by Dave Pelzer
“You gotta go to the bathroom?” Kevin again interjected.
“No, I’m fine,” I said with a trembling voice.
From behind, I caught one of Mother’s snide smiles. “Something amiss?” she said in a low tone.
Making our way forward, Kevin led me into the bedroom that I assumed he shared with Russell. The last time I had seen it was when Kevin was sleeping in his crib. Growing tired of the tour, I simply nodded and turned away. “And this,” Kevin stated grandly, “is Mom’s room.” Still amazed at how small everything seemed, I stepped into Mother’s sanctuary and gawked at her mirrored bureau, where her once cherished perfumes and figurines were coated with dust.
As I turned to leave Mother’s bedroom, I noticed a set of photographs. The upper left picture was a color bust shot of Ronald in his army uniform. By the tone of his expression, Ron was his own man. He looked fantastic in uniform, and I was proud of him. He had escaped. My eyes then darted to the outdated school photos of Stan, Russell, and Kevin. In the middle of the surrounding pictures was a black-and-white portrait of Mother on her wedding day. Catherine Roerva Pelzer was absolutely stunning. Her eyes glowed with love. Her complexion was flawless. She seemed to radiate the model of a young bride who couldn’t wait to live a lifetime filled with happiness. As I admired Mother’s portrait, I suddenly realized that Father was nowhere in the set of pictures. Looking closer, I discovered that I, too, had been excluded. I now understood why Mother refused to have anything to do with Father. How could she help Father, if, in her mind, he had already died?
I turned around to search for Mother, but she had retreated to the safety of her kitchen. I could not understand how one person could hate so much. I could only imagine how she had validated her cover story to the boys. How easily she could make anything that troubled her completely disappear.
“So, what’d you think of my family?” Kevin chimed. Turning away from the set of pictures, I saw Russell’s face, which revealed a crocodile smile acting as if everything was exactly as it should be. So be it, I thought to myself.
“Fine,” I replied to Kevin with a grin before pushing myself past Russell.
At the end of the hallway Mother stood, puffing on a cigarette. “So, I can assume you found everything you came to see?” she said in a belittling tone. Facing her, I became too distraught to reply. I knew I should leave, that it was useless to try to convince Mother to see Dad. Sensing my weakness, Mother added, “Ronald’s in the army, you know. He’s doing quite well. He sends me all of his medals.” Mother turned away, then produced a box of assorted medals. Dumbfounded, I could only look into the box as Mother bragged on, “This one’s for sharpshooting . . . and this one’s for basic training . . . ah, this . . . I’m not quite sure. There are so many of them, it’s hard for me . . . anyway, he’s stationed in Alaska. They don’t just station anybody there. He won’t say it, but I know better. He’s one of the best military police they’ve ever had. I’m so proud that one of my boys is serving their country. You can’t imagine how proud I am,” Mother sighed, laying it on as thick as ever.
“I’m . . . in the air force.”
Mother glanced up from her prized box in bewilderment, as if she had no idea, even though I was wearing my air force fatigues. “Ah, yes, well, isn’t that nice. Army wouldn’t take your kind, eh?” she said. “So, what is it you do to protect our country?”
I smiled triumphantly. “I’m a cook.”
As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I felt like an idiot.
“A cook?” Russell broke out laughing.
“Didn’t you enlist to become a firefighter?” Mother asked bitingly. “What happened, did they boot you out of that too? I thought the air force was about jets. No one’s a cook.”
The silence that followed extended into infinity. Without a word I nodded my head, as if to thank Mother for her time and for her hospitality, before seeing myself out. I could feel all eyes on my back as I closed the front door behind me, and only then did the living room erupt into a burst of laughter. Easing back into Mr. Turnbough’s car, I let out a deep breath.
“Had to do it?” Mrs. Turnbough asked.
“Had to. She doesn’t have, nor ever did have, any intention of helping Dad,” I stated in a cold voice.
