by TL Travis
After last class, I walk to my car when the weather changes to something you would see in an Alfred Hitchcock movie, as dark, ominous clouds barrel in accompanied by a thunderous roar. It’s not monsoon season so this is wildly out of place. These bad boys are cruising across the sky like a hundred miles per hour.
The only cool part about living in Arizona is the monsoon storms. Monsoons are wickedly sweet and brew up lightning fast, wreaking havoc and causing power outages. All of which happens in the short time frame of about twenty to thirty minutes. It’s kind of like setting a two-year-old on a sugar high lose with a wind machine and a garden hose. It’s awesome to watch unfold.
Rounding the corner to my house, I see my mom’s car in the driveway, thinking to myself great, she’s home – this should be fun. I hope she has new material for her put down’s today because she’s really beaten the old ones to death.
My mom and I have never bonded on any level, and honestly, I still question whether or not she’s my real mother. I don’t look like her, I don’t act like her and we’re constantly battling for my dad’s attention. My dad and I used to do everything together when I was younger. I literally have no memories of doing anything or going anywhere alone with my mother. No mother daughter days, no hugs from her when I was upset, nothing… She was always busy with her circle of rich friends. Snotty women whose husbands made a lot of money that they spent on frivolous crap. Still to this day, I don’t know what my dad sees in her. She’s always been down on me. Hates the clothes I wear, feels social acceptance is worth its weight in gold and thinks her daughter is a social misfit she can’t be bothered with.
Granny Ray, my dad’s mom, is the only female family member I’m close with. Until we moved to Arizona, I spent every summer with her in Washington, D.C. After that, my mom said I had to get a job because I was sixteen and she wasn’t going to spend money to send me to my grandmother’s anymore. She’s such a bitch. She doesn’t like the fact that my grandmother and I get along as well as we do, mostly because we both see through her fake bullshit and she knows my grandmother can’t stand her.
My mom’s family lives in Scottsdale, Arizona, or as I lovingly call it ‘Snottsdale’. I don’t care for any of them or their money flashing friends and they don’t care for me. Unfortunately, they are the reason we moved here.
I didn’t so much as open the front door when she starts, “Is that really what you left this house in, doesn’t your school have a dress code?” Translation: the way you dress embarrasses me and I hope none of my friends saw you.
Jesus, I wish she’d get on her broom and fly the fuck away, never again to be seen or better yet — get smashed by a flying house like the Wicked Witch in the Wizard of Oz. Hehe.
Choosing to take the upper hand by ignoring her, I continue my quest up the stairs taking them two at a time straight to my room with Dash and Vi jogging behind me. I love my dogs, they make it seem as though all the bad goes away whenever they’re around. No matter what happens, they’re always here to love me and want nothing in return other than an occasional pat on the head and a scratch to their bellies. I wish life was that simple, a pat on the head, a scratch here and there and all would be well.
I’ll never forget the day I got them. My mom was totally against it, yelling at my dad, “They will make a mess and chew up my shoes.” I had promised my dad I would take care of them and enroll them in all the puppy training classes I could find, so he assured my mom it would be fine.
When I saw them in their kennels at Boxer Luv, the local boxer rescue, my dad and I went to one Saturday afternoon, my dad said my face lit up. He said it was the first bright light he’d seen in my eyes since we’d moved. I couldn’t pick one over the other and they seemed to be bonded, so I talked my dad into letting me adopt them both. It was so cute how they both looked up at me while sitting on my lap, chewing on the bottom of my shirt during the car ride home.
Both are all white and deaf. Brother and sister from the same litter. Dash has one blue and one brown eye, Violet has brown eyes. They have brown spots all over like some sort of reverse Boxer Dalmatian. My dad was concerned about training them since they couldn’t hear, but I met a wonderful lady named Pat who taught my pups and I basic hand signals. She was amazing and had six deaf whites of her own.
