by CeeCee James
My insides felt tight with worry when I saw her withdraw from me more and more, for no reason that I could see. I felt pissed at her mom and dad that she didn’t believe that anyone could love her. I didn’t know how to fix what was happening between us.
Tonight, it started again. We’d ordered pizza and just brought it home. I hadn’t finished my first slice when she said, “I know this isn’t going to work.” Her eyes puddled up, and she grabbed her napkin under the plate of pizza.
“What?”
“This,” She indicated her hand between me and her.
“Aww babe, it’s definitely going to work!” I leaned over to give her a hug, and she pushed me away.
“What?” I asked.
“You don’t understand.”
“Then tell me.”
She sniffed and gave me a small smile. “I’m okay. I’ll figure this out.”
Standing up, she squeezed my shoulder and then went into the bathroom. She wasn’t in there but a minute, when, out of the blue, cold fear grabbed my heart. Call it a premonition; I don’t know what it was. I jumped up and pounded on the door.
“CeeCee! You okay?” I yelled, my ear pressed against the door listening. The fear inside me was so strong I couldn’t grasp the crazy thing I was doing.
“I’m fine!” Her voice sounded too cheery after our last words.
Urgency seized me, smothering all rational explanations.
“CeeCee!” I rattled the door knob. “Open this door.”
“Jim! I’ll be out in a minute. Let me use the bathroom in peace, sheesh.” She gave a laugh.
I knew her, I knew her laugh. Something wasn’t right.
I called one more time. “You either open this door, or I’m breaking it down.”
“Oh my gosh, Jim, just give me a second please!” Her voice had panic in it.
I started to kick the door before the words were fully out of her mouth. The door was flimsy, two kicks and I had it down. I burst into the room.
She was sitting on the floor. There was blood everywhere. A bloody razor sat on the counter.
My heart froze inside of me.
“What did you do?” I whispered.
Her eyes looked like two pools of shame. In her hand was a wad of toilet paper, smears of blood across the floor in front of her from where she tried to wipe it clean.
I rushed over and drew her up. She couldn’t meet my eyes.
“Where did you hurt yourself,” I murmured, turning her arms over to look for cuts. I found them on her ankles. Six deep slices that pooled blood around her feet.
“Why?”
She started sobbing, deep throaty cries, and buried her face into her hands.
I scooped her up and carried her to her bed. The lump in my throat wouldn’t go away. I grabbed a wash cloth, and wiped my eyes with it before getting it wet with cold water.
She still sat on the bed, and stared wet eyed at me, stunned at my return.
“Oh babe, poor thing.” Seeing her precious feet covered in blood broke me. I started to cry as I tried to stop the bleeding. “Please. Please don’t ever do this again.”
That seemed to break her. “I won’t! I’m so sorry!” she cried, her lips in the crown of my hair. “I hurt so badly inside thinking of you leaving. I know I’m not good enough to keep you. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’m so sorry.”
“You’re more than good enough. You’re more than good enough for me.”
I got the bleeding to stop, and bandaged them with some gauze I’d found under the sink.
Then, I cleaned up the bathroom. When I came back to the room she was lying down wrapped in a blanket. I lay next to her and held her. “I love you hon. I’ll never leave you. Never. You’re my treasure. I love you forever.”
She buried her face into my shoulder and whispered, “I was always too scared to tell you before, but I love you too.”
*****
It was three weeks later that I asked CeeCee to marry me. She shrieked, “Yes!” And, about knocked me down trying to kiss me. We were poor as could be, so I drew a diamond ring on her finger with a marker. “One day, this will be real,” I promised her. She climbed into my lap, and with a wink, said, “I’ll make you a steak that night.”
The next Saturday, I took her to the house on the hill to officially introduce her to Dad. When we pulled up to the garage-house I noticed it looked really run down. He hadn’t held a job in a while, and I knew where his spare money went.
