Miles from Ordinary

by Carol Lynch Williams

  “I’ve never been this worried for her.” Aaron said nothing. “I’ve always found her.”

  I didn’t know how to explain what sat in my gut. A fear that something awful, something awful, had happened.

  All of the things Momma had done didn’t amount to the way I felt. Somehow the bits and pieces were easier to clean up after. But this—how was I to clean up after something I couldn’t even see to fix?

  “I’ve always found her before,” I said again. “And before that, Aunt Linda was here.”

  It was then that Aaron took my hand. Just reached over and held my hand like it was something he did every day.

  “Lacey,” he said. “You got guts. You’ve done things here no one at school could even begin to take care of.”

  You do what you have to do. It was Momma’s voice in my head.

  You make it because you have to.

  You crawl through whatever crap is thrown at you.

  All my mother’s words of wisdom. Sitting there in my head.

  I didn’t want them a moment longer.

  But they’re here.

  So I’d get rid of them. I would.

  ’Cause truth be told, I wouldn’t want to do any more of this kind of stuff with her. Not any more of it.

  I wanted a mother who was happy, and an aunt who never left. I didn’t want to tend my momma’s self-inflicted wounds. Didn’t want to make all her meals and clean her clothes and stay up with her at night watching for someone who’d been dead more than a decade.

  Aaron called his mother after a while. Then he came back and sat down again. “She said she’d pick me up in a few minutes.” He gave a shrug, like maybe that’s how mothers were. “She doesn’t want me skateboarding home in the rain.”

  I nodded.

  “I told her to give me some time to wait for your aunt here.”

  He sat next to me at the kitchen table close enough that our forearms touched. We both looked to the back door, to the rain, the whole house waiting behind us, like it was alive. I felt his skin on mine, felt the house breathing, felt worry and confusion and a little bit of happiness pushing in on the grief.

  “Once,” I said, the memory fresh in my mind with the rain, “when Aunt Linda was still here, we found Momma outside during a storm like this.”

  Aaron said nothing, moved a little in his seat. Looked me in the face.

  I gestured with my head. “She was out there, standing, arms raised to the sky.”

  I could see it all in my head again, the way she looked like an old picture, black and white in the darkness and downpour. I left out the part that Momma was naked. That it was winter and near to freezing.

  “Her hair was plastered to her face and her eyes were like shadowed circles in her head. When Aunt Linda tried to get her in the house, she fought.”

  The fight hadn’t lasted long, Momma was too weak to do much. Too cold. But slippery like a just-caught fish. Aunt Linda dragged her into the kitchen where I waited with a housecoat for Momma and towels for them both.

  Aunt Linda had Momma sit where I sat now. I knelt at Momma’s feet and dried off her legs where dead leaves and dirt had splattered. Her big toe was bleeding, the nail almost torn off.

  “Let me make you some tea,” Aunt Linda had said, and she put water in the kettle to boil.

  Momma never said a thing. Just shivered with the cold. Her arms and legs so thin. Her hair dripping. Her eyes a blank. And when the water boiled and the kettle whistled, Momma looked down at me. She put her hands on my head.

  Right at that moment, when I looked into her face, I saw my old mother, from a long time ago. It was like I looked at her real self, trapped somewhere behind her eyes.

  “Lacey,” she said, her hands on my cheeks, gentle near my ears. “Lacey, I love you.”

  The memory made my insides turn around. Made tears come. But I wasn’t about to let them fall.

  “What happened then?” Aaron said.

  I shrugged. I couldn’t go on. “She was fine,” I said at last.

  But looking back I knew it wasn’t true. Things hadn’t been fine in this house for a long, long time. Except for that one moment when my real momma looked out at me.

  “Are you sure it’s okay for me to go?” Aaron said after lightning lit the sky so that I could see his face clearly. “Are you sure you don’t want me to hang around a little longer? You know, till your aunt gets here?”

  I shook my head no. Thinking of Momma afraid and in the dark and wet made me want to bawl my face off. And if I was going to cry, I wanted to do it alone.

