We probably spent about a thousand dollars on Dad’s card, but when we got home, he was spooky-nice to us. I couldn’t believe it. Mom barely spoke to him.
Over the next few months everything snapped back to the way it had been. Mom took classes, Dad came home only to sleep, and Becky and I stayed out of everybody’s way.
One evening in October, Mom put on the forty-five record of Barry Manilow singing, “Ready to Take a Chance Again” and exclaimed dreamily (a tone I’d never associated with her) that she’d met the perfect man: a man named Jim. That night she walked into the dining room and told Dad she wanted a divorce.
Amazing as it sounds, I don’t think he saw it coming. I’d never seen him speechless or without the impulse to hit or destroy something, but that’s what happened. He just sat there looking smaller than I’d ever seen him. I actually felt sorry for him for being sucker punched. I felt sucker punched too, even though I’d known it was coming.
“I’ll stay till Christmas,” he snapped, “for the sake of the kids.”
“You haven’t spent an entire Christmas day with us in over ten years.” Mom laughed.
“I’ll leave after New Year’s,” he grumbled, shoving his chair away from the table.
If Dad was genuinely stunned, I was genuinely panicked. I didn’t want Dad around either, but where were we going to get money? Who would take care of the house? And at the top of my list was who was Jim—and what if he turned out to be worse than Dad? It wasn’t as if Mom had a glowing track record for choosing gentle, caring partners.
Mom was so in love she wasn’t thinking about any of those things. If she and Jim had to live in a car, it would have been fine with her.
I had to figure out what I was going to do, and in order to do that, I had to know what Mom was up to—how serious she was with Jim. Turned out all I had to do was ask. She was so giddy, she blurted out everything.
Three times a week they were rendezvousing in a park outside of Dayton. They ate in small, out-of-the-way diners and stayed in Cincinnati hotels where they wouldn’t accidentally run into Dad or Jim’s wife (yes, he was still married).
“It’s the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me,” she said, packing a small suitcase. She was meeting him at the Hyatt Regency in Cincinnati that night.
“How are we going to get by?” I asked her.
She stopped packing and turned to me. “Better than ever, that’s how. With Jim, I finally have everything I ever wanted.”
“What about his family?” I asked.
“He’s filing for divorce too. His wife is insane—much like your father. Hey, they’d make a great pair.” She cracked herself up.
I walked up to my room and put A Chorus Line on my stereo. I took out my jewelry box with the plastic ballerina and sat down on the carpet with my back against my bed. I flipped open the lid. The ballerina popped up and twirled to the tinny music. I pulled out the money Mom had stolen for me from Dad’s truck. It didn’t look like enough.
I spread it out on the carpet and counted twenty-five dollars. I had used a lot of it through the years on trips to Kings Island amusement park or to buy albums. I should have thought ahead.
I gathered it up again, stuck it back into the box, and closed the lid.
Mom was getting out. But I couldn’t go anywhere.
It was freezing cold the December night Becky and I met Jim. Mom made sure to tell us that he was everything Dad wasn’t. He was educated, working on his PhD, and was the head of the continuing education program for women at Wright State. He was handsome and loved good music. I didn’t care about any of that. He was screwing up my already shitty life.
Mom, Becky, and I were going to see The Nutcracker at Wright State and then were meeting “the boyfriend” at Pizza Palace in Dayton.
Mom was happy, happy, happy. She had been in this mood since September, ignoring my inability to eat or sleep from the stress of not knowing what was going to happen.
All through The Nutcracker, my head was throbbing. Mom was going to be with Jim whether I liked him or not. She’d told me, “I spent my entire life taking care of kids, and now it’s my turn. You can damn well deal with it.” If he was an asshole, I was doomed. Becky had two years left at home, but I had three.
I couldn’t concentrate on the ballet, which was a good thing, because the dancers were leaping into the air and accidentally smacking into one another.
I looked over at Becky and whispered, “What in the hell is going on up there?”
