Family Tree the Novel

by Andrea N. Carr

  What he was going through, I had been through years before. I got the feeling he was realizing that life is too short. Realizing what is really important; what really matters. He’d been selective with his time in the past, taking his family for granted as if we’d always be around – we all had. I had taken feelings for granted because we hid them. I was different and changed. They were a constant reminder of what I had changed from. I have difficulty with their reluctance.

  Philip wanted to be more available. What he didn’t realize was that he could have meaningful relationships with us, no matter how often he sees us. Meaningful relationships are difficult for us because it was not the example we had learned. That was what I had cried for in the past. I was done crying about it.

  I told him, “I’m close to you Philip because you’re my family. We have shared our lives. No matter how long it is in between our visits, I still feel the same way about you. It’s our visits that need meaning, what we say to each other and how we feel.”

  He cried again, and held on to me. After he let go, he said, “Mother told Lady she had to leave the morning she killed herself.” Lady had been out all night, before her suicide the next morning, smoking cocaine. Lady was home because she needed help. Philip felt she was betrayed. Maybe this drove her to her suicide, if what he’s saying is true.

  I wonder if or why she continued in a fruitless relationship with my mother. Lady was never going to have the one she wanted with her, none of us would.

  “I feel like Lady knew we would be different after her death.”

  A light bulb came on above my head. My God, had she sacrificed herself for us? I thought again about when she gave me her coat when we were children.

  Didn’t my mother know, you can’t just stop doing drugs? Relapse is part of recovery. My mother’s love is conditional with our behavior. Didn’t my mother know Lady had burned every bridge she had? She had started prostituting herself for drugs.

  I now know the reason my mother and stepfather were in court with me. My mother, often when she’s guilty of rejecting one of us, will show her superficial support the child that is in her good graces in order to make herself feel better and set an example for the ‘imperfect’ of us – a lesson on how you need to behave in order to get her 5 minute approval of you – until the next time you fail a test for her affection. I wonder what the hell she knew about herself that I didn’t and why it’s so well guarded from us; how does it influence her actions so maliciously?

  My mother did the best she could, I guess. In spite of that, I felt used and betrayed by her. I had asked my mom if anything had happened before Lady had done this, when I talked to her on the phone in jail. She had said no. I knew there was more to the story, there always is. Who would want to take any part of the responsibility for what had happened? I know I didn’t. How could I have expected Mom to be honest with me? But I did.

  I have always been a loner; I didn’t need Mom in court. Lady needed her that day. What was wrong with Mom’s honesty? Our mother doesn’t acknowledge she makes any mistakes. Why is it so hard for her to admit when she’s wrong? She perpetuates herself as omnipotent.

  Philip and I went inside. We decided to sleep. We couldn’t, so we lay in his den in the dark and talked. Maya was already snoring when we came in. Phillip lay down next to Maya on the Futon. I was on the floor next to Malcolm.

  “What is wrong with this picture?” I asked. “I just got out of jail sleeping on a mat substituting for a mattress and here I am on the floor.” We laughed, trying to be quiet while Philip, from the dark, offered me his place on the futon. I could have stayed in the moment forever; I loved them and they knew it. I wonder if Lady knew it; if I think it, can she hear my thoughts?

  My son looks peaceful sleeping on the floor. I kiss him on the cheek, wake him up. I miss him, want to talk to him. He turns over. He’s been staying here with Phillip’s family since this whole episode began. He told me the reason he didn’t want to go back over to my mom’s house was my mother making such a big deal out of everything that had happened, often making him the focus for all her attention.

  Philip kept telling us to be quiet, we were going to wake his new baby. I told him that’s ridiculous, babies do nothing but sleep. We woke Maya to stop her from snoring so loud.

  “I guess going to the bathroom is completely out of the question.” I said. We laughed and woke his baby. It was odd for me to think he has a son of his own. He is still my baby brother in my eyes.

