by B S Steele
She wasn’t a prude, but she was still old-fashioned, and we’d never discussed penises, let alone baked one.
She handed me the cake and hugged all the girls, and then to all our surprise, she busted a dance move, laughing at herself.
“Wait! Wait, Mrs. Kane! Hold on Mama Kane. . . we’ve got a song to play for you!” One of the girls shouted, jumping up and flipping through the iPod that was connected to giant speakers.
To my horror, they turned it up as I recognized Lil’ Jon and the Eastside Boys rapping about windows and balls. All the girls shrieked with laughter and began to dance, grinding on each other and giggling, beer spilling on the floor.
I looked at my Mom and we both laughed as I poured a round from the keg for us.
“Let’s cut the cake! I yelled, jamming a plastic knife right into the scrotum of the chocolaty phallus.
“First piece goes to the bride!” Emma danced over to me, laughing as Hailey tossed a rubber ring at the plastic penis that was still strapped to her head.
“Hey, Emma,” I said in a serious voice.
“Huh?” She said, turning to look at me, obviously confused by my tone.
“Eat a dick, baby sister!” I shouted, shoving the cake into her face, as our Mom laughed and snapped a photo. She laughed so hard, she snorted some of the cake up her nostrils, which made her laugh even harder.
She turned her gaze towards the cake, my eyes widened, realizing she was about to get me back, I dove away from the cake just as she grabbed a handful, diving for the nearest face to smash it into.
Mom and I doubled over laughing, watching the girls fling cake and beer. We ducked out of the garage, closing the party behind us.
“She almost got me!” I gasped, gulping air in between giggles.
“What a crazy bunch of girls,” my Mom replied, shaking her head. “Well, at least they can sleep it off in the morning.”
“Yeah, I think I’ll follow you home in just a few minutes. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow. Emma’s to do list for the wedding is still really long,” I replied.
Mom hugged me, nodding and laughing again. “Okay honey, be safe.”
Chapter 28: Cassette Tapes and Tomatoes
The next morning, I woke up to the smell of coffee brewing as it wafted its strong scent up the stairs to my former bedroom where I’d taken up residence for the night. I groaned in pain, my back aching from the bad dancing I’d done the night before and the hard mattress I’d slept on afterwards.
I blinked, looking around the remnants that remained of the teenage child I once was. The walls were still the same dark blue, a color I’d hated but never had the heart to tell my Mother. The mattress I’d slept on was upside down and stacked on top of a pee-proof box spring that had survived abuse from all my parent’s six children.
Junk was piled everywhere. A few shoddy looking shelves were littered with photographs. There was barely a trace that I’d ever lived in this room. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness. My Mother had long ago moved on, replacing my memories with forgotten things.
I could hear Michael cooing downstairs in the kitchen, jabbering away at my Mother, who was trying to get him to eat his eggs.
“Morning Mom,” I said sleepily, stretching and smiling as I entered the kitchen. “Where’s the party girl?” I asked, referring to Emma.
“I haven’t seen her yet. I think she slept over at the neighbor’s house,” she chuckled.
“Nice,” I said, smiling and greeting Michael with a kiss. “I’ve got to call our Dad this morning and ask him about the chicken for the wedding. I hope that truck came through with his order. He said he was storing it in Grandma’s freezer.”
“Oh, yes, the chicken,” she said, looking panicked. “The phone’s over on the hook, honey.”
I dialed my Dad’s number, waiting for someone to answer.
“Hello?” A distant sounding voice answered.
It was my cousin Jack. He and my Dad had been living together for the last few years.
“Hey, Jack, it’s Anna. Is my Dad there? I gotta ask him about the chicken for the wedding,” I explained impatiently.
“Oh, um, no, he’s not here,” he said, his voice sounding like he’d swallowed a baseball.
I waited for an explanation, feeling more impatient by the second. Emma was going to ask me about the food the minute I saw her.
“He-he’s not here. . . they just took him,” he said, still sounding far away.