“My Lord,” Alice replied, “how does a person like that—”
I interrupted Mrs. Turnbough by raising my hand. “I only hope she gets hers. It’s just not fair.” I struggled to control my breathing. I thought my head would explode from the surge of hatred I had for my mother. Sensing that her boys were spying on me through their bedroom windows, I regained my composure, started the car, and coasted away. I had somehow thought things would be different. But, like always, when dealing with Mother, I had been foolishly wrong.
The next morning, I returned to Father’s room. With my head slumped, I bumped into a chaplain, who simply nodded at me without a word and patted my shoulder as if I were some stray dog.
I debated what to do next. I felt the urge to do something. I wanted to kidnap Dad and take him to a baseball game, take a walk through the park, even sit in the back of a dingy bar and simply shoot the bull, go anywhere as long as we were together. But there was no way I could do anything.
Excusing myself, I reached into the back of my flimsy wallet and pulled out a crumpled note before making a telephone call to Mother’s mother, to tell her about my dad.
Seemingly within moments of replacing the phone in its cradle, Uncle Dan, Mother’s brother, flew out from the elevator. After a crushing hug, he pulled up a chair next to Father’s bed and whispered in his ear. I stood against the door beside Alice to give the two men their time together. I knew I did the right thing. As Uncle Dan held me, he fell over himself with apologies. “We didn’t know about him. No one knew,” Dan said.
Watching Uncle Dan and Father together, I sensed the closeness they once must have shared. “Hey, Steve,” Dan grumbled, “come on, you gotta get dressed. I got a few good bottles and a couple of nice-looking dames in the car. Come on, we can’t keep ’em waitin’.” I nearly jumped out of my skin from the audacity of what Uncle Dan said. Of all the settings, it was the most tasteless thing I could possibly imagine. But by the response from Father’s eyes, I realized the true meaning of Dan’s statement. I selfishly felt as if I were babying Father, protecting him from anything I deemed might be harmful. Quietly, Alice and I slipped from the room, where I found a couch, closed my eyes, and pondered what to do.
Sometime later Uncle Dan woke me with a shake, pleading for me to go home with Alice. Peeking in on Father, I felt that my weak need for rest was somehow a betrayal to him. Emotions of guilt over Father, elation at seeing Uncle Dan, and the rage I still felt about Mother swirled inside my head all the way home until I lay down again, this time on Alice’s couch.
Almost the moment I fell asleep, Mrs. Turnbough shook me awake. I bolted up, thinking the worst. But before I could race into the kitchen and seize the phone, Alice gently informed me it was not Kaiser Hospital but my grandmother. Dealing with Mother’s mother had never been easy. As a child, Mother and Grandmother always had an intense love-hate relationship, which my brothers and I had seen whenever one of the women had a run-in with the other. Though we were by no means close, I had always felt as a child that Grandmother was a covert ally.
Wiping my eyes, I fought to regain my focus. Knowing that Grandmother was getting older, I had made sure when I called her hours ago that I deliberately downplayed the drama of Father’s condition. Because of Mother’s complete lack of regard for Father, I suddenly felt like an arbitrator. I was proud. For the first time, I was truly helping “The Family.” Reminding myself not to frighten her, I smiled and said in my most cheerful voice, “Grandma! I’m so glad you called. Everything’s fine. Father’s sleeping and there’s really been no change since this after—”
“What in the goddamn hell is going on down there? What in the hell are you doing?” Grandma blasted.
“Wha
t is it?” I said, stumbling. “What’s wrong? Father’s okay. I—I just . . . left him.” With Grandmother’s silence on the other end, I became seized with anxiety. “I just left over an hour ago. I’m sorry; I only wanted to catch a quick nap. I checked with the nurse. He said it was okay and that he’d call if there was any change. I swear it. Since I’ve been back, I haven’t had an hour’s sleep. I’m so sorry,” I said as I felt a wall of guilt crashing down on top of me. I knew I shouldn’t have left the hospital, so I could relax, while Father fought for every breath just a few miles away.