We went inside, and I was surprised to see that the interior was neat. Dad was in his recliner watching the A-Team. He looked up as we walked over to him. His brown eyes looked a little glassy, and my step faltered a bit. I cleared my throat and then said, “Hey Dad, meet my future wife, CeeCee.”
He grabbed her hand, and she peeped over at me nervously. He gave a belch, and said, “Congratulations, Son. You got a looker.” CeeCee smiled and tried to pull her hand away. Dad wasn’t letting go. Too late, I realized he was deep in his cups.
“Sit down, why don’tcha? Have a drink with me.” I reached across and pulled her hand away.
“Naw, we got to get going.”
“Aww, c’mon. Stay awhile.” He smiled at CeeCee. She pressed back against me.
“Another time, Dad.”
On the way back to our apartment I felt something in my gut. Seeing Dad sitting there, all alone, after a life time of going from job to job, hit me like a knife blade of grief and determination all in one. Mom had always said I was just like my dad, but, for the first time, I wanted to be someone different.
I just wasn’t sure how.
Chapter 20
It was cloudy on the day I got married. We didn’t have a lot of support for our marriage. Mom and I were kind of on the outs; Dad didn’t care about weddings. Her parents were not in the picture. So here we were, ready to stumble through our vows in the office of a Justice of the Peace.
CeeCee reached for my hand for reassurance. I gave her a wink and tried to look confident, but inside I was a mess of butterflies and jitters.
“Do you want the long version or the short version?” the JP asked and tapped his pen on the document before him.
“Uhh,” I stammered.
The JP looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “The long version is where I talk about God. The short version I’ll pronounce you both married.”
The word, “God” pulled at me. “Long.” I nodded, then pulled CeeCee closer.
The JP shook his head. “You’re standing on the wrong side of her,” he muttered.
“Oh!” Already, I was doing this married thing wrong. We quickly changed places.
He opened a black book and began the ceremony. Her ring was from the drug store, mine was her class ring that barely fit past my first knuckle. He pronounced us man and wife. To be honest, we could have gone with the short version, because those were the only words I heard. I kissed her and joy exploded inside of me. I finally had my own family.
One I didn’t want to screw up.
The only way I knew how was to go back to my roots. I used to talk to God as a kid, and I figured now would be a good time to start up again.
We could have gotten married at our church, but we’d only been going there for a few weeks. CeeCee was a brand new Christian, and I was barely one myself.
We drove home from the courthouse, stopping first at the gas station where CeeCee found me a metal band ring in a display on the counter while paying for the gas. I carried her through the doorway of our new place, a tiny studio apartment above a video store. It was as plain as could be, but already furnished with a bed in the corner and a battered bookcase. Pushed against the far wall was a card table with three flimsy chairs. We felt rich.
As soon as I set her down CeeCee scampered straight over to the bookcase. She ran her hands along the top, then spun towards me with her eyes sparkling.
“I’m going to paint this, and fill it to bursting with books! As many as I can find!”
&
nbsp; I had to laugh. To be so excited over a bookcase, she really must love to read.
The next day I was back to my landscaping job. As I pushed the lawn mower, my silver ring caught my eye. Wow, I’m a married man. I have a wife. I couldn’t get over how surreal it felt.
After work, I opened the front door and yelled out, “Honey, I’m home. Hope I can find you in this mansion!”
CeeCee was curled up on the bed with a book. The studio felt cozy. I looked about to see what had changed in the apartment. Candles were lit. She’d found a tablecloth from somewhere, covered the chairs with matching towels, and had dinner cooking on the stove.
She gave me a big kiss that I was happy to return.
“Mmm smells good!” I growled into her neck.
“Get in the shower and clean up!” she giggled.
Dinner that night was a little unexpected. Spaghetti, with sauce made from tomato soup. I poked at the noodles with a fork, lifting them to look for the sauce.
“I’m sorry!” She blushed. “I thought you were supposed to use soup.” She gave me a sad smile, “I’ve never really cooked in a kitchen before.”