“Chaos,” she whispered back. A ballerina’s leotard split open down the back, buttons scattering across the stage.
“Someone’s gonna trip and then it’s really going to get interesting,” I whispered. Mom glared a Stop humiliating me by talking look in our direction.
Afterward, we drove to Pizza Palace.
We got there before Jim and were sitting in a booth looking out toward Manning Road, where Mom kept pointing.
“He’ll come from that direction,” she said.
“You already said that,” I groaned. Mom smirked.
“He has the most gorgeous long fingers,” she chirped.
“You told us that, too,” I said.
“Are you planning on ruining the entire evening? Can’t you ever be happy for me? Oh, there he is.” She leaned on the bench and waved frantically out the window. A small man in an old green Chevy Nova waved back. He parked next to Mom’s Pontiac.
I watched him unfurl out of his car. He was actually quite tall, with thick whitish red hair. When he got closer, I could see his bushy red eyebrows and brown button eyes. He didn’t look like an asshole. He had a sweet smile and a long straight nose. Still, I decided to hate him.
“Hello,” Jim said to the table. Mom jumped up and gave him a kiss on the mouth. I’d never seen her kiss anyone, never Dad. Was she trying to make me vomit?
“Girls, this is Jim,” Mom said, grinning so wide I thought her cheeks would explode. She loved him all right. She was crazy about this guy. I was fucked.
“Is anybody hungry?” Jim asked.
“I’m starving,” Becky said. I just sat there.
“Let’s order something, shall we?” Jim scooted into the booth next to Mom. He could kiss my ass.
Earlier, Mom had tried to prepare Jim for our meeting by telling him that Becky was shy and I was outgoing. But Becky and I were such nervous wrecks that she couldn’t stop talking and I said nothing. Jim reversed our names throughout the entire meal. What a loser.
I left the restaurant hoping he would fall into a sinkhole, never to be seen again, especially when Mom left Becky and me sitting in her freezing car while she stood by Jim’s Nova kissing him and laughing like a teenager. I was a teenager; I was supposed to be doing that.
I missed the old mom, the one who sat around reading books and riding down country roads looking for hawks circling overhead. At least I knew who she was.
Christmas came in a blur. Dad began moving his stuff to a yellow A-frame house he’d bought at a place called Lake Hiawatha. It was a gated community eighteen miles away with a giant wooden totem pole erected by the front gate and oversize oars hanging above the entrance. I couldn’t picture Dad living in a relaxed lake community, but that’s where he ended up.
On Christmas night our house was dark except for one light in the kitchen and the Christmas tree lights in the living room.
Mom was with Jim in Dayton, Becky was on a date with her big lug of a boyfriend, Paul Stanley, JoAnn was with her old high school pals, and Jamie was drinking with our cousin Paul.
I was lying on the carpet staring at the tree when I noticed a small unopened package shoved clear underneath. The tag read “Monica” in Mom’s slanted elegant handwriting. I knew that inside that box was something important, since it was such a coincidence: a gift left behind just for me, to find at the exact moment I was feeling so lonely and worried.
I unwrapped it slowly, preparing myself for the monumental revelation it held. I opened the lid
and pulled out a fountain pen with WRIGHT STATE printed down the side of it. I walked into the kitchen and threw it in the trash.
The next morning Dad came home to pack his clothes.
“Your mother’s a slut,” he told me. “She’s been seeing this man for years.”
“Pot calling the kettle black, Dad,” I said. He threw a lamp against the wall. I jumped.
“She’s a liar,” he continued, “and you’re just like her. The whole bunch of you are crazier than hell. Squirrelly bunch of moochers.”
I turned on him. “I saw you in the car with Carol Young.”
“You’re full of shit.”
“I saw you. She was sitting right beside you.” I was starting to scream.
“You’re so pathetic, all you have time to do is make up lies.”