  Aaron stood, and I did, too. We walked through the house to the front door. Don’t cry, I thought. Whatever you do, don’t cry. Not now.

  “Everything’s going to be okay,” I said. I could hear my voice going tight and high, like I was a balloon full of helium. “As soon as Aunt Linda pulls in the driveway, I’ll be fine. She’ll know what to do.” She’ll know where Momma’s gone. “And she should be here any second now, right? Probably before your momma even.”

  Aaron must not have been able to tell how close I was to bawling. He smiled. We stood together in the hall, shoulders touching, our skin damp from the humidity, watching out the front door for his momma or my aunt. With me ignoring as many tears as the rain had cried during this storm.

  You did it! You lost her!

  I didn’t! I didn’t.

  I remembered Aunt Linda, her voice smooth after a time when Momma had cried over something she saw on the news. First she’d tucked Momma into bed. And then to me she said, “She’ll be fine, Lacey. If we keep her on her meds, she’ll be fine.”

  But that hadn’t happened.

  Momma refused anything that she had to swallow whole. She said the government put something in the medicine to record people’s thoughts.

  That memory seemed to suck out all my courage now. I wanted to just fall on the floor in a clump. And when Aunt Linda got home, I planned on letting her take care of everything.

  Now I was ready for Aaron to go. I just felt too sad. I needed crying time before my aunt got home.

  Cars drove past, splashing water in waves from the puddles in the street. Everything was pure dark. I could see the power was off everywhere. No houses showed lights. The lightning was less harsh and further away.

  A car came up the road, driving slowly through the rain and puddles.

  “There she is,” Aaron said. “My mom.”

  “Oh, that’s good,” I said.

  I was struck with a deep jealousy seeing that car. In my whole life I couldn’t remember Momma ever coming and getting me from anywhere. No matter the weather. Or dropping me off anywhere either, for that matter. She used to go out of the house just to shop for food, before the money ran out. That’s why I’d thought a job at the Winn-Dixie would be a good thing. That’s why I had encouraged her to look for work there. I had thought, somehow, being around all that food would make her feel comfortable.

  Aaron and I stepped onto the front porch that was slick with rain. He picked up his skateboard as his mother pulled into our driveway. The headlights lit up the side of my house, made the dark seem even darker.

  “Thanks again,” I said.

  “Sure,” he said. Then all the sudden he was in my face and his lips were on the corner of my mouth, catching mostly my cheek. There just a second. Soft and warm.

  And me not even expecting it.

  I touched the place he’d kissed.

  “I’ll come over and we’ll do some skateboarding,” he said. Then he splashed through the soppy front yard. He waved again at the car, calling out, “You’re going to find her soon. I know it.” Then I watched him drive away until even the red of the taillights was gone for good.

  XII

  I stood on the front porch. Everything was so weird. Me calling Aunt Linda. Momma being gone so long. Aaron kissing me. And my tears. With Aaron gone, you’da thunk I could have cried enough to make a yard soppy myself.

  But no. I stood dry-eyed there in t
he front of my house. Darkness everywhere. Thunder sounding in the distance. The rain splashing in puddles. Worried about Momma, surprised at Aaron, waiting for Aunt Linda.

  A breeze ran through the yard. I heard the palm fronds scratching at the wind. And like that, a mist of warm rain, almost like a low cloud, fell from the black sky. I leaned against Granddaddy’s ancient Adirondack chair. It left a thin line of water on my thigh. From somewhere came the soft scent of roses.

  A car drove past, lights like eyeballs cutting into the darkness. When would Aunt Linda come?

  My whole body seemed to churn at the worries, my tummy dropping away from me with the thoughts, like when you take on the Zipper ride at the fair.

  Then that anger was back again, surprising me.

  If Momma hadn’t gone away, then this whole day would have been different. If Momma hadn’t left this would have been a promise fulfilled. Corny, but true.

  “If you hadn’t run off, I wouldn’t be standing outside. If…,” my mind started heading places I didn’t let it go, “… if you were different, this wouldn’t have happened. If you woulda gone for help.”

  I paused. Who was I to talk to Momma like this?

  Who are you?