I took a big bite. “Delicious!”
“I promise I’m not trying to poison you.” She grinned and handed me the salt and pepper. “Maybe this will help.”
*****
A year later, soon after we turned twenty, we had our first baby, a girl. My daughter was beautiful, fragile, scary. When the nurse handed her to me my arms felt wobbly, like I was holding fifteen eggs all at once. I cradled her as carefully as I could, scared that I would break her somehow. My wife watched me from the hospital bed with a content smile, her face still flushed and sweaty from the difficult delivery.
My family. The responsibility pulled at my core. Joy and fear rushed through me, tearing me in different directions.
Later that night I went outside for a cigarette. I looked up at the stars and prayed. Oh God, don’t let me fail them.
The hospital released the both of them a few days later. I fought with the car seat for ten minutes while the nurse watched and CeeCee giggled. Finally, she eased herself out of the wheel chair, and said, “Here, let me try.” After the baby was buckled in, I gave her a shaky smile, and we all went home.
Right away I discovered that parenting wasn’t easy. Our daughter had colic. From the time I came home from work, until two in the morning she screamed. After a few weeks, my wife was frazzled, the baby was hurting, bills mounting up, and there was no one to turn to. Now, we were the grown-ups.
The frustration at not being able to fix what was wrong was eating me away, and after another night of only three hours of sleep I had to escape. It was the first time that I felt so out of control since Dad had been arrested when I was fourteen.
I needed a drink.
That Friday night I brought my wife and my daughter to Dad’s house. He’d moved in with his girlfriend, and the atmosphere at his new house was less rambunctious. We laid the baby down on the bed in the bedroom. CeeCee coupled her hands under her chin and watched our daughter, asleep now earlier than she’d ever had before.
“She’ll be fine. We’ll check on her.” I whispered in CeeCee’s ear. She nodded and followed me out into the living room.
Dad had the bottles opened for us when we walked in.
“Having a hard time?” he asked.
“Yeah.” I collapsed back on the couch like a dead weight, and felt like it was the first time I was able to relax since our daughter had been born.
“Just keep looking up, Son.”
“I’ll drink to that!” I held up the beer. Over the next couple of hours I drank a few beers and laughed; only stopping when I knew I had to sober up so I could drive.
There was a nagging feeling inside of me that I shouldn’t be doing it. But I squashed it down pretty quick.
After a month of going to Dad’s every weekend I started thinking about alcohol every day during work. I couldn’t wait until Friday, and the closer we got to the weekend, the more the hunger grew. It started to seem silly to wait a whole week for Friday to come so we could unwind. Maybe we’d stop by his house this Wednesday. CeeCee agreed.
We buckled the baby in the car seat like every other time. I smiled at CeeCee. Her eyes were shining in the dark. Aww, I thought to myself. I’m glad I’m giving her a break. It isn’t easy being stuck in the house all day with a crying baby.
I put the key in the ignition and twisted. The car wheezed, but refused to start. Frowning, I tried again. The starter whined over and over, nothing.
“What the heck?” The car had been running fine all week.
I tried it again. This time the radio died out, and the headlights dimmed.
CeeCee shifted in her seat. This was getting a little more serious. There wasn’t any money in the budget to fix the car, or even miss a day from work because of lack of transportation.
I tried it again. No lights now, in fact the ignition switch refused to even click.
I tried it again, and again. Nothing.
We sat there in the dark. I rubbed my hand down my forehead as I realized the car was broke-down. At the very least it needed a battery. Even that expense we couldn’t afford.
CeeCee nervously twisted in her seat, and the seatbelt pulled tight across her chest. “Honey?”
I took a deep breath and held it for a second, then prayed out loud for the first time. “God, I need this car for work tomorrow. If this is your way of telling us to quit going to my Dad’s to drink, please let this car start.” My hand was sweaty from gripping the key so hard.
I put it in the ignition again.
Held my breath and turned it.