I was starting to wonder if he was hung over, or if he’d gotten into the ganja a little early this morning.
“What do you mean, they took him? Who took him?” I asked, completely confused.
“I’m sorry, but your Dad’s dead. The ambulance just left, they. . .”
I felt my head drop through my stomach. My grip tightened on the phone.
“What do you mean, he’s dead? That’s not funny!” I could hear my voice taking on a shrill quality.
“I found him on the floor, he’d been laying there. They think it was a heart attack.”
Suddenly, I felt the wind go out of my lungs, my vision darkening. I tried to breathe, but lead filled my lungs. It felt like an eternity passed and then without warning, I left my body, floating somewhere between the doorway and the body I’d occupied my entire life.
I saw myself standing there, my party clothes wrinkled, eyeliner smeared under my eyes, with the phone pressed to my ear. I was literally watching myself standing there, the color gone from my cheeks. I felt confused, wondering why I was standing there, feeling like I must have fallen asleep. I must be dreaming, because if I was me, why was I over here, instead of over there? Maybe it wasn’t me after all.
Then I heard this sound, a deep, guttural scream, coming from the girl that used to be me, the one who was standing there with the phone. It was unlike any sound I’d ever heard, low and terrifying. The girl dropped to her knees, the phone in her hand clattering to the floor, bouncing off the tile, the battery cover flying off, scuttling under the cabinets.
I saw my Mother turn, her eyes wide, launching her body to catch the girl on the floor, scrambling for the phone and yelling.
“What?! What is it? What happened?”
But the girl couldn’t answer. She just sat there, on her knees, looking around, her eyes wild and empty. Then I realized the girl was me, and that she needed me. Then, with a giant breath, I was whole again. A wave of reality hitting me like a cement truck, slamming my soul and my body back together.
Like a baby born too soon, I was sucked back into my flesh.
“Emma! Where is Emma?!” I screamed at my Mother, who was talking into the phone, her speech coming fast.
I walked through the front door, leaving it wide open, confused at the brightness of the sun.
Was it mocking me?
He was dead, on a beautiful day.
Or was the day beautiful because he was dead?
I didn’t care. I needed Emma.
I walked aimlessly through the yard, yelling her name.
Finally, I went back into the house, feeling like a stone statue, my eyes letting out tears I couldn’t feel.
My Daddy was dead.
He had left this world, his giant heart burst in his chest. I cried for him, angry that he had left me without warning. I cried because he’d laid there for hours, no daughter to hold his head. I cried because no matter where I went, no matter how many houses I visited or mysterious jungles I searched, I wouldn’t find him.
He was dead, lost to me for the rest of my living days. My Mom started talking to me, peppering me with people I needed to call. I looked at her, said something lifeless, and walked away still searching for my sister.
When I found her, she was standing sleepy-eyed at the top of the stairs, looking just like him with her freckles and big blue eyes. She seemed to fly down the stairs, immediately recognizing the agony on my face. I collapsed into her, my tears soaking her shirt, clinging to her and sobbing, remembering all the times I’d sat on his lap, a
ll the times he’d let me braid his hair. It wasn’t fair! Death was so unnatural. It hurt in places I didn’t know I had.
“He was the only one who was always good. He didn’t have a mean bone in his body.” I sobbed.
Maybe everyone says that when someone dies, but cliché or not, when it came to our Dad, that was a true statement. He never had a mean thing to say about anyone. As far back as I could remember, he was a free spirit. Just an old hippie, full of cuddles and laughter. Emma began to cry too, her own shock settling in.
“What about the wedding?” She whispered, which only made us cry harder.
How could we be happy, how could we celebrate without him? He was supposed to be there. I wiped away my tears and straightened myself up.
“He’d want you to get married, Emma. Don’t worry, everything will be okay,” I said, not knowing if I was telling the truth or just hoping I’d make her feel better.
