words and actions are out of sync. They cause so much pain and suffering. Can she be related to these people who say they are her family? These people…

Transcript of JUNEBUG - by Cherie Doyen

  • Junes story begins on a tiny farm in a sleepy little railroad town, buried in

    the depths of rural America. Dont look too closely at the sagging porches

    and the chipping paint. Through Junes eyes, its a place where nothing is

    as it seems, a place full of secrets. June lives with people who claim to be

    her family; shes not sure. Pieces are missing. Words and actions are out of

    sync. They cause so much pain and suffering. Can she be related to these

    people who say they are her family? These people they make her do

    things, things that arent talked about. Lying back very still, very quiet,

    June begins to feel the pull of the water, the twisting, the turning, fi nding

    herself in a puddle in the center of a meadow fi lled with wildfl owers of

    all colors. On the path up ahead, she senses movement. Within seconds, a

    magnifi cent black panther stands before her. Tigua becomes her guardian

    and protector and helps her discover the power she has available. The power

    buried deep inside. Tigua gives her the strength to take back her body, take

    back her life. In this other world, she discovers the real meaning of family

    and the responsibility it holds. The Great Seer gives her the perspective of

    a warrior, equipping her with the wisdom and courage to fi ght the battle

    that threatens to consume her life. With the help of her guides, she learns

    what love is, and armed with that love she throws open the doors to all of

    their secrets, freeing those who came before and those who come after.

    Thousands of children across the nation wake up each morning to face battles waged within their own homes and fall asleep each night clinging to the hope of a better tomorrow. Ive spent years putting my life into words. I am June, and this is my story.

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  • Junebug

    Cherie Doyen

    Artwork by emily Doyen

    based on a true story

  • Copyright 2013 Cherie Doyen.

    All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher

    except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

    Interior Graphics/Art Credit: Emily Doyen

    Balboa Press books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

    Balboa PressA Division of Hay House

    1663 Liberty DriveBloomington, IN 47403

    www.balboapress.com1-(877) 407-4847

    Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily ref lect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

    The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

    Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

    Certain stock imagery Thinkstock.

    ISBN: 978-1-4525-7203-1 (sc)ISBN: 978-1-4525-7205-5 (hc)ISBN: 978-1-4525-7204-8 (e)

    Library of Congress Control Number: 2013906415

    Printed in the United States of America.

    Balboa Press rev. date: 05/08/2013

  • I want to send out a wave of thanks to my husband,

    Steve, and all of those who stood by me through this

    process. Special thanks to my girls, Danielle and emily

    and their Dad, Rob, who wove their expertise together

    f lawlessly culminating in Junebug, a labor of love. From

    the limb of our tree...

  • 1Tree of family and relatives

    My story begins in this sleepy little railroad town. It sits off

    the interstate in the foot hills. With no through traffic,

    the town hasnt had much inf lux of new people or new

    thoughts in decades. This is a town of secrets. From the outside,

    a cute little town that hasnt been touched much by change. The

    landscape is filled with rolling hills and streams. Theres a creek, big

    enough to swim in, running right through town. Dont look too

    closely at the chipping paint and sagging porches. Everyone is related

    to everyone, a place no one ever leaves. A place where nothing is as

    it seems.

    I live on a tiny little farm outside of town in a ramshackle house.

    Ive lived there most of my life, except for a short stint in the city in

    the very beginning. The house is a constant work in progress. The

    family consists of me, two younger brothers and my parentsor so

    they say. Im not sure. Can I really be related to these people? Is it really

    their blood running through my veins? The younger of my two brothers,

    Sam, seems to be on the outside too. He doesnt seem like the rest. I

  • 2Cherie Doyen

    keep him very close at all times, for safety. I dont want them to be

    able to get to him, his mind. The middle boy, Kenny, is meaner than

    a snake. Theyve gotten to him already.

    Our small piece of property is surrounded by a larger farm owned

    by Mr. Stanford. He has about a hundred acres. The old man has

    taken a shine to me and my love for animals. He has a beautiful

    Irish setter named Joe. I love the way his shiny red coat feels sliding

    through my fingers. Seeing the old man out in the pasture, tall, lean,

    walking stick in one hand, his faithful companion on the other,

    makes me smile from the inside. Im off and running. I cover the

    distance between us as fast as my legs will carry me. If Im lucky, we

    get to spend the day in the garden. He loves to teach me as we go

    along, telling me about each plant and what it needs to be healthy and

    strong. This is my favorite time, maybe because he feels Im worth

    teaching. Whatever the day turns into, chores are always more fun

    when theyre someone elses.

    Mr. Stanford lets me graze my horse Ginger in his pasture. The

    grounds are mine to roam whenever I want, my playground. The

    beautiful hills and cliffs are my refuge. By the time I reach the creek,

    the grime from home is washed away and forgotten. For the moment

    freedom and laughter replace reality.

  • 3Celtic symbol for mother.... Mother is her nurturing state, maiden in her

    innocence, crone in her wise experience

    grandma, my angel. When Im at Grandmas, all of Dads

    stupid rules go right out the window. Im not allowed to

    be held or rocked. Dont want some spoiled brat. When Im

    with Grandma I get all the love and touching I want. She holds me

    and rocks me, singing me her funny little songs. How much is that

    doggie in the window? She loves me and she loves me right. When Im

    at Grandmas Im the favorite. She can barely turn around without

    stepping on me. I always want to be on her lap; women sitting around

    the table gabbing, and there I am looking up longingly.

    Go play and leave Grandma alone for a while, now, Mom

    tells me.

    No, no shes all right, Grandma says, Come here, sweet

    Junebug.

    I climb up and cuddle in her arms.

    The connection most people have with their mother, thats the

    connection I have with Grandma. Grandma and Mom all rolled into

    one. The problem is, I dont live here. I only get her sometimes. She

    isnt my Mom. My support and safety is once removed.

  • 4Cherie Doyen

    I have one memory of when I was quite small. Im left in the

    driveway, in an old Rambler station wagon, while Mom goes in to

    talk to Grandma. Im told to wait. I have on a little yellow dress and

    white hat; my feet dont reach the edge of the seat. Im in the front

    seat, cant see out and afraid to move. After a few minutes, I hear

    the squeak of the old screen door and the swing of the gate. Mom

    opens the back door of the old car and takes a little suitcase from

    the back seat. She then crosses around the front, opens the passenger

    door, scoops me up and carts me inside. I wasnt sad being dropped

    off there. I got a little vacation. Only, after a few days of being there,

    the anxiety would start, as if they were calling me.

    Why would you want to go back there? my brain yells. Its safe here

    people dont hurt you, and youre the favorite. In my gut there is the

    feeling that I have to get back home, to make sure things are okay.

    The battle inside increases, until Im asking to go home. Maybe its

    the feeling of being dropped off there to get me out of the house?

    That became Moms way of fighting for me after a whiledropping

    me off at Grandmas. The separation gives us all a rest for a second.

    Even though I love being here, it is a weird feeling to know why.

  • 5Chinese symbol for father

    My first memory of my Dad is far from a pleasant one.

    The three of us lived in the city for a short while at the

    beginning of my life. Times were hard on m