Grandmother broke in, “What in hell’s bells are you babbling about? I don’t give a damn about your father at the moment. Right now all I want is an explanation. What did you do? How could you . . . at a time like this? Holy Mother of God . . . you’ve got some explaining to do, young man!”
I was totally confused. “What?” I begged. “Grandma, please, slow down. Did what? What are you—?”
“Don’t you interrupt me. Don’t get too big for your britches. I’m sick and tired of you, of everyone talking over me. I’ll be goddamned if I have to sit here, sit here all alone and put up with . . . with this!” I couldn’t believe my ears. I slapped my hand against my forehead for the crime of committing yet another atrocity. Biting my tongue, I readied myself for the next volley.
“You know damn well what you did—storming into your mother’s house this afternoon . . . ranting and raving like a mad man . . . terrorizing her and tearing up everything in sight . . . throwing things . . . demanding this and that . . . inspecting every room as if you were goddamn General Patton! You’re lucky she didn’t call the police. Just who in the hell do you think you are? How in the world could you act like that at a time like this? Does anybody care to think about . . . to think how I feel?” Grandmother paused to cry into the phone. “I’m all alone here. I’m not getting any younger. If I live to be a hundred . . . I am very, very ashamed of you, David James Pelzer!”
All I could do was shake my head as Grandmother continued to berate me. I knew it was pointless to inform her that I, in fact, had not threatened Mother nor had I destroyed her house. Even the timing was off by a day. But much like Mother, no one could tell Grandmother anything. All I could do was reply with an occasional “Yes, ma’am” or “No, ma’am” whenever I felt a response was needed. An hour later, and after repeating herself for the umpteenth time, I broke in. “Grandma, I saw her yesterday, not today. And when you talked to Mother, just before you called me, was she . . . was she drunk?”
Hundreds of miles away, I could hear Grandmother suck in a deep breath. Intentionally, I had pushed her buttons. I was in no way trying to be disrespectful, but rather calming Grandmother down before she drove herself to a frenzy. Sensing she was close to a meltdown, I thought it best to bring her back to reality with a question so startling she had to see the situation for what it was: one of Mother’s futile ravings. “Well,” she insisted, “you know damn well she was! Drunk? She’s always drunk. I’m just sick and tired of her calling me. I mind my own business, you know. I don’t bother a soul, and every day it’s always something about her that I have to deal with. I’ve told everyone and now I’m telling you: I’m not getting any younger out here. It’s not easy . . . but does anyone care to think about how I feel? Do they? Well . . . ?”
Grandmother’s self-pity sounded word for word like Mother’s self-centered speech just one day ago. “Grandma?” I lightly interjected. “If Mom’s drunk when she calls you, maybe you should, you know . . . not take what she says to heart.” Grandmother was by no means feebleminded; on the contrary, she was an intelligent, overbearing individual, who seemed at times to relish demeaning her daughter. As I carefully tiptoed past Grandmother, I suddenly realized the problem: her attention was never on the crisis at hand, but rather on her and how she felt at the time of the problem.
Feeling drained, and before Grandmother could fire off another round, I said, “Listen, I know it’s late back there, so I’ll call you later. Sorry to have disturbed you. I gotta go. I’ll give Father your best. Bye.”
As I gently lowered the telephone, I could hear Grandmother erupt like a volcano. “David James Pelzer! Don’t you even think about hanging up on me! I’m sick and tired of everyone walking all over me, like some doormat. You’d think as much as I’ve done, that someone would be kind enough to think about my feelings. . . .”
As I dragged myself back to the living room couch, Alice exclaimed, “My Lord, you look a mess!” Since I avoided mirrors as much as possible, I could only imagine my appearance. “You haven’t slept in Lord knows how long, and you eat like a bird. And now your face and neck are beet red . . .” Mrs. Turnbough placed her hand on my forehead. She shook her head in dismay. “. . . and now you’re burning up.”