I spent the next forty-eight hours in a daze, recalling memories, taking calls, and starting the plans for the funeral. I remembered how once when I was little, I’d went to visit him in West Virginia and snuck down to watch his band play in the basement. He hung out with other guys like himself. Guys with tattoos, guitars, and long hair that probably had been growing since 1987.
I wanted to etch that memory into my mind, his eyes shut tightly, belting out lyrics while lost in the moment of the music. Soon the phone was ringing non-stop, and in a daze, I followed directions, half listening to the plans my family made.
It was about a forty-minute drive into the country to my Grandmother’s house. The family would gather there and start the preparations. Someone mentioned I probably shouldn’t drive, but I insisted that I needed to drive, to be alone with my thoughts. The long stretches of pine trees and dairy farms would give me time to clear my head and shake the haze just enough to function.
I needed to set aside my grief for a few moments and think rationally for my family. Grandma had just lost her first born. Something no parent, no matter what age, should have to experience. I climbed behind the wheel of my Saturn, staring at the gas gage, reminding myself to stop and fill up before I ran out. The engine cranked, and the car backed slowly down the gravel driveway, bumping over the apples that littered the ground from my parent’s ancient trees.
It seemed like seconds passed, and the house I’d grown up visiting was coming into view. I barely recalled the gas station I’d stopped at and wondered why I had a cherry Pepsi in my hand. An Eagle had flown over the pines on my way down past the Wildlife Preserve that was just a few miles away.
Dad loved Eagles, I thought.
My Grandparents had worked many years to own their house, a small white pre-built home they’d nestled in a grassy field. The blue Michigan sky stretched for miles, broken by layers of farmland dotted with red barns and rolls of hay.
Their large driveway was cluttered with cars, the garage doors open with a handful of my cousins standing around smoking cigarettes and hugging each other. A hard lump knotted in my throat, as a few of them headed my way.
The minute I was out of my car, I was enveloped in arms, and led towards the garage. Tears could flow freely now, and I let them. I couldn’t have been more thankful for my family. Although my Mother hadn’t married me and Emma’s Father, they had never let us grow away from them. The love they had for us, had carried me and Emma through many rough childhood days, and Grandma’s house was always a place we could trust to find warm embraces, kisses and a pile of homemade pancakes during every visit.
Now, as my family walked toward me, I’d never been so grateful for a family that stuck together and loved me despite all the hardships. If we were together, we could get through this. I held their hugs longer than usual. We comforted each other, letting out the occasional laughter as we each recalled a memory of my Dad. When it was time to go to the funeral home my grandparents had selected, I felt more confident. My Dad had kept a small insurance policy, and Emma and I would be allowed to make most of the arrangements.
Dad had been a simple man, and everyone agreed we should go to his house and look for his final outfit. We agreed to meet there the morning, and after grandma had a moment to go in first, we would begin the process of selecting things for his funeral.
It’s ironic how death can bring out both the best and the worst in people, and especially in blended families where emotions can run high. My Mom was in an awkward moment in her life when my Dad passed. She’d been long married to my stepfather, and while her relationship with me and Emma’s Father wasn’t hostile, it also wasn’t all peaches and cream.
Our Dad had been a free bird, and like most free birds, it’s hard to pin down when they will be around and when they won’t. Never a mean bone in his body, but he wasn’t the Dad who showed up for parent teacher meetings or remembered that I needed a new reed for my band instrument.
He lived his life with the foresight of the next day, and that was about it. I’d loved him for it. Emma had resented him, and my Mom, well she probably felt a little of both. Old hatchets hadn’t always stayed buried, and the ex-sister in law hatchet was slowly rising from its grave as the women in my family were forced to face each other during an emotional time.
Mom never dealt well with rejection, and she dealt even worse with riding in the back seat. Mom was a natural leader, and she never took well to the shadow of anyone, especially not her ex sister-in-law. More than anything, Mom hated being looked down on, and my Aunt unapologetically looked down on people who crossed her.
I never knew why they’d hated each other so profoundly, but it was clear my Dad’s death was the perfect opportunity for a good old-fashioned cat fight.
