Chapter 8

Chapter 8

(Day 4)

            “Hi Daddy!”  A collective greeting from all three boys went out to Dad on Mom’s cell phone.  When we got back to the Comfort Inn and Mom was about to make her evening call, the boys all wanted to talk to him.  So she put it on speaker.

            “Hi, Sons!  Are you all having fun?  You better be obeying your mother!”

“We are.”

“Not sure if I heard my Letti.  Is my Letti there?” 

            “I’m here.”  I said as I walked closer to the bed so he could hear me better.

            “Oh, there she is,” Dad answered me adding little terms of endearment to his only daughter.

We all talked for a minute but there wasn’t anything exciting to report.  He had just got home from work an hour before and was shoveling the rocks into place that had been dropped off in the driveway earlier by the landscape company. 

“So tomorrow, Randy will be here to pour concrete and do some of the brickwork.  I’ve got all our plants and trees picked out.  You didn’t want to approve of all that stuff first did you, Delanie?” he asked Mom, who answered in the negative.

My mother pretty much kills every plant she touches, so she stays far away from them.  She’s good at growing babies but not much else.  Just when she was ooing and awing over how impressed she was with Dad’s work and creativity, there was an interruption on Dad’s side of the phone.

            “Hi there…looking good!” 

            “Who the heck is that?” Mom snapped in a suspicious tone.  I suppose most women would not be too happy to hear a woman’s voice say “looking good” to their husband while on the phone with him. 

            “Ya Dad, who’s that lady talking to you?” 

            “Shut up, Walker,” Gus whispered. 

Walker has no filter and Gus has too much of one.  But at least Gus knows when to not speak up, and he was now pulling Walker away from the bed where the phone was sitting on speaker.  He knew this was not a conversation for the boys.

Dad on the other hand sounded a little flustered giving a long drawn out “Uhhhh….”

            “Matt?  Did you hear me?  Who’s there with you?”

            “No one’s here, Honey.  That’s just the neighbor lady pushing her kids around in their stroller.  You remember her.  Isn’t her name like Prida or something?”

            “What?  What did you say?  She’s pretty?”

            “No, it’s her name!”

            “Her name’s pretty?”

            “No!  Oh, my gosh!!  Her name’s like Prida or Pita…I don’t know, it’s like a pita pocket.  It’s a weird name!’

            “Matt.  I don’t remember any Prida.”

            “Mom, remember the Indian neighbor?” I whisper to Mom, “Her name’s Priya…”

Before I could explain anymore to my mother, she shushed me…then gave me a smirk.

            “Delanie.  You don’t remember?  She’s like two doors down,” Dad continued to explain to his wife why a woman’s voice was heard in the background.  I have to admit…it was comical.

            “Why is she there talking to you?”

            “Delanie!  She’s just walking her kids.”

            “Sounds like she’s talking about how good you look.”

            “What?  No!  She’s talking about the yard.”

            “Well, you’d better answer her.”

            “Hi.  Thank you…,” Dad politely responded to our neighbor.  Then Mom made some comments about him working out in the sun with his shirt off.  Of course he argued that he’d never do such a thing, and he wasn’t happy about the accusation. 

“How’s Walker doing?” He asked changing the direction of the conversation, “Has he had any accidents?”  It was just Mom, Grandma, and me listening to the speaker phone by that point.  All three boys had left for the other room.

            “Oh my gosh, Dad.  He’s had like 10 of them.  He’s thrown away two pairs of his underpants already.”  He laughed as I made my complaints about my little brother.  Thank God Mom puts Pull-Ups on him at night. 

            “Well,” he continued, “you can replace underwear pretty cheaply these days.  Some boys just struggle with it.  What about you, Letti?  Are you surviving so far with Mom and Grandma?”

I managed to find something innocently clever to say to Dad seeing the stink eyes from Mom and Grandma burning holes straight through me, warning that I’d better be respectful.  Then he and Mom got caught up on a few things he’d been dealing with at work.  He also did some whining about having to take care of his own laundry, meals, and dishes.

Finally, Mom took it off speaker.  I’m sure she wanted to be privately flirtatious.  Grandma rolled her eyes as she overheard her daughter’s provocative remarks, then started going through her bags for her pajamas. 

My parents are not known for hiding affection.  I wonder if Mom had the same example in her own parents.  I’ve never heard Grandma and Red flirt with each other.  That doesn’t mean they never used to.  I remember watching Papa play his guitar and sing silly songs for us kids.  When we would get bored and walk away, he’d sing love songs to GG.  It was adorable.

            “Delanie, you did all that on purpose.”  Grandma was shaking her head at her daughter as soon as she hung up the phone.

            “Of course I did.  It was hilarious.  I totally know Priya.  She’s super sweet.  I just couldn’t resist.  It sounded so funny hearing her say, 'Looking good,' while I was on the phone.”