As Alice disappeared into the bathroom, I exploded, “Man, what is their problem?” Returning a moment later, she presented me with some aspirin and a glass of water. With one swoop I tossed the aspirin into my mouth and gulped down the water. “I don’t get it,” I said to her. “They don’t care. Not one of them. Mother nor Grandmother even asked about Father. And now,” I shouted as my frustration spilled over, “it’s like Father doesn’t exist. It’s too much for them. Or he’s not important enough? I don’t know. They didn’t ask about him—how he’s doing, what’s going on, nothing. They didn’t offer to lift a finger. Everything, all the time, is always them. How they feel their pain. Poor pitiful them. Dammit!” I swore, hitting my knee.
I quickly caught myself. “I’m sorry.” I didn’t want Alice to think I was upset at her. Feeling myself run out of steam, I added, “I don’t know what I’m doing . . . I mean, about Father. I just wish I had a real family who loved each other or for once could bury their hate and do what’s right. That’s all I wanna do.”
“David!” Alice cried. “Wake up, we’re late. It’s after nine. We’ve overslept.” Before she could finish, I shot up from the couch, brushed my crumpled fatigues, which I had worn for the last four days, and bolted to the front door. In record time Alice and I arrived at the hospital.
Sprinting down the hallway, I met Steve at the entrance to Father’s room. Extending his arm, Steve blocked me from entering. “We need to talk,” he stated. Peeking in on Father, I noticed that except for his intensified breathing he seemed the same. But I knew by Steve’s forced smile all I needed to know. “David, you need to understand . . . sometimes they can’t . . . they won’t go . . . until they know the ones they love will be fine. You . . . ah, get what I’m saying, David?”
I fully understood, but the moment was too much for me. “Hey, David,” he went on, “your dad, he’s in pain. You have to tell him you’ll be fine. You have to let him go. You understand, right, David? He won’t pass until you do this. Ease his suffering. It’s the right thing for him. It’s the proper thing to do. He won’t pass until . . .”
I turned to Alice. “Could you go in and talk to him, please?” I begged, before fleeing to the far end of the hall, where I found a wooden bench. With a million thoughts running through my mind, I became fixated with my cheap Timex watch. It showed a few minutes to ten. Clasping my hands together, I prayed. “I’ve never really asked you for much. And you know what I’ve been through. I guess I thought I could save him. . . . So, if you could grant me this . . . if there’s no way that he can get better . . . then take him. Ease his pain and take my dad. Amen.”
Not knowing what to do next, I wiped away my tears, cleared my mind, and made my way to Father’s room. A small legion of nurses and specialists, who had probably been Father’s only contact with the outside world for the past few months, cleared a pathway as I stepped into his room. Alice turned toward me after patting Father’s arm. “You’re a good man, Mr. Pelzer. God be with you,” Alice said with tears swelling in her eyes, then left the room. From behind me Steve whispered, “Let him go.” Everyone else filed out after him.
Alone now, I noticed how huge the room seemed. The drapes were wide open, and
the sun poured through the windows. Besides the bed, all the other furniture and medical equipment had been removed. The sheet to Father’s bed was crisp, and his gown seemed new. The only sound to be heard was Father’s raspy breathing. Taking a long, hard look, I saw for the first time, below the left side of his neck, that Father’s bandage had been removed. It exposed the blackened area where the cancer had literally eaten his skin. Even then, as much as I wanted to ease his pain, I could not say good-bye.
Standing by his bed, I took Father’s trembling hand. From behind my eyes I could feel the pressure build, and fought to bury the pain.
“I, ah, got . . . some great news,” I lied. “The doctor says everything’s gonna be fine . . . and that . . . they can have you up and outta here real soon.” Part of me felt like a heel, and yet the more I talked, the more my fantasy seemed to take hold. Peering into Father’s face, I stated with confidence, “I didn’t tell you this before, but I got a home on the Russian River.” I paused, beaming at Father, who seemed to understand. “It’s got knotty pine walls and ceilings. A stone fireplace, your own room. It’s always warm and sunny. It’s really nice. It’s got everything. It’s on the river, and when the sun goes down, the water’s as smooth as glass. At night you can smell the redwood trees . . . it’s a piece of heaven, Dad. Heaven.