“Don’t you dare take one step inside that house,” I heard my Aunt say to my Mother.
Oh, shit, here we go. Why is my Mom even here? I thought.
All I wanted to think about was going into the last place my Dad’s spirit had been. I did not want my Mom seeing me in this vulnerable place, and I certainly didn’t want to have to separate my already agitated family members from a front yard brawl.
“Don’t you take one more step, until my Mom and the girls have had their chance to go in,” my Aunt repeated.
Her voice had an eerie edge to it, one that told everyone she wasn’t messing around. My Mother looked shocked, her expressionless face suddenly screwing into an ugly mask of hurt and betrayal. I immediately felt guilty, realizing I hadn’t considered how my Mom would feel about losing someone she’d loved, someone she’d had children with.
“Go on inside, girls.” My Aunt commanded, not taking her eyes off my Mother.
We stood tensely for a moment, knowing my Aunt was right, but not wanting to cross our Mother.
Fuck it, my Dad just died. I can’t be dealing with this shit right now. I gotta go in there and pick out what to bury him in, for Christ’s sake.
I shrugged at my Mom, shooting her a sympathetic look, and motioned for my sister to come inside.
The house was dark. My cousin Jack was in the kitchen trying to be polite and let us have our moment. Dad’s room was in the back of the house, a small area he’d set up like a studio apartment.
Grandma turned, her face a blank mask of disbelief. Emma and I stood in the doorway a moment, not wanting to shatter the thickness that hung in the air. My eyes rested on the floor near his bed, where one shoe lay on its side, kicked off moments before he’d died.
That’s how they’d found him, one shoe off, one shoe on, a country CD on repeat in the stereo. Two rolled cigarettes lay neatly on a silver plate, tobacco scattered on the table. I picked one up and offered it to Emma. She smiled at the irony. Two cigarettes, two grown kids to step outside onto his private porch and smoke them, just like he would have this very morning, had he lived to see it.
As we smoked, trying not to choke on the harsh tobacco, we laughed despite ourselves.
“God, I’m going to miss him,” Emma said.
I nodded. “Yeah, me too.”
T
he sliding door creaked open, my Aunt’s head popping out.
“Hey, What about these?” She asked, holding out a pair of black jeans and a grey sweater. I looked at Emma, who nodded. They were perfect. He would have hated a suit, even if he’d owned one.
I didn’t want to see him in the white shirt he’d worn to my wedding, and I’m sure neither did Emma.
“Grandma wants to use some of his pictures, and a few of his eagle statues at the funeral home,” she continued.
“Yeah, whatever you guys want. He would have liked that,” I smiled.
When we went back inside, I could hear my Mom talking to my cousin Jack in the kitchen, her voice getting louder as she came towards us. My Aunt rolled her eyes, and I laughed.
Women, I mused.
“Hey, Mom,” I said as she walked in.
She smiled tersely at me, eyeing my Aunt’s back, and then drew me into a hug. Her eyes were pained, dark green and stormy like they always got when she was trying not to cry.
No matter how eccentric my Mom was, I loved her most, and probably always would. She wandered around the room, looking at his things, her moment ruined by the words she and my Aunt had shared. I had to give her credit though, that woman was damned stubborn as hell.
Most people would have drove away humiliated and pissed, but not my Mother. She would stand her ground and hold her head high, even when it wasn’t her place. It was like looking in a mirror for me, seeing her like that.
“Okay,” I said to the room. “I think I’m done here for now.” I looked at my grandma and said, “If it’s okay, I’d like to have his guitar, and Emma said she wanted the ring he always wore. The turquoise eagle one.”
“Oh, yes, sweetie of course. I think he wanted you girls to have his music too,” she said.
I looked at his giant collection of cassette tapes. Hundreds and hundreds of them surrounded his stereo, along with a growing collection of CDs. Both my sister and I lived in other cities, so hauling that much would have to be arranged.
“Well, maybe Uncle Todd could hold onto it for us,” I smiled.