  My brother’s wife came from out the bedroom. “I could hear you saying, ‘Shhh!’ then you guys laughing.” We laughed some more.

  My brother said, “See Angel? Miss know it all.”

  I got up, went to the bathroom. Sleep was completely out of the question. I thanked Jen for allowing Malcolm to stay and for looking after him. She said it was good having him around to help with the new baby. Malcolm always wanted a brother or a sister, he was never going to have one from me.

  I’d had such a difficult pregnancy. Malcolm was born with skin cancer, he had three surgeries by the time he was nine months old. I had gestational diabetes, a severe calcium deficiency and nausea every waking moment it seemed. The caesarean section left me feeling gypped that I did not have a vaginal delivery – for the feeling of being ‘relieved’ as described by my mother. I waited for it. It never came. I hated pregnancy and it hated me.

  The decision not to have another child was final. I think of it as being covered with a white sheet like in an old movie hospital scene, when you know the patient is dead now because their face just got covered up with the sheet. Just like the idea of another pregnancy. I’m glad Philip has someone he loves, and is loved. That’s a good thing. They seemed to be happy. Love is the greatest feeling in the world. I hoped he knows it. Love wasn’t easy for us, but he’s won – they have won.

  Malcolm told me when he woke up later, after going back to sleep while I was out at the bathroom, he had dreamed about Lady. He dreamed she sat up and her spirit raised itself from out of her body; transparently lingering above her body of flesh. Lady blew on her heart; it started to glow a warm red color giving her a breath so her life would return to her lifeless body. The sky around her was dark with the look of an approaching heavy rainstorm, with shades of gray clouds and black dirt on the ground. Her soul entered into her lifeless body as if it had been pushed through to the inside of her by an intervening force that had something attached to it. More powerful than anything he had ever known or thought capable of existed inside her. It was unexpected and hidden at first, then her senseless body felt this force completely while she inhaled it deeply, bringing herself to a living state again but with it her familiar unhappy and unwanted life.

  Lady sat up, looked around the room and smiled at Malcolm. Filled with disappointment and the shock of what had happened to her, she committed suicide again, except this time she took an overdose of pills. Malcolm said during his dream that she kept coming to life and dying repeatedly in different ways but always at her own hand. We hugged as if we were cold while he spoke of his nightmare.

  “I told her just stay alive or dead but don’t kill yourself anymore.”

  “When she smiled at you in the dream, did you feel like she was saying it’s okay, you couldn’t save me”? I asked.

  “No,” he said, “I felt like I couldn’t take her death again.”

  “Well, you could. Because, you did. We always have a lot more left when we think we don’t.” I wrapped a blanket around him and said, “Think of it this way, she kept killing herself because she was so unhappy. And there is nothing different you could have done. It’s not your fault, don’t ever forget that, okay.”

  Malcolm agreed not to forget.

  CHAPTER 8

  The wake was eight hours away. I wasn’t prepared. I had forgotten about the wake part of this whole thing. I didn’t want to go; I needed to spend some time alone. Maya had taken me to my car, after we left Philip’s house; I drove myself home to get clothes to wea
r.

  Here I was, driving on a suspended license again. But I had to get away. What would I tell the cop if I got pulled over? I’m already being punished for the second time, but I have to get clothes for my sister’s funeral. I swear officer. Then I would beg him to take me back to jail.

  I made it home, it felt good to be there. I was hoping I would cry uncontrollably while I was alone, like Philip had done, and feet better. I didn’t. I tried to work on my computer for a while but nothing was coming to write. I had written some of my best poetry when I was upset.

  Pam came and knocked on my door.

  “Are you going to the wake?”

  “I don’t know.” Really, I had already made a decision not to go. I just didn’t want to deal with her.

  “I’ll leave directions on the counter in the kitchen, or you can come with me.”

  “No, leave the directions.”

  Pam left around 6:00 pm, shortly after the phone rang. I could hear Maya talking after the message beep, telling me to pick up the phone. I did.