My pups and I were instant BFFs, but my snotty mother turned her nose up at them. I’m proud to report they haven’t chewed up one thing, well except for a pair of her shoes that I kinda sorta gave them *wink- wink.* To this day, she thinks they got lost in the move to Arizona. Sometimes being bad feels oh so good.
Time has flown by and now my graduation is in two days I wish there were a way around attending the stupid ceremony.
I’m still not sold on college. Sure, I’ve always had good grades, been in honors society, but I have no idea what I want to do with my life. Do you ever feel like you’re meant for something more than what’s right in front of you? I do, but I can’t seem to figure out what that is and nothing in any career field jumps out at me. Why does society force you to choose at such a young age?
I thought about nursing, it’s only two years of school, but I pass out at the sight of blood. Guess I can cross that one off the list. I would make a great veterinarian, except for the fact that I know I wouldn’t be able to put any animal down. I would cry like a baby whenever an injured one came in. I’d like to think I could fix them all, kinda like the Florence Nightingale of the vet world, but that isn’t realistic. Cross that one off. Maybe I’ll take a year off and backpack around Europe. Oh, I can already hear the screech of my mother’s nagging voice, “My daughter is a vagrant. She moves from place to place taking odd jobs.” Tempting to tarnish the perfect little reputation she’s built for herself is promising, but sadly that doesn’t feel like the right career path for me either.
Chapter 3
Right on, nine o’clock and time to close shop. Work was exceptionally boring tonight. I’ve been employed at the laundry mat for just over a year. It’s pretty good with regard to balancing work and school, allowing me time to get home and study before bed. But I really don’t want to stay here much longer because it’s pretty much a dead-end job.
Cole, my co-worker locks the front door behind us as we walk to our cars. Nearing my car, I notice something odd out of the corner of my eye. I glance toward the trees spotting someone standing there, a man, but with the shadows I can’t make out his face.
My first thought is that it’s one of the guys that attacked me. My heart starts running rampant in my chest. I look back to Leah and Cole in the hopes they see him too, but they are on their cell phones. I pivot around to where he was, but he’s vanished. Somehow, shaky hands and all, I manage to open my car door jumping inside and locking the doors.
Never in my life have I driven in such a frenzied rush. I don’t remember putting my car in park when I pull into the driveway. I run all the way to the front door elated to find it unlocked. Slamming the door behind me, I lean up against it trying to catch my breath. Scanning the room, I find my dad on the couch in his pj’s watching the news with my faithful pups resting at his feet. That weird sports caster guy that barely moves his lips when he talks is on. I think he had plastic surgery at some point and they pulled his face too tight, either way I can’t stand to watch him — he creeps me out.
I stand there for a few minutes before my dad snaps to. “Hey Jess, how was your day?”
“Okay, Dad, how about you?”
“Pretty much the same, sweetie.” He smiles before returning his attention to the TV.
My dad’s smile has a way of making me feel like a little girl, sitting safely in his lap without a care in the world. He’s a great, down-to-earth guy who for some odd reason worships the ground my mother walks on, or in her case the ground she and her broom fly over.
I kissed him on the cheek. “Goodnight, Dad.”
“Goodnight, honey.”
The pups and I meander upstairs to the peaceful sanctity of my room. As I
turn the knob, they bound into the room, diving onto the bed staring at me with a look that says, ‘Let’s play, Mom?’ Their little white nubs beating a mile a minute, how can I say no to those faces? I smush their jowls and kiss them. They are such goof balls, but sadly, sleep has been an elusive beast as of late. I pat their heads and put my tired ass to bed. This roller coaster ride has been too much. I’m mentally and physically drained and quite honestly, on the verge of a complete meltdown.
My head doesn’t so much as hit the pillow when I am pulled back into this never-ending dream state, only this time it takes an unexpected turn.
We wandered deeper into the dark of the forest when I spotted a familiar structure from my childhood. A small wood playhouse, the playhouse my father built for me. The little house itself was white, but the shutters around the window, the trim around the door, and the roof eaves were painted baby blue, my favorite color.