            “You should be ashamed of yourself…making Matt defend himself for no reason”

            “Oh Mom!  What?  Should I call him back and apologize?  He’s probably forgotten all about it by now,” she responded to her mother’s rebuke while standing up from the bed and stretching.

            “Well, if you had texting on your phone, you could just type a message to him,” I chimed in. 

I’ve been trying for the last year to talk my mom into getting texting on her phone.  Come on 80’s girl; time to get into the new millennium. 

            “I have no idea how that works, Letti,” Mom responded. “I’ll just tell him tomorrow night when I call.  He’ll be fine.  He’ll get over it.”  She yelled back to us still laughing to herself while heading over to see what the boys were up to in the adjoining room.

As soon as she disappeared, I grabbed her phone.  Grandma probably thought I was looking into how to text, but I was actually trying to familiarize myself with how it kept all the records of phone calls.  If I was to call this guy, Brandon, later, I’d have to use Mom’s phone, and I didn’t want her to have a record of it.

An hour later, we were all arguing over what to watch.  Mom wanted to watch “Last Comic Standing”.  She doesn’t want to miss any episodes while we’re gone, and she figured Dad would delete all the episodes off of the TiVo to save space.  But since The Comfort Inn had cable channels available, Grandma wanted to watch her favorite show, “The 4400”.  I’m sure she was ready for a break from the Disney Channel.  And of course you could guess what channel the boys were asking to watch. 

Using both TVs in the adjoining rooms, Grandma gave in to watching Mom’s show, and the boys put on “Shrek”.  As far as I was concerned, no one was going to bed early tonight. 

Two hours later, it was 10:30 at night.  One boy fell asleep, and the other two were arguing over the next movie to watch until Mom crushed all their hopes and dreams by declaring lights out.  Grandma finished up her routine of beauty cream, earplugs, and face mask.  At least she’d be clueless if I snuck out.  

Mom tried to relax in between shushes to her still awake sons.  I could hear them giggling in bed from the other room.  I had Cole sleeping next to me along with the old Monkey’s song, “I’m a Believer,” going through my head as well as visions of cartoon characters from the movie, Shrek, dancing away.  Now all I had to do was stay awake long enough for all to drift fully into their REM cycle, snatch Mom’s phone, and off I would go.

                                                                                                                             

(Day 18)

            “Yes, Mom, I am listening.  But I wrote that for Tiffany, and she hasn’t even read it!” 

My mother was on the phone again with Grandma.  We’ve already taken the Herndon exit.  We have a few minutes before we reach our hotel room.  The familiar roads and turns remind me that I’ll go for my driver’s permit next week.  Six months later…my license.  I have no doubt that the first place I drive outside of the Bay Area will be to Fresno, California.  That is unless I never get up the nerve to come to this place again.

            “What was that all about?”  I ask Mom after she hangs up and tosses her phone at my feet out of frustration. 

            “Well, they just found out that they can have one song and one speaker at the funeral; other than the Priest, of course.  You know that thing I wrote…that I gave to Tiff the other day?”

            “Ya, kind of.  Well, not really.  What exactly did you write?”

            “It was really more like a conversation with God.  Remember?  When we first got the call about Charlotte?  And I went and locked myself in the bathroom?”  I nod my head to her.  “I...well, that’s exactly what it was, you know?  It was this…conversation, I guess, with God.  I just started blurting out all sorts of questions, and all sorts of answers came to me and…,” she sighs before continuing, “I wrote the whole thing down and gave it to Tiffany, but she’s so preoccupied right now, she hasn’t read it.”

From what I gathered on my side of the conversation, they want Mom to read her little piece of writing at Charlotte’s funeral.  I wonder if being that person to speak or the fact that Tiffany hadn’t read the writing yet is what bothers Mom so much.  So I ask.

            “It’s pretty much both.  I understand Tiff’s completely overwhelmed.  Remember when Papa died?  GG was more than willing to let others make decisions for her.  Well, Tiffany doesn’t want to make all these decisions either.  But to be honest, neither does Aunt JoAnne…neither does Uncle Harry…neither does Will.  They just want it to all go away. 

“Grandma said that JoAnne read bits and pieces of what I wrote and asked if I would read it.  I don’t think Grandma’s trying to push it or anything, but she told JoAnne that she thought it was a good idea.  I just hope it’s really what they want.”  She gets lost in thought for a moment as we pull up to the stoplight just before the entrance to hwy 41 off of Herndon, and then she finishes what she really wanted to say.  “I just hope it’s what Tiff wants.”

            “Maybe she can read it tonight, Mom.  The funeral’s not till tomorrow.”

            “Ya, maybe.  Hey!  Grab my phone and call Pastor Andrew.  Hopefully my phone still works.  Grandma asked me for ideas for a song, but I’m not sure what to suggest.” 

I do as I’m told, and call our youth pastor to seek his advice.  He’s also one of many on the prayer chain at church, so he already knows about Charlotte.  At least I don’t have to explain too much. 

