Melissa called Doreen the second she arrived, and after getting her dad’s permission, set up the sleep over. It had been months since she had seen Doreen, and it would be nice to hang out with her, even if it was at her dad’s house. She just needed to feel like a kid again. The pressure in her head was constant, and her ability to contain it was slipping. Scott’s relentless barrage tightened the vice around her head. She felt like a torture victim during war. Doreen made it over to the house in a few hours. Her elderly father dropped her off as he so often did and never even managed to come to the door. The act of meeting and greeting parents seems to be a lost art. How many people actually know who their children are hanging out with? Jesus, do you not care at all who or what your kids might be exposed to? With all of the insanity permeating our society it seems that parents should be more concerned instead of more casual about other households. Still, he didn’t really seem to care.
Doreen was socially adept and cordially said hello to everyone before she and Melissa entered the solitude of Melissa’s waiting bedroom. They closed the door and Melissa instantly felt more at ease. Scott still mumbled, but he stayed in the background. She focused completely on Doreen and their idle chatter. This guy was now with this girl and that girl was now with this guy and etc., etc. There is nothing more fulfilling than catching up on the gossip of the local cliques.
The dinner bell rang quickly, and the family requirements kicked in. Melissa’s dad insisted everyone ate dinner together. At her mom’s house, she couldn’t remember the last time they had even sat at a table. The conflicting priorities were sometimes more than she could handle. Conversation focused on Doreen since she was a guest who hadn’t been around for a few months. Melissa was just happy that she could blend into the background for once. They ate, cleaned the dishes, and then headed back to her bedroom. It wasn’t long before Melissa and Doreen heard the house settle down into a calm slumber.
The plan was simple. They wouldn’t sneak out or even attempt to sneak out. Melissa always had an extremely difficult time sneaking out of her dad’s house. The last time she attempted it, she had ran into Karen sleeping on the couch. Apparently Karen wasn’t always able to sleep with her snoring father, so she meandered her way to the sofa on some evenings and spent the entire night there. Melissa had been shocked one night when she had tip-toed to the front door and Karen’s head popped up, and she asked Melissa what was going on. Melissa had been so freaked out she couldn’t even answer. She just slowly walked back to her room.
So, the girls planned to grab the vodka from the kitchen cabinet, as well as a couple of shot glasses and drink away in her bedroom. Her dad always said he would prefer they try things at home versus getting in trouble somewhere else. In a way, if they drank in her bedroom, it would be like following his rules. If Melissa was truthful, Scott actually formulated the plan. Melissa just relayed it to Doreen who thought it was a fantastic idea. So, away they went.
At 9:30 p.m. Melissa’s little sisters were in bed, and her father and Karen had already closed their door. Hopefully, Melissa would not hear them making love again. Her room was right next door to theirs, and she was often grossed out by the noises she heard coming through the walls of her dad’s bedroom.
She and Doreen went into the kitchen, got the bottle of vodka, and picked up the shot glasses. They snagged some chips and headed back to Melissa’s room for some fun. They turned on the TV and started drinking. At 15 years old, it doesn’t make sense that you can’t have fun without alcohol, but alcohol always seems to be the focus of everyone’s attention. So they drank a few shots, followed them up with some soda and before they knew it they were feeling good.
The TV got louder, Doreen at one point fell off the bed, and the next thing they knew at 11 p.m. her father banged on the door for them to quiet down. Both laughed, and they agreed to be quiet. But they followed their feeble responses with nonstop giggles. At least Scott was out of the picture for the time being.
They decided to watch a movie and that meant venturing out to the living room. They grabbed their supplies, banged their way to the couches, flopped down and cranked up the TV. That was when Doreen somehow dropped the bottle of vodka on the floor. Since the bottle was closed, there wasn’t a mess, but it made a pretty loud bang upon impact. They heard the door open. They threw the bottle under the coffee table and jumped on the couch, knocking a can of coke on the floor. They laughed as the liquid formed a pool of brown evidence three feet from their toes.
Father
I finally had enough. Jesus Christ, what was it with this girl? She’s been gone for ages, and as soon as she arrived back, she had the entire house up all night. I wanted to be patient with her, I wanted to give her some room, but what the hell was wrong with her? Did everyone in the house have to cater to her just because we were all so afraid she might get pissed off? It didn’t make any sense. I loved her so much, but at the same time there were simple rules that seemed logical to follow.
As I lay in bed, I wondered where she got her inability to deal with reality. I couldn’t even watch TV in my own house when this girl was around. I no longer seemed to have any choices at all. She constantly turned my car radio to rap or some pop star that I couldn’t stand. I couldn’t drive with the sun roof open without hearing the constant wailing of her discontent. The TV was all but off limits for me. I was reduced to asking her to please choose something else when I couldn’t stand what was on. But even that was never my choice. It had come down to me voicing my concern over what I abhorred the most.
Now I lay in bed, and I was tired. Karen asked me how long we had to put up with the noise. Even she agreed that Melissa had not been back in the house long enough to call it home. What the hell was wrong with this girl? Finally, when I heard the loud explosion of something falling, I’d had enough. I threw open the door, pulled on a T-shirt, and stormed out to the living room. Even the most patient of parents has a point of finality.