  Stop! Don’t even think that!

  I knew who I was. Someone mad. Really bent out of shape.

  I deserved to speak my mind, even if it was to my own self.

  “If you were a real momma,” I said, clenching my fists, “you’d be taking care of me.”

  Aunt Linda wouldn’t have been forced to leave.

  Mr. Dewey would be singing at the library.

  I might have friends.

  Guilt and loneliness and confusion filled me. It seemed to crawl right up my lungs and into my mouth. Why should I have to feel any of these things? It wasn’t fair.

  “Don’t think this way,” I said.

  And then, “Yes, do.”

  I took in a deep breath.

  “Get it together, Lacey. Do what you have to.” I imagined Aunt Linda home. To stay. But she wasn’t here yet. I looked down the street again.

  Think straight.

  Right.

  Momma, I knew, was in trouble. Big trouble. I could see that when I looked at my world through Aaron’s eyes. All the food stored up in the bedroom. The closed windows. The running off. All that water. The mannequin. The words taped everywhere.

  And Mr. Dewey. Poor Mr. Dewey. These last things seemed weird even to me. I felt angry with Momma. Gypped.

  And there was the sorrow.

  I stood outside waiting for Aunt Linda a few more minutes.

  The rain became smaller, more innocent drops, but I still didn’t go inside. Gusts of wind pushed the mist at me, wetting my face, cooling me, almost calming me.

  “Everything,” I said to the dark night sky, “everything is going to be okay. I’m going to just forget it all. Like none of it has ever happened.”

  I started back into the house. The screen door opened with a squeak. Careful not to make too much noise, I let it close with a small wooden fump.

  Coming inside frightened me a little. Sure, I’d been plenty scared at home before. Momma and her weird self. The way she’d be sometimes at night when she’d keep me awake. Us lying in her bed together. Her arms around me tight from her fear. Her hot breath at the back of my neck.

  “Don’t close your eyes, Lacey. Don’t close them. If they’re always open the aliens can’t get you.”

  Somehow Momma had known whenever I drifted to sleep. She poked me awake. “They put things in your brain. Strips of metal. They torture you. But not if you stay alert. You can fight ’em off if you’re alert. I have. I’ve kept them away.”

  Now I checked out the dirty screen toward the night sky heavy with dark clouds. No aliens.

  Checked out the road. No Aunt Linda, either.

  My skin was damp and so were my clothes. I glanced at the clock. Only twenty-five minutes had passed since we called Aunt Linda.

  Thoughts of Momma and her talk kept coming.

  “Granddaddy didn’t want to die,” she would sometimes say when she couldn’t get out of bed for sadness’s sake. “Using the choke chain?—why that was purely accidental.”

  I would say, “Yes, Momma.”

  And she would say, “That I found him? He wanted that. ’Cause we’d been so close for so long. That’s why he visits me and no one else.”

  “Yes, Momma.”

  Standing there in the living room now, I squeezed my hands.

  “Aaron,” I whispered. Not so sure why. He seemed like the only normal thing I knew. And I wanted something, anything, normal. Anything. I let my hands relax and then closed my eyes. Rolled my head back, trying to ease the knots in my neck.

  I kept my eyes closed as long as I could, taking deep cleansing breaths, then let them open slow like.

  That’s when I saw him.

  At first I wasn’t sure I saw anything at all. So I blinked like people on TV do. You know, a bunch of times, trying to understand. Trying to clear my head.

  But no. There he was.

  Granddaddy.

  I drew in a breath so hard it hurt my lungs. Made my nose burn. From the back of the house, I could hear the thumping of the wind coming through the door. Could smell rain.

  I stared. All I could see was the paleness of his skin. The dark splotches where eyes had been. Him draped in white. He paused on the step, turned and looked right at me. Then floated up the stairs.

  I quit breathing. Not even a scream would come.

  All along he had been here.

  Momma hadn’t imagined Granddaddy.

  After a second, a noise came from upstairs. The click of a door opening. The sound of it shutting.

  I couldn’t walk. I tried to, but fell to one knee, hitting hard on the wooden floor.

