Soldier Mom

by Alice Mead

  I try to push away this mound of worry and self-pity. I try not to let it win. I know Mom will call today around six. That’s her calling time.

  I blow my nose a bunch of times and lie down on the sofa. I try to meditate. We did it once in school to reduce stress. I breathe slowly for a few minutes, but meditating is boring.

  I heave a big sigh and go out to check my garden. I drag the hose over to the sunflowers first. The yellow petals are wilting. Some are turning tan. I soak them down. Then I drag the hose over to the pumpkins. Some of the vine leaves are turning yellow. That’s not good. Carefully I lift up each pumpkin to see if they’re rotting where they touch the ground. They’re sitting on paper plates, but still.

  The Parnells are outside, bent over in their garden, doing their weeding early before it gets too sunny and hot. All of a sudden, I see them straighten up. Mrs. Parnell’s holding a basket, and Mr. Parnell dumps something in it. They’re heading over here! Uh-oh. I haven’t been near their asparagus lately. Neither has Danielle. We haven’t played Horse in weeks.

  “Howdy,” Mr. Parnell calls out in his raspy voice.

  “Got some vegetables for you. For your birthday,” Mrs. Parnell says. “It’s today, right?”

  “Yeah! It is.” I reach out for the basketful of fresh corn, green beans, and tomatoes. After all the waffles, ice cream, and bagels, vegetables look great. “Thank you!”

  “How old are you? Didn’t your mother tell us you’re eleven?”

  “I’m twelve today. I’m going into seventh grade.”

  “Well, now,” says Mr. Parnell, “that’s fine.”

  “We watch the news every day,” Mrs. Parnell says. “We’re proud of your mother. It’s not easy, what she’s doing.”

  Tears fill my eyes. I look away, out across the cove at the ocean, flat and blue, stretching to the horizon’s rim. If I were Danielle, I’d have something nice and cheery to say about the view. Instead, I get right to the point. “Do you think she’ll be okay?” I ask.

  “Oh, my Lord, yes,” Mrs. Parnell says. “With all our new communications? And the size of the Allied forces? Except for the heat, I would imagine she’s going to be fine.”

  “Well, thanks for the vegetables.” I nod, feeling pretty awkward. “How did you know it was my birthday?”

  “We asked your mother before she left. We’re watching out for you, dear.”

  I bring the vegetables inside. I love fresh corn, especially the yellow-and-white-kerneled kind.

  This is a really different birthday. Corn from the Parnells. A fight with Jake. I wish I hadn’t snapped at him the way I did. Jake was nothing to me before. Just Mom’s boyfriend. I never would have thought I’d care about anything he did.

  I feel as if I’m on a roller-coaster ride of feelings, rattling up and down, spinning, careening almost out of control. I’ve been that way for a whole month.

  I think of Andrew falling and bumping his soft little forehead on the bleachers. How terrible I felt at that moment. How selfish. The most important thing in the world was to protect him, and all I’d been worrying about was showing up snotty Bridget by outplaying her in Pre-season.

  I remember that phone call when I listened in. It’s as if I took a step outside of being a child to face this other part of my mom. It was a part I’d never had to think about.

  Now I’ve seen bombs, jets, huge planes, and tanks. I can’t just flick these visions away, flip to another channel the way Danielle can. Specialized helicopters. For destroying people. And people have already died. In Kuwait. Children. Mothers. Babies. Anyone can die in war, not just soldiers. Even camels are killed. And shore-birds. And my mother felt she had to go stop all that.

  I guess sooner or later someone had to cross the ocean and help. But it didn’t have to be her. Suddenly I know I have to tell her this. Not in a tearful way, and not on the phone. The calls are too confusing. I will have to write it in a letter.

  First, though, I want to tell Shawn that I was right, after all, that my mother never should have left. No mother should leave her children unless she absolutely has to.

  The phone rings. I dive for it, hoping it’s him.

  “Oh, hi, Danielle.” I’m glad to hear her voice.

  “Happy birthday! You finally made it to twelve.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  “Listen. My mom made you some cupcakes.”

  “She did?”

  “Yeah, for your birthday. I’ll bring them over in about a half hour.”