  “I’m coming over,” she said.

  “Bring Malcolm if he’s back from funeral-clothes shopping with Philip.” I was still tired from being up all night.

  Maya came over and she slept for a little while; so did Malcolm.

  The three of us showed up at my mother’s house about an hour before the funeral. The countdown was on. I took a deep breath and knocked on the bathroom door. I went into the to where my mother was dressing.

  “I don’t want to go.” I sat on the side of the bathtub and cried a little.

  Surprisingly, she said, “Okay don’t go then.”

  Every now and then, my mother would come through for me emotionally. I just never knew when it would happen. I left the bathroom feeling a bit guilty, had I gone too far with my self-preservation theory? Would I regret this decision? It was a chance I was willing to take.

  The more people that arrived, the better I felt about my decision. People hugging me I didn’t even know, I wanted comfort from my family, to be alone with them. I seemed to be the only one who felt this way. I wanted the sense of camaraderie I felt in jail.

  Where were these people when Lady needed them? They didn’t even know her. Why were they going to her funeral? All these people from my mom’s church that didn’t even know Lady. My mom had only started going to church about a year before this. Were they there to support my mom or fulfilling some emotional need to make themselves feel better? Whatever it was, I didn’t think it was right. This day was for Lady. What happened to the focus?

  We should have gone into seclusion, the people that knew and loved Lady, to grieve our loss; deciding how not to lose one of us, while remembering her.

  Her memory reminded me of how fragile we are, how we disappoint and let each other down. Could I have done more? Was anyone learning from this? They all looked so pathetic. I had to get out of here. I was glad they were all fucked up emotionally, maybe this would provoke some change I had never been able to. I was just as emotionally wrecked, but I felt it was for different reasons. The sight of everyone made me sick. I didn’t have sympathy for any them. This could have been avoided.

  I had told my mother once, if Lupus killed me, my one wish would be that she die happy. I didn’t think I was ever going to get that wish. I wished mom knew the importance of trying.

  What really bothered Lady? She felt like such a disappointment and a burden to her family. My mother took personally every mistake we ever made as if somehow our mistakes made her seem inadequate as a mother – when all Mom wanted so badly was for us to do well.

  Maya told me, my mother had printed on Lady’s eulogy she graduated from nursing school. Lady didn’t graduate high school. So what? It seemed the longer I was outside jail the unexpected was destined to be my friend. In jail, everything was a scheduled task.

  Lady was an artist, she was never validated for her creativity. I had asked Lady to do some illustrations for one of my books. Lady was in awe I wrote books. I used to talk about it all the time, and was finally doing what I wanted. That fact seemed to give satisfaction to Lady even though it was my work. It was dissatisfaction that drove my relentless quest to be part of my life. I felt guilty for showing her my books, though cognitively this made no sense.

  I was so sorry about everything that was happening. I wanted to go back to jail so I could think and be on task. What had happened to our family? This is not how it should be. Lady’s death is the evidence. I was so let down. What cowards they are, I thought. I wanted to scream, ‘please stop looking the other way!’

  I went into the bathroom and locked the door until everyone was gone.

  “They are still just people. They are still just people.” I said to myself out loud. I was alone finally, everyone had left for the funeral. One woman stayed behind. An old friend of my mother’s since grade school. I really liked her; Aunt Jean didn’t do funerals. Aunt Jean was one of the kindest and most nonjudgmental persons I had ever met. I wondered how she stayed friends with my mom, who was the complete opposite. Aunt Jean was cutting up something in the kitchen.

  The ring of the phone brought me back from my anger and sorrow. I went to answer it; a female voice I didn’t know was on the other end asking to speak to Lady. I wasn’t quite sure what to say; I was caught completely off guard.

  “Who is this?”

  “I’m from a church; Lady called and left a message. I’m running a little late returning the calls from the machine.” You can say that again, was my first thought. But I could not say that. I had to tell her, Lady was dead.