  “Aunt Linda? Where are you? Come quick.” That’s what I tried to say. But only a moan escaped from me.

  Where to go? Where to go? Tears leaked down my cheeks. My nose turned snuffy. Far away thunder sounded. Still no lights.

  “He’s real. He’s here.”

  Back from the dead. In my head I heard Momma’s words. Heard her fighting with Aunt Linda that last evening.

  “I seen him. Daddy visits me. Almost every night. Sometimes when you’re at work. Sometimes when you’re sleeping in the next room.”

  “No he doesn’t, Angela. He doesn’t.”

  “I tell you, Linda,” Momma’s voice was a spray of words, “our daddy talks to me. Tells me things. And he’d talk to you too, if you gave him a chance.”

  I had peered out my door, listening to them fight. Crouched near the ground so they wouldn’t find me.

  “He’s told me the end’s coming.”

  “Angela.” Aunt Linda’s voice, so sad.

  “Told me that birds carry diseases. Not to eat chicken. Fish only.”

  “He’s…,” Aunt Linda’s voice was slow and tired, “… dead. You found him yourself in your bedroom, hanging in the closet.”

  “I remember that,” Momma said, her voice angry, the words sharp like razors. “I pulled him down. I tried to revive him. I called for help.”

  “Daddy,” Aunt Linda said, “is gone, Angela. It’s time for you to get help. Time for you to let him go.”

  There was a pause then and for a moment I had thought maybe they were done. That the fight was over. That I could go to bed. Not worry about them.

  Then Momma: “You are jealous, Linda. You want to see him again and you’re jealous that he visits me only.”

  “Oh Angela,” Aunt Linda had said. “Oh Angela.” She started crying. From my hiding place I watched her slump to the floor. Put her face in her hands.

  Now in the downstairs hallway, with my heart trying to get away from me, I realized my mother was right. Had been all along. Granddaddy was here. Warning Momma. Trying to keep us safe. Telling Momma the things to do.

  It was true.

  I had seen him myself.

  XIII


  When I could move, when I could breathe, I made my way into the living room and sat down. My head spun. I thought I might pass out. But I couldn’t let that happen.

  I needed to be awake if Granddaddy came back.

  The thought made me wanna puke. Talking to a dead man. It scared the crap outta me. But if anyone knew where Momma was, he did. Dead people know everything, right? And if she was … if she was dead herself, he’d know it.

  Please, I thought. Please don’t let her be dead.

  Tears came to my eyes again. If Momma was gone—really gone—I didn’t think I could bear it at all. I’d been so angry with her. Had wanted to get rid of her.

  I sat on the sofa that Momma and I had watched the news on. I remembered her arm, soft, around me. The way she cuddled me to her as she cried because of some world injustice. Me crying with her every once in a while because her sadness was contagious, like the flu.

  “Momma,” I whispered now. “Momma. Where are you?”

  I rested my head in my hands. Except for the ghost, I was alone.

  No Momma. No aunt. Not even Aaron.

  Just my dead grandfather. The thought made my skin buzz like the lightning was too close.

  I’m not sure when it came to me that I needed to go looking for him. Wrestled with the thought some. But at last, I knew it.

  Momma was lost. I had to find her. Aunt Linda, it seemed, wasn’t coming.

  But Granddaddy, as a ghost, must know everything. I’d seen him go up the stairs. And not come back down. Maybe he flew out the window or something. Or maybe he was still up there, waiting. Maybe he had a message. A message for me. From Momma, maybe.

  “That’s it,” I said. “That’s gotta be it.”

  The more I thought about it, the more I knew he was probably sitting on Momma’s bed, waiting. All I had to do was stand, walk up the stairs, open Momma’s bedroom door, and talk to him.

  “But there are no lights,” I said. “I’m not so sure I can meet a ghost with no lights burning. I don’t want to do this.” My hands shook.

  Of course, there was a flashlight. Momma had a store of them and batteries in the kitchen cupboard.

  “A test,” I said. Even though I whispered, my voice seemed loud in the house. “If I can make it into the kitchen alone, I can make it up the stairs.”