  “Okay! And thank your mom for me.”

  After I hang up, I glance around. The house is a mess. It doesn’t seem to bother Jake if things aren’t picked up. I throw all the dishes in the sink and run water over them, then sponge off the table and counters. I pick up toys and newspapers and vacuum the living room.

  When I hear Danielle hollering from the back door, I rush into the kitchen. She’s already inside, and with her are Bridget and Amy. What! On my birthday, she brought them here? Without telling me?

  “I met Bridget and Amy on Main Street,” Danielle says. “I thought it would be fun if they came over.” She hands me a shoebox with twelve cupcakes inside. Each one has pink icing and a pink candle. “Let’s light the candles. You want to?”

  “Sure.”

  We each have two cupcakes. As I’m sweeping the crumbs off the table and into the garbage, Bridget says, “So, Miss Co-captain, what are you going to do about Andrew when the real season starts? Leaving in the middle of practice isn’t going to go over too well the second time around.”

  “Bridget!” says Danielle. “Come on. Cut it out.”

  “I guess you never noticed that I didn’t miss a single Pre-season game—or much practice. Jake had his hours changed ages ago. There won’t be a problem,” I tell her, glancing at Danielle. I don’t like where this is heading. Bridget’s just jealous about my three-pointers.

  “Oh yeah. Jake. Your mother’s boyfriend. How could your mom go off and leave you with someone like that? I mean, they’re not even married, right? He could take off maybe, one day decide to go to Las Vegas or California.”

  Now I’m furious. Jake, for all his faults, loves my mom, and he’s honest, and he’s always there for Andrew, and that’s the most important thing.

  My cheeks are burning. Bridget is such a jerk. In a far-away place behind a waterfall of anger and shame, I hear Danielle say, “Bridget, I can’t believe you said that. Tell Jas you’re sorry.”

  “Get out of here, Bridget!” I shout. I push her backward against the screen door.

  “Hey! Leave me alone. Anyway, who would have a hick kid like Shawn for a boyfriend? Did you ever see how worn-out his sneakers are?”

  “Get out!” I shove her out the door, still yelling. “Shawn’s wonderful. He’s worth a hundred of you. Now leave. Get out of my yard. You too, Amy.”

  Bridget and Amy grab their bikes and take off.

  “I better go,” Danielle says. “I have to get back home and watch Stevie for a while. I’ll see you tomorrow. Sorry, Jas.”

  I nod, and they head off up the street. I sink down on the top step of the porch in tears, my head resting on my arms.

  17

  The long and terrible birthday passes. At lunchtime, I make a peanut butter sandwich and take it down the street so I can eat lunch with Alfonse. Then I go to the cove for a while and fall asleep in the warm midday sun by mistake and get a sunburned nose.

  I hurry back to the house. The phone doesn’t ring, but it’s still early. At four, I get out the stroller and begin the half-hour walk down Main Street to Andrew’s day care.

  As I pass Golly Polly’s ice cream, there’s Shawn. I run over to him, holding the folded-up stroller across my chest. “Hi, Shawn.”

  Now he’s circling me on his bike, riding so slow that his front tire is wobbling. “Hey! It’s the birthday girl!”

  “How did you know?”

  “Danielle told me. Want an ice cream?” he says. “I didn’t think I should get you another
card in case you know who came flouncing into your bedroom again and read it. This you can eat! You can destroy the evidence.”

  “I don’t want anything.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  He buys me a double dip with rainbow sprinkles. Then he rides in circles around me all the way to the Main Street intersection. He has to take the inland road home.

  “Hi, Jasmyn,” Andrew’s day-care teacher says. “I want to show you something. Andrew, come here, honey. Watch this.”

  She sets Andrew on his feet behind the stroller, so he’s holding the handles. All the babies pause to watch. Andrew grins a big drooly grin.

  “Go on, Andrew,” the teacher says. “You can do it.”

  Suddenly he takes two or three wobbly steps. Then plunk! He sits down.

  “Andrew! You were walking! Oh, wow. What a big boy.”

  “He did that a couple of times today,” the teacher says. “He’s a big guy now.”

