by CeeCee James
“You know that never helps.” David yelled back.
“Whatever,” I muttered. Cleaning helped, cleaning was important. I had to do something. In some ways, I felt like I was the guy that had to bridge the gap between them, the peace maker. I was the one that helped them stay together.
I started on the counter, loading the sink with dishes, and wiping as I went. When I got to the sink, I washed and dried the dishes. Then I swept the kitchen, down the hall and into the bathroom. I gave everything in the bathroom a quick once-over and then swept the living room.
It was sparkling by the time I was done.
Dad came home first, from a handy-man job he’d been offered by Mom’s friend at church. He went to the Tupperware and helped himself to a big handful of cake.
“Howdy boys,” he waved a hand at us. “Where’s Willie?”
“At Grandma’s,” I said, staring at the crumbs on the counter. He walked over to the fridge and found a beer, cracking it open on the way to his easy chair. After flipping on the TV, he adjusted the tin foil swathed coat-hanger we used as an antenna until Star Trek came in clear. Then, he settled into his chair with a heavy sigh.
I watched him from the corner of the kitchen, and something hurt inside. I wanted my dad to be the hero I saw him as when I was a little boy. Not some man everyone called a drunkard, getting charity work from church.
I know he tried. He still aimed to do his best by us. Just last month he came to our rescue with the neighbor man who’d kept pestering us boys to come watch a movie with him in his camper. Dad heard about it and went up there with a tire iron. I don’t know what happened, but the guy never bothered me or my brothers again, not so much as a look in our direction. Later, there were whispers in the neighborhood that the man was a creeper.
Dad put his feet up and gave a chuckle at something Bones said. I walked back to the counter and brushed the cake crumbs into my hand, flicking them into the garbage.
David whistled in the loft. He’d stay up there until Mom came home, and she was due any minute.
Sure enough, I heard the rattle screech of her car driving up to the house. Dad closed his eyes and let out a quiet groan. There was a delay, maybe Mom getting out some groceries, before both of the car doors slammed. A second later Willie burst through the front door.
He skidded through the kitchen to the cake Tupperware. “Hi Dad!”
“Hi yourself,” Dad answered, tipping the beer can up at him.
Mom came in through the open door, her arms filled with groceries.
“Why doesn’t anyone help me?” she asked from behind the bags.
“Coming Mom!” David hollered from the loft, and slid down the ladder.
She walked into the kitchen and set down the bags.
“Oh my word! Look at this mess,” she glared, the two wrinkles now scarred into permanent lines between her eyebrows.
I flipped my head to look. There were more cake crumbs on the counter. Willie bit his lip and backed up. A heavy weight grew inside my chest.
She turned to Dad. “All you do is sit here on your ass all day doing nothing! Leaving everything for me to do when I come home!” She grabbed a dish towel and wiped the counter, and then brushed off her hands. “I’m working myself to the bone here.” She threw the towel down. “I guess I have to make dinner now.” She wrenched a pan out of the cupboard and slammed it on the stove. “Jim, come over here.”
I eased my way to the kitchen and stood behind her, every fiber wanting to run away.
“So,” she smiled, “How was your day.”
“Good.” I swallowed.
“How long has Dad been home?” She indicated him with the spatula.
“Not long.”
“Long enough to get a beer though.”
“I can hear you, Woman!” Dad yelled from his chair.
I backed away as she turned to argue, and managed to sneak out through the still open door into the front yard. My brothers were already there.
“Think we’re going to Grandma’s tonight?” David asked, tossing a pebble back and forth between his hands.
I shrugged. Four times this past year Mom had taken us to Grandma’s house. On the way there, Mom would tell us what a bum Dad was. Her voice was burned in my head, “Everything he touches turns to crap.”
I hated how I felt inside; worried, confused, angry. Alone.
I shook my head. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.” It was the only thing left I could do, get my brothers away.