As pissed off as I was, I still bit my tongue and simply said, “Can you girls please keep it down? We are trying to sleep in the other room.”
That was when I saw the Coke spilled on the floor. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew something was off-center. I wonder if that is what being a detective is about. You see a crime scene. You know something doesn’t look right, but you can’t quite put your finger on it immediately. You just keep looking and staring until it finally clicks.
I asked them, in a rather gruff voice, why the hell they hadn’t cleaned up the Coke as I saw it continuing to ooze out of the container. Maybe that was the key. It had just happened. How they were lying on the couch was odd, as well though. It wasn’t even a couch really. It, by definition, was a love seat, and they were almost lying on top of each other. It was as if they had just jumped there when they heard me coming down the hall. Maybe they spilled the Coke when they heard me by jumping on the couch.
As I picked up the can I noticed shot glasses on the coffee table. Again, it seemed odd but kids don’t always make sense. Maybe they were drinking the Coke out of shot glasses for the fun of it. Even though kids believe their parents are constantly out to get them, I really think that most parents want to believe in their children. They want to feel like their kids are good, tell the truth, and are always headed down a good path.
I asked them why they had shot glasses on the coffee table. Suddenly, something drew my eyes below. As with all cases there comes a point in time when the evidence points in one direction, and it is so overwhelming you can no longer deny the truth. The bottle of vodka lying all alone under the table did not just happen to find its way there by itself. As the scene became instantly clear, my emotions ignited, and I couldn’t contain them. They burst forth.
I screamed at both of them to get their asses off the couch and clean up the spilled Coke. It seemed to make sense that they could clean up their mess. As Doreen went to grab some towels, I laid into Melissa, asking her what the hell she thought she was doing? Was she so stupid as to drink r
ight under my nose? They were both 15 years old. Did they not have any common sense at all? Sadly, she looked at me with a confused smirk on her face that told me everything I needed to know.
No, she didn’t have any clue. She probably wasn’t even sure that she had done anything wrong. Maybe it was at that moment I realized she had lost any ability to understand what her life was about and where she was headed. It was as if somebody had flipped on one of those “Where Are They Now?” TV shows, and I saw my daughter 20 years in the future.
She had three kids, never got a college degree, was married to a guy who couldn’t hold down a job, and they all lived in a two bedroom trailer in the middle of Arkansas. Nothing against Arkansas, but my daughter fell several notches in the span of five minutes. As a parent you always have hope that your children will figure it out. You always keep a small sliver in the back of your mind of higher aspirations. I think that was the night Melissa managed to extinguish those in my mind. She was lost. I just had to admit that to myself and lower my expectations for her, drastically.
Karen got out of bed, as well, and instead of her normal calming influence, she yelled at Melissa right along with me. I think Melissa’s bold insanity shocked her. There were no longer any rules that mattered to her. She was going to do whatever she felt like, and screw anyone who possibly stood in her way.
As Karen and I increased in volume and Doreen wiped up the mess, Melissa opened up with her infantile tirade. God forbid she would just stand there and take her punishment. She seemed incapable of accepting responsibility. Somehow this was all my fault, and now that Karen had joined in, it was her fault, as well. The louder we got the louder Melissa got and, as with most of our disagreements, it only ended when I walked out of the room. Karen followed me.
Doreen cleaned up most of the mess while Melissa screamed after us like the small child she had become. You want to see your daughter mature as each year passes, but somehow Melissa regressed as she reached each new annual milestone. At this rate she would be back to infancy in a few years, and we would change her diapers. Sadly, that could be an exact reality if she overdosed or was on the wrong end of a car accident. Jesus, it wouldn’t be that long before she could get her license. That was one of the scariest things imaginable. My 8-year-old daughter would be more responsible.
The following morning was more of the same. Doreen’s dad picked her up, and I insisted on telling him of the night’s activities. Sadly, I am not sure he cared. I had been told he was older, but when he stood in the front door, I couldn’t help but think that he must have been in his 70s. Maybe at that age you realize you are so close to death your daughter can do whatever she likes. You won’t even be around to see it so why does it matter. It makes you wonder why people even have kids in their 50s. If they can’t tolerate the responsibility any more than that then why procreate?
Melissa never did say she was sorry. She never admitted to doing anything wrong. She never apologized to Karen for waking her up or to me for keeping me out of bed. It was obvious she really didn’t care.
I got her out of bed early the next day. I made her do some chores, and we continued the weekend as planned. The little girls had lost too many weekends and too many opportunities because of Melissa. It had to stop. Did all of our lives have to be put on hold for this child? Did we all have to sacrifice for her inability to care about anyone but herself?
If you love all of your children equally, when do you draw the line with one in order to save the other two? Is there a point in time where it is acceptable to give up and cut your losses, letting the wayward daughter drift out to sea on her own? Jesus, I was sick and tired of this shit.