  “Wait till I tell Mom about you,” I say. “She’s going to call today. It’s my birthday.”

  “Oh, congratulations,” his teacher says. “See you tomorrow, Andrew.”

  We head up Main Street. Andrew holds his Binky close. He seems to have forgotten Mom. At first he said her name all the time, but now he doesn’t. She sent a picture of herself in her desert uniform, but he wasn’t interested. He just chewed it and Jake said there were chemicals on the paper and we had to take it away from him. Now it’s posted on the refrigerator, half chewed, up high where he can’t get it.

  Andrew’s birthday is coming up, too. He’ll be one in October and I bet he’ll be walking all over by then.

  As we pass Golly Polly’s, Andrew sees the kids with ice cream cones and reaches out his hand, twisting around in the stroller, opening and closing his fist, trying to grab some.

  “We can’t, Andrew. I didn’t bring any money.”

  He cries in a halfhearted way, but then he settles down. I wonder what I’m going to feed him for dinner. Jake may have had his hours changed, but he still can’t manage an organized grocery shopping trip.

  Back at the house, I’m pawing through the refrigerator. There’s corn from the Parnells, so I husk it. We could have just that. But I don’t know if it’s good for a baby. Scrambled eggs? No, I know: French toast. Andrew loves that. And I’ll have French toast and corn both.

  I poke around the kitchen, kind of uncertain how to start. I have to boil the corn in the big pan, I know that much. But where is it? I hunt through all the cabinets until I remember it’s on a shelf on the cellar stairs.

  After we eat, I clean the whole kitchen and run the dishwasher. Everything looks nice. The countertops are all wiped up and shiny. Then I sit on the back steps while Andrew digs in his sandpile next to the driveway.

  Evenings are cool now. The sun is going down earlier and earlier. Sitting out here, I feel pretty good. I can see the ocean and the Parnells’ garden and Alfonse, poking his nose around his rosebushes.

  The sky grows darker. Finally I take Andrew into the bathroom and give him a bath. As usual, drying him off isn’t easy. He scoots down the hall, buck naked, laughing hysterically, as I try to wrestle him into his pajamas. Afterward, I feel exhausted and throw myself down on the sofa. But at least I played with him and made him laugh a lot.

  Now that he’s asleep, I have no one to talk to. I have no idea where Jake is. What if he doesn’t come back because of our fight? It’s getting late; he should have been here ages ago. What will happen if Andrew and I are truly left alone? When Mom calls, should I tell her? Should I call Mrs. Roberge? If they know Jake ditched us, I might get sent to Japan for sure. There’s a light on at the Parnells’ and their pickup truck is in the driveway. So at least there’s somebody around.

  I’m dozing on the sofa when suddenly the phone rings. I’m jolted awake. It’s nearly ten o’clock. I pounce on the phone.

  “Mom! You called!”

  “I wouldn’t miss your birthday, sweetie. Sorry I’m late. There’s been a communications problem here. A huge sandstorm. You wouldn’t believe it, Jas. The wind whips the sand into everything and it stings. It gets in your clothes and eyes, even your mouth. And it was one hundred twenty-two degrees today. So, how was your birthday?”

  I burst into tears. I’ve never lied to her before, and I guess I can’t start now.

  “Jasmyn, sweetie. What happened? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I’m okay.” How can I explain it in a three-minute phone call? It’s so frustrating.

  “Did you get any presents?”

  “Yeah, I got corn from the Parnells and cupcakes from Mrs. Roberge. And you won’t believe it. Andrew’s walking. Well, a little. Today’s the first time.”

  “Oh, wow. I wish I was there to see it. Is he growing, too?” Now her voice sounds shakier than mine.

  “Yeah. He’s growing. The little pumpkin man’s growing.”

  “Cupcakes and corn, huh? Is Jake there?”

  “Oh. Umm. No. He went someplace.”

  “To the Handy store?”

  “No. Actually, he went someplace this morning.”

  “You mean you’ve been alone all day?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Including now?”

  “Yeah. Hey, Mom, I was wondering if you knew when you were coming home.”