“You caused all this!” I was yelling. I couldn’t control myself anymore. All the fury and hate came out at once. “You’re the reason everything fell apart!”
“You’d better watch yourself. You’re lucky to have a roof over your head. You don’t even deserve to be living in my house. I could kick your ass out on the street today. You think I owe you something? I don’t owe you shit.” Dad laughed and turned to walk out of the room.
“I DON’T CARE WHAT HAPPENS TO ME! I DON’T CARE IF I’M OUT ON THE STREET! I DIDN’T ASK TO BE HERE!” I screamed.
Dad stopped and without turning around said, “You shouldn’t be here. You were a mistake.”
I clenched my hands into two tight fists, lifted them over my head, and slammed them between his shoulder blades with all the strength my arms, my fury, and my hopelessness could muster.
He swung around with his fist in the air. I closed my eyes, waiting for the impact that would have felt exactly right, but there wasn’t any. When I opened my eyes, his face was about three inches from mine.
“If you EVER hit me again, you won’t live one second longer. Do you understand? I will snap your neck like a toothpick,” he said. “You don’t believe me?” He put one hand around my neck. “Try me.”
Vomit came up in my throat, but I held it in.
Dad was out by New Year’s. I stayed out of his sight until all of his things were finally gone. It hadn’t occurred to me, until he’d said it, that he could kick me out of the house. I wasn’t going to tempt fate by exploding at him again.
Saturday morning Mom was in the kitchen putting glasses into a cardboard box.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I was able to rent a small apartment at Wright State in graduate student housing,” she said. “I can go there between classes and study.” She was now working on her master’s degree and had changed her major to American history. Now that she had Jim, she wouldn’t need elementary education.
“You rented an apartment?” I asked.
“To study in,” she said, gathering a couple of plates.
“Are you ever going to sleep there?” I asked.
“If there’s a snowstorm or something, I might have to sleep there,” she said.
I watched her looking under the stove for a small skillet and saucepan. I was trying to ward off the dread that had seized me. Tears were stinging my eyes again.
“I hope you don’t stay there,” I said.
“Can’t you be happy for me?” She turned on me, the skillet in her hand. “Why is everything about you? Guess what? I’ve done you my whole life. This is about me. Do you know how difficult it is to even get one of these apartments?”
“No,” I said.
“There’s a waiting list. So I’m lucky to have it.” She slammed the skillet down into another box. When she turned around, I was on my way up to my room.
I told Becky that night in the bathroom as she was putting makeup on for a date with Paul, “Mom’s rented an apartment in Dayton.”
“So?” Becky kept brushing on mascara.
“So, do you think she’s going to sleep there?” I asked.
“I have no idea,” Becky said. I sat on the side of the tub. I couldn’t tell if Becky was surprised about the apartment or not.
“She took some dishes and pans up there,” I said.
“Who cares?” Becky zipped up her makeup bag. “Who cares what she does?” She grabbed the bag and stomped out of the bathroom. I closed the door with my foot and stayed seated on the side of the tub with my head in my hands.
On Monday, I wasn’t ready when the bus pulled up, so I had to drive to school with Becky.
“I’m not driving you every day,” she said.
“I know,” I said, secretly happy to be sitting in the car with her.
I was a sophomore in high school and she was a junior, which meant we saw each other in the halls more often. Becky was less pleased about that than I was.
With Mom jumping ship, I signed up for every extracurricular activity I could find. Anything to be with a lot of people and take my mind off our empty house. Again, my sense of humor helped me make friends. The problem was finding a ride home after speech practice. Mr. Selman offered to drive me, but he was already standing way too close to me when he spoke. It was best to steer clear of being in a car with him. Sometimes I went home with Julie and spent the night.
Becky had her group of friends and I had mine. We didn’t talk at school and we didn’t socialize outside of school.