He guided me to it and opened the door, gesturing for me to step inside. Trembling, I entered.
My father and I built it together the summer of my seventh birthday. Well, I handed him the tools as he put it together, but some of the fondest memories from my childhood revolve around this little house, the house that was built with love.
We constructed it in the woods directly behind our lot in Michigan. I wasn’t a very outgoing child, so needless to say, I didn’t have many friends. My dad thought it would be an ideal place for me to play and get me out of the house. The only friends I had were David Cordova and Maura Robertson and they both knew about my secret club house. It was my special place from my dad, so adorable with its shingled roof, tiny windows and child sized front door.
I’ll never forget the day the evil monster that gave birth to me re-homed it. I was twelve and her excuse will forever be tattooed in my brain, “You’re too old for it and it’s falling apart. It’s an eyesore on our property and we cannot have that.” I cried as the people who took it loaded it up on their trailer. I’ll never forgive her for that. I was heartsick and the worst part was my father did nothing to stop her.
Repressing yet another angry memory, I peered around noting everything was just as I’d remembered. The tot-sized furniture my dad placed was still there, the baby blue wood table he made and three little plastic chairs we picked up at a yard sale were there, my play kitchen set and Mickey Mouse club dishes — all still there.
We’d each had our own chair, of course the dark blue one was mine, Maura had the light pink one and David’s was green.
Maura lived next door so we were friends before we could walk, best friends until the day I moved. That’s another thing to add to the mother daughter issue list, making me leave my best friend. Maura and I met David in kindergarten and the three of us were instantly inseparable. The Three Musketeers, well we were probably more like the Three Stooges making mud pies in the forest, and then cooking them on the pretend stove. Those were the days, not a care in the world and covered in mud.
She and I have fallen out of contact since I moved. We shoot each other the occasional email, but both are so wrapped up with finishing school and moving onto life’s next lessons that we haven’t had much time to chat. It’s really sad. Why can’t things be as carefree as they were when we were kids?
I clearly remember the day we met David. It was the first day of kindergarten. His mom brought him in and he walked right over to our table taking the seat beside me. He looked me in the eye and smiled with his two front teeth missing. It was so cute that I snickered.
He lived nearby, but our parents weren’t in the same social clique. David was my first real so-called boyfriend. I never even looked at another playing on the monkey bars, that’s why I was devastated when he vanished. It’s something that haunts me to this day.
We were in the seventh grade, the end of the school year and he was really sick. His parents wouldn’t let me come see him and my mother didn’t want me near anyone who could be contagious. The next thing I knew, they were gone. No rhyme or reason, no time to say our goodbyes. I rode my bike to his house after school every day for a week, pressing my little face to the front window hoping to see him, but found everything inside was gone. I thought maybe he was mad at me or that I did something wrong. No one in town would talk about him or his family. It was as though they never existed.
Glancing around the playhouse, I spot the Mickey Mouse stove. Remnants of mud pies still stain the top. Smiling, I’m yanked from my dream state once again interrupted by the chiming of my alarm clock. Today is the last official day of high school with graduation taking place tomorrow night. It will be wickedly hot, yet they still insist that we have to wear the stupid cap and gown. They’re trying to tell us that girls must wear dresses or skirts, but I’m going to wear a skort (you know the fake shorts- skirt thing) because I really want to wear shorts and that’s as close as I can get without getting into trouble. My mother is pissed about my clothing choice. “It isn’t very classy or lady like.” Ya, well bite me. How’s that for lady like?
Having classes today for seniors was not well thought out. Every class is filled with people getting their yearbooks signed, posing for pictures and crying like it’s the end of the world. It’s seriously ridiculous. Kara and Anna both ask me to sign their yearbooks, so I do, but when I sign Kara’s, I notice Luke had already done so – ‘Thanks for last weekend’ with a smiley face, ‘I’ll never forget it or you.’ I know she purposely had me sign this page.