  “Home? Oh, I don’t know, Jas. I spent most of today passing out thousands of gallons of water and wiping sand out of my eyes.”

  “But, Mom, I need you to come home,” I whisper.

  “I know, honey. But I think the truth is that this is much bigger than I thought. I didn’t understand right away what this was. I’m still not sure, and neither is anybody else. Listen, I want you to have a wonderful birthday. Can you think of one good thing?”

  “Yeah. Andrew walked.”

  “Well, there you go. So. Does school start tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. Well, we have a two-hour orientation for seventh grade.”

  “Good luck, okay?”

  “Mom, is there a guy behind you waiting to use the phone?”

  “Yep, there sure is. But he’s not getting on until I’m done.”

  “Mom, what’s connecting us?”

  “You mean now? On the phone?”

  “Yeah.”

  “A satellite. It bounces radio waves which . . . Oh, I don’t know.”

  “I waited all day for you to call.”

  “I waited all day to call you.”

  “See you,” I say.

  “Love you,” she says. “And listen, I’m going to call again in a few days so I can talk to Jake and make sure things are okay, all right?”

  I fall asleep on the sofa by mistake. When Jake comes in, it’s after midnight. I sit up with a strange sour taste in my mouth, and my eyelids feel sore. I rub them to get rid of it.

  “Waiting up for me, huh?”

  I can smell the cigarette smoke and alcohol on him from across the room.

  “No. After Mom called, I fell asleep.”

  I get up and head for my room.

  “Hey. Come back out here.”

  I’m scared now. I don’t trust him after today—the way he acted this morning and then not coming home on time and not calling to tell me where he was. He’s a grown-up, so he must realize that was a bad thing to do, and he did it anyway.

  Knowing this is a heavy feeling, like a sigh that won’t come out but sits in the top of your chest trapped by rocks. I won’t turn my head toward Jake. I look out the darkened window.

  “Hey! I just couldn’t handle anything more today. Accusatory glares from you, diaper bags, no free time, no money. I know I’m not your mother, all right? So quit dishing out the blame. I’m doing the best I can, all right?”

  “Well, so am I!”

  I glare at him even though he said not to. He’s really angry. But I have no idea what he means. I guess he’s drunk.

  Then he says more calmly, “The truth is, I forgot your birthday. Completely forgot it. I don’t know what to
get you. What am I supposed to get you? I don’t know kids. I don’t know anything about twelve-year-old girls. No. Wait. A dog or horse, probably. You want a horse?”

  “Sure. I’ll take a horse. A horse would be great.”

  “Yeah, well, you can’t have one. We can’t afford the hay.”

  In spite of myself, I have to smile a little. He’s calmer now.

  “Listen, Jas, I know I’m a little rough around the edges. Today I went to a bar after work, and you may have noticed, I didn’t come back for quite a while. I guess a man’s got to feel like he’s always got a way out, always got an escape route if he wants one. We were playing cards, darts. And then a group of women from the factory came in. They sat down with us. We ordered some nachos.”

  I stare at the floor. My feet are there. My long and narrow feet that are going to carry me away from this place someday. If he has betrayed my mother or Andrew, I will kill him.

  “And it started getting kind of late. At some point, I noticed this older guy watching me. He’s just sitting there over by the bar. No drinks, no cigarettes. Nothing. He’s watching me. Me. Leaning back in his seat. As though he’s asking me, ‘Well, what are you going to do? Ignore the dedication of a brave woman because it means you have to go home every day? Are you going to turn your back on her when she needs your support?’ So, I got up. I laid my money on the table, said goodbye to everybody, and walked out. Now I’m here. I got no present for you other than the fact that I came back.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  I get up and walk through the kitchen. I turn on the outside light. My ball is in the grass. A few dribbles to loosen up and I drive in for the layup. I’m going to practice until I drop in my tracks.

  I won’t stay here. I’m going to play basketball all the way through high school, and I’m going to go to a far-away college on a great big scholarship, and get out of Stroudwater forever. I don’t want to end up like Jake, working in a factory warehouse for ten years by the time I’m thirty. Going to a bar afterward. Weak-minded. Not knowing right from wrong. Breathing smoke. That’s not going to be my life.