Mom and Jim began staying at their new Dayton apartment, coming home on the weekends. I adopted Mom’s attitude, deciding to be happy for her. I even began giving Jim a chance. He seemed nice enough, and apparently he wasn’t going anywhere. Better to be a part of them than to fight it.
At school one morning in March I was called into the counselor’s office.
“How are you?” Mrs. McCormick asked, leaning in. She looked exactly like the Charlie-in-the-box from Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer: round red nose, squinty eyes, and hair pulled up in a curlicue on top of her round head.
“Fine,” I said, forcing a smile.
“You look awfully thin, Monica,” she said. “Are you getting enough to eat?”
“Yes,” I said. For once Mrs. McCormick was right; I wasn’t eating much. There weren’t meals at my house. I was five-foot-nine and weighed 102 pounds. What was she getting at?
“How’s your mom?” she asked. She wanted to know if Mom was living in Dayton.
“Fine.” I smiled. Did she think I’d admit that my family was in shambles and that I was so frightened it was difficult to get a piece of toast to stay down? Mrs. McCormick was a notorious gossip. Any information she squeezed out of students ended up all over town, and there was no way I was giving her a kernel of dirt on me.
“Is there anything you’d like to talk about in regards to your home life?” she asked.
Yes, I wanted to say, my dad moved out and hates us, Mom moved out and doesn’t care about anything except her new boyfriend, I don’t have enough money to live on, and there isn’t enough food in the refrigerator to put a meal together.
I shook my head. “Not that I can think of.” She stared at me. I shrugged my shoulders and got up to leave.
“I know you’re going through your parents’ divorce right now,” she said to my back, “so if you need anything, you just come to Mrs. McCormick.” I turned to see her very best smile.
She was right about one thing—I did need a caring, responsible adult around. If I could have cried on the shoulder of someone I trusted, I never would have stopped. Where were all the adults? They must not have known, and I was too embarrassed to ask for help. Mr. Selman would have been all too happy to lend me his shoulder, but that would have been a monumental mistake. I was lost.
Granda was always loving. She brought over covered dishes once in a while, but she was also fiercely protective of Mom. When JoAnn asked her why Mom was being so neglectful, Granda scolded, “You have the best mother in the world.” When JoAnn chose to differ, Granda said, “I will never love you like I used to since you turned against your mom.” Granda would not be on our side.
I
smiled back at Mrs. McCormick and said, “I definitely will.”
“By the way, is your mom’s boyfriend actually living with you?” She couldn’t help it; it just popped out of her.
Jim was living with us on the weekends, and I’d heard them together in the shower. It was inappropriate, but I didn’t want anyone to know. I was furious that the gossip circuit had picked it up as something to snicker about. Slowly I swung back around and leaned across her desk.
“They’re not really living together; they’re just fucking,” I said.
“Anything else?”
Mrs. McCormick looked positively clobbered. Her face was pale and the sides of her mouth turned down.
“Okay, then,” I said, opening the door to leave. My hands were shaking. I’d never talked to an adult like that.
I walked back toward Selman’s class, but the principal, Mr. Martin, grabbed my arm before I could open the door to the classroom. Everyone inside was looking at us through the square glass window of the door.
Mr. Martin and I were good friends, but this wasn’t going to be good.
“Monica, did you just curse at Mrs. McCormick?” he asked. She must have recovered enough to run to his office.
“Yes,” I said, wishing he hadn’t seen me in this particular light.
“She’s very upset and would like an apology.” He looked tired and mad.
My eyebrows flew up. “An apology? She asked me personal and insulting questions about Mom and Dad and she wants an apology?”
“You can’t curse at faculty, Monica. I was surprised you’d do something like that.”
He got me there. I was always living clean around Mr. Martin. He didn’t know I’d been cussing my whole life, because I would never have cursed in front of him. I adored Mr. Martin, and he was right, I shouldn’t have said “fucking” to Mrs. McCormick. I was mad at myself for losing control.
“Okay, I’ll apologize after school,” I said.
Driving With Dead People Page 13