*****
The next Sunday morning, Mom flew about the house trying to get all of us ready. Dad was already out in his tool shed working on who knew what. He didn’t go to church with us anymore. Everyone there knew my parents had problems.
When we got to church Mom walked down the aisle to her friends. The women huddled around the front pew to chat for a few minutes before the opening chords of the organ signaled that everyone better be seated. My brothers and I hung near the back waiting for other kids to show up.
One of the men in the foyer ambled up to me. He was friends with my mom but I hardly knew him.
“Hi Jim. How are you?” He paused for a second, his eyebrows turned down in sad commas. “How’s your dad?”
A lump started in my throat. I knew what he was asking. “Good,” I muttered, looking passed him for an escape. He put his hand on my shoulder and smiled down sympathetically. Pityingly. My insides pulled up tight.
Then, heat started to build inside of me.
I spun away from him and hid in the bathroom. I was shaking inside. Why was Dad doing this to us? Everyone was talking about us.
Church extended later than usual. That afternoon, when we came home, Dad was sitting in the front yard with the lawn mower. As we pulled up in the driveway he glanced up, then back down at the engine again. He held a brown bottle to his lips and took a drink. He looked small, like half the man he used to be.
I slammed the car door shut and started for the house.
“C’mere boy,” he called to me. “Help me with this thing.”
I groaned inside and walked towards him.
There were several parts of the engine strewn across the grass. He held one of the greasy parts close to his face, trying to focus. His eyes were tired when they flicked over at me.
“How’s church?
I shrugged. “It’s okay.”
“Yeah, church.” Dad shook his head and sighed. “All my friends there’ve turned their backs on me.”
I picked at a leaf, not knowing what to say.
He took another drink. “That’s okay. I’ve got friends of my own.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
He took another swallow and studied me again. “You know, I worry about you. Out of all my boys, you’re the most like me.”
I nodded. Mom told me that too, whenever she was mad at me.
He tapped the carburetor with his screwdriver to knock off the rust. Then he grabbed the carb cleaner and sprayed the port. I dug the screws out of the dirt and handed them to him. He grabbed them with his calloused fingers and screwed the lid back on.
“Well, that’s good, I think that’s good,” he mumbled. “Go ahead and give that cord a pull.”
I stood up and gave it a yank, and the motor sprung to life for a few seconds, before dying again.
“Crap,” he said, and started to pull apart the spark plug assembly.
As he worked, he began to talk about his army days, days when he was still a hero. I could feel a part of me thaw. He smiled at me, and I smiled back. He shared a story about how he and his army buddies snuck the military jeep out for a night, and we both laughed.
He screwed the spark plug back in.
“Try it again, Son.”
I pulled the cord again. The lawn mower still wouldn’t start.
Dad stood there frozen for a moment, and something changed in the air.
He clenched his fist. Then, leapt up cussing, the bottle of beer flung to the side, forgotten.
His face was furious and red, the look telling me, “I’m going to rip this cussed lawn-mower apart, and anybody else who gets in my way.”
Somehow, I’d woken the giant, and I wanted to crawl under a rock and hide.
Instead, I backed away and left him kicking the lawn-mower and hurried inside the house.
“What’s going on out there?” Mom asked while mixing raw hamburger meat. Her hands were covered with bits of seasoning and goo.
“Nothing,” I said.
Outside, we could hear Dad screaming. There was a loud crash when he swung the wrench against the lawn mower. Then silence.
He was coming inside.
The door slammed open. Dad walked over to the sink for a glass of water.
“You’re going to shock your body drinking something that isn’t alcohol.” Mom said.
“Don’t start with me, Woman!” Dad snarled.
And from there, it was on. I sighed, as they traded shots back and forth about her disappointment, his failures, and his defensive come-backs.
I ran out to the woods to find my brothers. I figured they were probably hiding in the tree house. Instead, they were out by the old car. This past summer, we’d tried to figure out what was wrong with it, lifting the hood and examining the engine. The hood was still up, exposing a V-8, all covered in rust.