I can’t get to my car quick enough after the last bell rings. Enough is enough and I’m elated to be rid of this place. I dread practice tomorrow morning and the ceremony tomorrow night. We’re being lined up by size and since I’m only five-foot two, I’ll be in the front. That has been the story of my life since kindergarten — the shortest girl in the class is always in the front row. I hate it.
Kara’s tall and beautiful, standing proudly at five-foot nine. Light chestnut hair, streaked with blonde highlights and emerald eyes. These features give her the look of a European beauty queen. Thankfully, due to her height, she’ll be further back in line. Anna’s just a little taller than me at five-foot-five. She’s kind of pudgy with blonde hair and brown eyes. She’s nice, but unfortunately, she’s wrapped too tightly around Kara’s little finger and Kara uses her like a puppet. Poor thing’s too blinded by her insecurities to see this. I’ve never felt the need to fit in. I’m quite the opposite as I prefer to be left alone.
Since the dry cleaner is packed with orders for tomorrow night’s ceremonies at the area schools, I unfortunately have to work tonight. Luckily, we are so busy it makes today’s shift fly by. When I ring up our last customer, I look out the front windows toward my car once again spotting some standing nearby. I turn to Leah and Cole and point to the area.
“Do you see that guy?” I ask.
With attitude, they quit texting long enough to look up. “We don’t see anything. You’re losing it.” They look at each other rolling their eyes and go back to texting. But they are right, he is gone.
On the drive home, I wonder if what I’m seeing is real or if my mind is playing tricks on me. I know I’m not sleeping as well as I should be, but I don’t feel as though my judgement is in any way impaired.
Arriving home, I walk into the usual scene. Dad watching sports news with my dogs while mom is upstairs. I tell my dad I am really tired, kiss him goodnight and dart to my room. I take a quick shower and collapse into bed where I once again meet with an express decent into a deep slumber, dropping me off where the previous night’s dream had ended.
Once again in my playhouse, the significance of this eludes me. As I look to my captor I note his silhouette bears a remarkable resemblance to the man I keep spotting in the shadows. I want to speak, to ask who he is, but words escape me.
I am once again awakened by the vigorous clanging of my alarm clock.
It’s finally graduation day, practice is slated for an hour in the hopes that everyone will conduct themselves appropriately for which I don’t believe wi
ll happen. As anticipated, we have the usual clowns screwing around until everyone yells, “KNOCK IT OFF” in unison. They stop dead in their tracks, staring at the angry faces surrounding them. Afterwards, I head to the mall to pick up a couple of last minute things and grab a bite to eat.
Arriving home, finding a parking spot proves to be quite challenging. It appears the Mercedes dealership relocated to our neighborhood while I was away. My stomach balls into knots as it becomes apparent as to whom those cars belong — my mother’s family. If this were any other day I would tuck tail and run, but unfortunately that would not be wise given the occasion. The wrath alone would be unbearable.
Just like clockwork it begins as I open the front door. First one to rise to the Jess bashing convention is my grandmother Nora (my mom’s mom). She begins with her fake congratulations while giving me a half assed hug followed by chastising my wardrobe. She directs her complaints to my mother as though I am invisible. She can’t believe that I left the house in the rags I have on.
Hello, I’m standing right here.
Of course, my lovely mother adds her two cents, “She always looks that way.”
Much to my chagrin, my grandmother from DC couldn’t make it. It would have been nice to have an ally. Ah, here come my cousins Dante and Sabrina. It just gets better with each passing moment.
They turn up their noses strolling past me, but not without making their disapproval known in the form of a “humph” sound. Why are they here? They’ve never welcomed or accepted me. They don’t like me. We look nothing alike. They have blonde hair and blue eyes, dress to the nines with enough bling to choke a horse. Looks like an accessory shop threw up. I’m an outcast in my own family. I truly do not belong anywhere.
As soon as I can break free, I make a mad dash for my room before having to endure any further humiliation. I open the door and am met by the adoration of my pups. If only we could stay tucked away in the refuge of my room forever, but sadly I must get ready for graduation.