Turning 16 and driving
Melissa
Everyone turns 16. The only way to keep a child from turning 16 would be if the child died. Otherwise the inevitable always occurs. Melissa was only a few days away. She realized her father wouldn’t help her get her license, but her mother was another story. Every time she asked to go to the movies or hang out with her friends, she saw the glint of hope in her mother’s eyes. Her mother might love her, but she was all consumed with herself, as well.
When her mother weighed the time spent driving Melissa to all of her social events against the dangers of having her drive, it was an easy choice. Her mother’s only worry was that Melissa wouldn’t get her license, so she would help her get it no matter what. Her father was only concerned with her being responsible, so she never even bothered trying.
Scott was still the primary instigator in her life, and he told her to tone it down. He told her to keep her grades up, complain a little less, and attempt to play the part her parents expected her to play. Is being a daughter nothing more than playing a role meant to portray what people expected? If her mother needed a little more attention and adoration, then that is what she would give her.
She told her mom she looked nice and asked her if she lost weight. It was all about the subtle compliments and the next thing Melissa knew, she was behind the wheel. But, actually driving was more difficult than she’d imagined – when to turn, how to break, what might happen if you turned the radio volume up at the wrong time. Melissa had trouble focusing on more than one thing most of the time, and driving required significant multitasking. Still, after several rides in her mom’s car, she got the hang of things. As her 16th birthday came and went, she found herself behind the wheel of a car. Luckily, her parents kept the former nanny’s Honda Civic for her, so she didn’t have to wonder whether she would get a vehicle of her own. It had been in the driveway for the last several months with her name on it.
She admittedly would have preferred her father help teach her. But since he refused, she really had no choice. Her mother was an adequate tutor. But it was emotionally draining for both of them. Melissa had a disturbing experience on a major highway early on when she turned on her left-hand turn signal but didn’t merge into the left lane. The cars behind her and passing her over the shoulder blared their horns. She heard one man scream through the window as he flew by.
Her mother, in the passenger seat, yelled “Turn left! Turn left!” over and over again. Then, when Melissa almost did as she was told her mother screamed, “Not now! Not now!” as a car zipped by them only a few inches from their front bumper. They both laughed when they pulled over to the side, and Melissa finally got out of the car. She hadn’t been allowed to drive home that day, but it wasn’t very long before she was back at it again.
Her father would have been a little easier. Melissa remembered being in the car when the nanny did the exact same thing, and he sat there, asking her if she planned on turning left or was she attempting to get to know the neighbors a little better. He never did lose his cool in the car. Melissa always wondered why he managed to get so mad on other occasions but not when things rattled him.
Sadly, the little Honda Civic wasn’t Melissa’s ideal vehicle. She had wanted a jeep. She requested one on several occasions, but it didn’t seem likely she was going to get it. Most kids would have been happy with any car. Just having a car to call their own would have sufficed, but Melissa pushed the envelope. Maybe it was her mother’s influence. Why be happy when you can constantly find things that don’t measure up? No matter how good things are going you can always find something to bring you down. Want more, want more, always ask for what you don’t have.
Some might scoff at this, but it is a true talent to turn anything into a negative.
Drunk driving, do all teenagers do it?
Father
I moved out of my parents’ house when I turned 16. I spent a year with my aunt and uncle and a year with my grandmother. I worked a couple of jobs and paid for all my incidentals. I realized at a young age if I were going anywhere in life, I’d have to get there on my own. My parents loved me, but their priorities were vastly different than mine.
To celebrate getting my license, I took the vast fortune I’d saved since I was a very young, withdrew it from my bank account, and purchased my first car.
I didn’t ask for help. I didn’t ask for anyone’s advice. I got my $200 and purchased my car. Now one might wonder what kind of car you can purchase for $200.
It was a Chrysler – that much I can remember. It had two doors, and it reminded me, and anyone who looked at it, of a tank. It was huge. How you can have a two-door car that big is beyond me. The doors weighed so much they must have been on special hinges. The car alone must have been several tons. It was all steel, like the older cars, none of this plastic crap that bends and folds at the slightest touch.
The tires on this car were as bald as a watermelon. None of them had any tread at all. The heater and defrost didn’t work, and the rear axle was bent so you rocked back and forth in rhythm with the speed you traveled. It was like getting a massage as you drove down the road. I purchased all of this at the junkyard for the rock-bottom, bargain-basement price of $200.
The beast did manage to get me back and forth to work. I drove it to school and used it for my many extracurricular activities. If you are basically on your own at 16, you might not quite be ready to face the challenges the world has to offer. All of the clichés really do hold true. There are not many, if any, teenagers who understand the magnitude of life’s hardships that await them.
As summer changed to fall and winter approached, it didn’t take long for me to realize my car needed a heater and defroster. I picked up a couple of friends, and we all headed over to a party. We had some beer with us, each popped open a can and eased back into the ice-cold green vinyl seats. Vinyl is damn cold when the temperature is close to 30 degrees. I scraped off the ice from the inside of the car windows and we were off.
Learning to Cry Page 26