David and Willie sat with their BB guns across their knees. I walked up just in time to overhear, “Get him in the shoulder.” There were snickers, and then I felt the sharp sting of a BB splat into my shirt.
“You little creeps!” I yelled.
David lay back on the cracked, vinyl seat. “I didn’t do it,” he said innocently. Willie laughed but pointed the gun at me to warn me off.
“I’ll get ya back later,” I muttered.
“You get him, and I’m telling,” David said.
“Shut up, or I’ll roll you down the driveway again.”
David punched me in the shoulder. He hadn’t cared for the trip he took last summer down the driveway in the old fifty gallon drum.
We heard shouts from the house.
“How’s it going in there?” David asked.
I kicked at a rock, trying to hit the rim of the tire. “The usual. Maybe we should head down to Elias and Ruby’s to get some food.”
David nodded, and the three of us started down the path.
Just then we heard the front door slam, and then a squeal of tires of Dad’s truck.
Then, Mom yelled out for us. “Boys! Boys!”
Willie wrinkled his forehead. I felt the steam leave me too. Visions of Ruby’s home-made chocolate chip cookies evaporated in a dark cloud.
She was waiting on the stoop when we broke free of the woods. As soon as she saw us she called, “Go get your back packs! We’re out of here!”
We slowly climbed up the ladder to the loft. I pulled my already packed back-pack off of the headboard post. Mom was talking to herself down stairs.
“I’m not taking this anymore! I’m done! Done! Done! Done!”
She hustled us outside and into her car without even bothering to lock the front door.
Instead of getting on the highway for Grandma’s she turned the car towards town.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
She shifted her car, and it gave a lurch before going into gear. “I called Chloe, and she invited us to come stay with her.” Chloe was Mom’s church friend. “She honestly doesn’t see how I’ve dealt all these years with your father.” The car lurched again.
I thought about how adamant she’d been when we left the house.
I don’t think even she knew how done she was.
Chapter 11
Mom sped up into Chloe’s driveway and parked the car, where it shuddered a few times before the engine shut off. The four of us piled out, hauling our back packs after us. The porch light flipped on as we closed the car door, and Chloe came out onto the porch with her arms crossed to wait.
“I just can’t deal with this anymore.” Mom frowned.
“Oh my goodness,” Chloe said. “Well, come in everyone! Come in.”
We filed into her house one by one. Mom set her stuff on the couch while the three of us boys stood awkwardly against the living room wall. There was one lamp on, and I was glad it was dark. I felt kind of embarrassed for bursting in like some homeless refugee.
“Make yourself at home. Sit down wherever.” Chloe fluttered about in green slippers. “Have you eaten?”
Mom sighed. “I was just putting the meatloaf in the oven when he started in.”
“Oh dear.”
“Yes, you remember what I was telling you earlier? He’s always the same.”
“You poor thing,” Chloe clucked her tongue. “All right then. Well, let’s see what I have.”
Chloe disappeared into the kitchen. The fridge door opened. There was a long pause, then we heard clinks of jars and containers being pushed around. It sounded like a desperate hope that something would materialize behind the jars that would feed three boys.
It didn’t sound too promising though, because then the fridge shut and the cupboard doors clattered.
My brothers and I trooped like robots over to the couch and sat. David smacked my knee with his, staring straight ahead like he didn’t do nothing. I bumped him back harder.
Chloe reappeared in the doorway. “Okay, how’s peanut butter and jelly sandwiches sound?” She gave a little laugh. “I guess I need to go shopping.”
“That’s fine, that’s good,” Mom said reassuringly. “We don’t want to put you out.”
“Oh, it’s no trouble.” Chloe went back into the kitchen. This time Mom followed.
Their voices were low, but I could hear them talking. We stayed quiet in the living room all wishing, I think, that we were back in our woods. A few minutes later they both came out with plates of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
“I know how boys like to eat,” Chloe said with a nod in our direction.