The car roared to life, headlights and radio blaring.
CeeCee scrambled out and twirled to stare wild-eyed. “Oh My Gosh! Never again, Jim!”
I slowly flipped off the ignition, numb. CeeCee was shaking as she unstrapped the baby. She clutched her close as we headed up the stairs to the studio.
Once inside, I shut the heavy door and bolted it, then wandered numbly to the couch. I sank down to sit with my head in my hands. What just happened? Was I becoming hooked on alcohol?
Was it too late?
CeeCee went to the walk-in closet and laid the baby down in the crib. I could hear her singing to our daughter, some silly song about a bird in a gumdrop tree. Her voice, soft and lilting, calmed me too.
The hunger inside me groaned, but I shoved it down. Like a light bulb going off, I finally realized how to be different than my dad.
I’d never drink again.
Chapter 21
CeeCee and I were in our tiny Mazda on our way home from grocery shopping. Thinking of all those bags of food in the trunk made me feel like a good provider.
“Aren’t you the cutest peanut?” CeeCee had turned around from the passenger seat to hold our daughter’s out-stretched hand. After months of suffering, colic had finally released its hold, leaving a happy baby girl. My heart welled up with joy at the very thought of her.
My attention was caught by a staggering hitchhiker up ahead. He wore shabby clothes, and his jeans were ripped up one leg, but it was his jacket that made my heart pound. A worn-out denim Carhartt.
It was Dad.
I swerved to the side of the road, making CeeCee squeal. Dad’s face lit up and he ran to the car, nearly toppling over at the door when his momentum carried him too far.
He looked at CeeCee in the front seat and waved, before wrenching open the back door and plopping into the seat.
CeeCee’s eyes opened wide as the alcohol fumes filled the air.
“Why hello little mugwump,” Dad said to my baby. He reached for one of her socked toes to wiggle it.
I eased back into traffic. “Where you going, Dad?” I glanced in the rear view mirror at him.
His facial features froze. “Who you calling Dad?” he snapped. No smile now, instead, he had an aggressive curl to his lips.
The hair on the back of my neck prickled. “
Uh, it’s me, Jim.”
“Jim who?” Dad squirmed and grabbed for the door handle.
I licked my lips and glanced over at CeeCee. She studied her hands in her lap as if staying still would keep her from being noticed.
“Dad! It’s me! Your son, Jim.”
He grabbed on to the back of my seat and pulled himself between CeeCee and I. He looked at me closely, the stench of stale cigarettes filling the air, then settled back.
“Let me out,” he mumbled.
“Dad, where you going? Let me take you?”
“Let me out now!” he yelled.
CeeCee nodded, “Let him out if he wants to go.”
Inside, I cursed. What was I supposed to do? Let him out on the road where could get hit by the next car?
“All right, hang on,” I said. There was a fast food restaurant a few blocks away.
Dad started to push on my seat, rocking it back and forth. “I want out now!”
I yanked the steering wheel and turned into the parking lot. He wrenched the door open and toppled out. He didn’t look back as he stumbled away.
The next afternoon, I called to check on him. Dad wouldn’t take my phone calls. He must’ve remembered how he hadn’t recognized me and felt embarrassed.
That moment marked a permanent change in our relationship. Coming at the heels of me quitting drinking was too much for him to deal with. Dad already felt abandoned by me because I went to church. Although he believed in God, he saw that as an act of betrayal that I’d join forces with “those people”. The people he felt judged by, the people he wasn’t good enough for. People like my mom.
Although I’d tried to reassure him many times, there was nothing I could say that would change his mind. He couldn’t see that I loved him just as he was, even if, and especially if I didn’t live the same lifestyle.
After a few months passed, I ran into him at the grocery store as he stood in the bakery picking through the pecan pies. “Well, hey! Long time no see.” He smiled, and slapped me on the back. We stood there for a few minutes catching up, and he had a new story about wrangling with a collection agency that he shared with a chuckle.