  Lady made a last cry for help, I thought. Lady probably wouldn’t have gotten the call anyway. My mom took all the telephones out of the house except in her bedroom, to try to stop Lady from doing anything drugs related. Malcolm had to kick in mom’s door to call 911 when he found Lady’s body.

  I wanted to turn myself into jail early; I couldn’t take another thing. I hung up and called my lawyer. I told his secretary I would be in custody for my next court appearance on my drug charge.

  “Let Mr. Seinfeld know I was never released from custody.”

  “Your papers show you were released on an OR,” the secretary replied.

  “I know but I had a hold,” I said.

  “Why will you be in custody through the next court date? Your papers indicate you have no record.”

  I paused, I wanted to make sure he understood. “I had a traffic warrant,” I said. I took a deep cleansing breath. “I was sentenced to 60 days, further. I got no credit for the two weeks served in LA County jail, while I waited to be picked up by Orange County. That’s why I’ll still be there.”

  “Well, that’s shitty,” the secretary replied. “How are you calling now? We don’t accept collect phone calls.”

  “I know, I’m out for a funeral. Just have him call me please to reschedule a court date.” I was hoping he understood, I didn’t have a lot of patience or energy to go on about it. I wanted this handled before I went back to jail early. The man was pleasant on the other end of the phone, he assured me he would relay my message.

  About an hour later Mr. Seinfeld called back and told me to be in court in the morning.

  I called my best friend and said, “Mary, help. I can’t even go to jail early.” There was a silence.

  She asked, “Are you sure you want to do that?” In a tone like she was concerned about my mental health.

  “Yes. Don’t use that shit on me now. I’m okay. Just get me out of here now, please.” I said, in desperation. “I’m on my way,” she said. I hung up thinking, thank God she lives close.

  Everyone was starting to arrive back when, Mary knocked. “I have to drop Jesus at work. I didn’t think I had time to tell you,” she said.

  I turned around and told Aunt Jean, “Goodbye.” That was okay with me, I was happy to see Mary. “Stop looking at me like you’re not sure if I should be 5150’ed or not, and thanks for coming.” I had stopped crying by the time we dropped Jesus at
work. “I’m so tired, can I just sleep when we get there?” I asked.

  “Of course, whatever you need.” Mary said. “Where the hell is Jesus’ car?” I asked because it was just dawning on me they work at the same job but did never rode together.

  “It needs to be registered.” Mary said.

  “Don’t make me laugh, I’m trying to grieve.”

  “I wasn’t trying to,” Mary said, smiling like she realized why I was laughing and crying at the same time.

  When I got to Mary’s house I called my mother and told her about the phone call from the unknown woman. Mary looked like she understood my desperation now, after over-hearing me speak to my mom about the events that had happened while she attended the funeral. Then I asked her to let me speak to my son. My mother scolded me for not being there to greet everyone – fuck everyone I thought – and to come back.

  “One of your friends is here waiting for you.”

  “Who?”

  “The same one who was waiting for you at the wake.”

  “Rhonda?” I asked.

  “Yes. What am I supposed to tell her?” Mom, asked.

  “I’m not there,” I said, harshly. I asked again to speak to my son. She told me he was outside and she couldn’t go and find him. Mom hung up on me. I hoped he was okay, but I couldn’t go back there now. I’d had enough of her all ready.

  I asked for some Vodka. I told Mary in a little kid voice, ‘Wanna’ was waiting for me. That was my pet name for Rhonda.

  “That’s a good friend of yours, isn’t it?” Mary asked while she handed me the vodka and a glass.

  “Yes,” I said. Rhonda and I used to get high together; the fact we no longer did had estranged us. “We still hang around sometimes, one thing for certain, she comes out of the woodwork when she thinks I need her.” I continued. “She was the friend who used to come and help me – when I was real sick. She did standup comedy too, when I was doing that. She and I had sex with two midgets.