Peanut butter and jelly was my least favorite food ever, but Mom gave me a glare behind Chloe’s back. I picked one up and held it tentatively. Grape jelly oozed out of the side.
“Mmm,” I took a bite. “So good!”
My brothers grabbed one too. Willie licked up one edge of his sandwich.
Chloe snapped the TV set on and turned it to Wheel of Fortune. My brothers and I stared uninterested, while Mom and Chloe shouted out guesses to the contestants.
“You know they can’t hear you, right Mom?” Willie said.
“Oh shush. You know we’re just having fun,” Mom said.
Just then the phone rang.
It was Dad. How he knew where we were, I had no idea.
“My son’s think I’m a bad man,” he said, his voice so loud I could hear it from where I was sitting. “Maybe I am!”
David jumped up and grabbed the phone from Mom. “Dad! Knock it off! Leave us alone!”
“You think I’m a bad man,” Dad mumbled.
“Just leave us be, Dad.”
“I’m coming up there, and I’m going to let you beat me up.” Dad slurred.
“No Dad, leave us alone. You’re drunk.”
“You can hit me.”
“Dad, if you go anywhere, I’m calling the cops and reporting you drinking and driving.”
Dad started to laugh, or maybe cry, I couldn’t tell. David slammed the phone down, shaking.
I sat like a statue.
David punched the wall, then ripped the phone back off the receiver.
“I’m sick of this.” His chin jutted forward. “I’m not putting up with it anymore.” He pressed the buttons for the police.
I understood David’s frustration. I was frustrated too.
When the operator answered, David blurted out, “My dad’s drunk. He said he was coming up here. He’s drunk driving right this minute.”
Now, the police had been involved many times in my parents’ disputes. So much so, that they knew my dad by his first name. They knew all his
haunts and knew how combative he was when he was drunk. When he was plastered he wasn’t afraid of the police or anybody else who got in his way. He didn’t have any problem knocking a person down.
David started to pace, as he listened to the other end.
“No, he got rid of the yellow Toyota last week. He’s got a new truck, now. It’s white.” The telephone cord stretched taut as he came to the end of his tether. Abruptly, he spun and paced back. “Yes. Okay, Okay, thank you.”
David hung up the phone, looking down confused at how the cord was tangled around his body. He rotated a few times to release himself.
We all watched him like a knot of owls sitting on a fence.
“They’re going to call back if they find him.”
Small town police work like that.
Mom patted David on the arm when he squished into the couch next to her. “You’re such a brave boy.” She studied him for a second. “I’m sorry he’s doing this to you. To all of you.” She sighed and clicked the TV volume back up.
Pat Sajak was congratulating the contestant on guessing the phrase, “Rubber Baby Buggy Bumpers.” None of us spoke. The plate of sandwiches on the coffee table looked lifeless, and the air felt prickly and unnatural. I wondered where Dad was and what was going to happen next.
The phone rang again. We all jumped at the jarring tone. Mom looked at my brother, then me; which one of us was going to pick it up?
I walked across the narrow living room to the phone and cleared my throat. “H..hello?”
“This is Officer Palomo. We have a unit who’s located your dad, and they’re in pursuit. We’ll have him in custody soon.”
“Okay, thank you.” I tried to make my voice sound deep and manly, but it hurt to speak over the lump in my throat. Slowly, I put the phone back in the cradle and turned to look at the family.
“They’ve found him. They’re chasing him right now.”
The room came alive with nervous energy. Everyone talked at once.
“Where is he at?”
“Is he coming here?”
“Leave it to your father to cause a road chase.” Mom spoke over the top of all of us. She sounded exasperated.
A vivid picture flashed through my mind of Dad drunk and losing control of the truck on a sharp turn and hitting a tree. A ball of flames. I ground my palms into my eyes. Please God, make this stop!