“He’ll probably say, ‘I Can Only Imagine,’” Mom added, and she was right.  He did.  But Mom’s not sure if it’s a song the family will go for.

            “What kind of a song would they go for?”  I ask searching my mind for something appropriate.  Papa’s funeral had country music and gospel.  Neither one of those seems to fit this situation.

            “I don’t know…,” she answers me while looking over her shoulder to merge onto our last exit for the day, “What do they usually have at Catholic funerals?  Hymns?  Organ music?  How should I know?”

Minutes later, Mom parks the car and heads in to the office of the Ramada.  She had already called from the road to get an early check-in.  They remember us from two days ago and are very kind to accommodate in our time of need. 

Handing me one of the key cards, keeping the other with her, and grabbing what she can, Mom hurries to unlock the door of our room and prop it open.  Cole and I finish unloading, lock up the car, and follow her.  He’s a big helper as I give him the lighter bags to carry.

10 minutes before noon and Cole hasn’t slept at all since we got him up at 6:30 this morning.  Since we have an hour and a half before we have to leave for the viewing, Mom makes him lie down.  A quick nap will do him some good.  Probably would do me some good too.

Snatching up her small make-up bag, Mom heads to the bathroom to touch up her face.  I follow behind thinking I should try once again to empty my bladder.  Though, I doubt the antibiotics have started kicking in yet.

Sitting on the toilet and scrunching my face trying to push through the burn, I let my mouth release a pain-filled grunting sound.  I’m so sick of this pain!  I start breathing deeply and strive to relax my muscles, but I just want to cry.  Before I let a tear form, however, I rebuke myself in my head for getting wrapped up in self-pity.  How could I think of myself and act like such a baby over a little burn?  I’m flooded with guilt thinking about the pain Charlotte must have experienced only days ago. 

            “Mom, didn’t Will say something about…heavy drugs found in Char’s system when they did the ‘tox screen’?”  I ask.  Letting her head drop, Mom puts both hands on the counter top and takes a deep breath.

            “Yes.”  She doesn’t look over at me when she answers.  She pauses for a moment and then questions my inquiry, “Why?”

I explain to her my curiosity about what those substances actually do.  Did having them in her system mean her pain was suppressed…both the physical agony as well as the terror in her heart and mind realizing that her life was coming to an end….  If that was the case, if there was even a little something to ease her nightmare, it gives me a tiny bit of comfort.  

Continuing in the conversation, it’s apparent that Mom had the same thoughts going through her head.

            “I’m not sure if that’s exactly what meth does to you.  I really don’t know what other substances were detected, but I’m pretty sure that was one of them,” Mom says still gripping the edge of the counter top.

If it doesn’t make you “feel” good, what is the point of using it?  I really don’t understand the draw to such things.  

Mom’s told me about how she messed around with this and that when she was young.  She never had a problem telling us kids.  She thought it was best to be honest about her past, especially considering how rampant addictions are in her family.  She wants us to be educated and know the dangers of it.  I have no doubt that Tiffany did the same with her girls.  Why did they choose to ignore their mother’s warnings?  Why?

I look up and see her leaning forward stretching her hips back behind her as if she’s trying to budge the entire counter itself…or at least some huge obstacle in her head.

            “Didn’t you do stuff like that as a teenager?” I ask.  Her head raises suddenly a little surprised by my question. 

            “I did do some stuff when I was younger.  I’ve told you.  But, to be honest, I don’t think anything I ever did was quite as harsh as what I believe this drug does.  I also never felt that powerful addiction that I know Charlotte was a victim to…and now Katelyn.  We need to really pray for her…that she doesn’t go back to it.”  She stands upright, turns to face me, and folds her hands across her chest. 

Leaning back against the counter now, she continues, “I know methamphetamines do something to you that sort of make you feel as if you could handle anything…take on the world so to speak…so it could’ve been a blessing.  On the other hand, it could’ve caused her to endure the pain longer than she would have without it.”  Her head drops as if she feels guilty for adding the second thought.  “Sorry.  I’m sure that’s not what you wanted to hear.”

I don’t respond.  Finished with my business, I walk out of the bathroom leaving her standing there thinking about things she didn’t want to.  I didn’t want to think about them, but I can’t seem to stop. 

I check on Cole and find him sound asleep, even snoring.  After sitting on the bed next to him for a minute, and hearing sounds in the bathroom like Mom’s gotten back to fixing her make-up, I stand up and look at the lighted entry just outside of the open bathroom door. 

With the heavy curtains closed behind me and all other lamps turned off to give Cole a darkened room for his nap, the light gently spilling out into that part of the room feels like an invitation to reveal what I’ve kept in darkness.  Finally, I get up the nerve to walk back over to the doorway. 

Letting myself slowly appear around the corner of the door frame leaning up against it, I make a confession.

            “I almost did meth.”

Her mascara drops into the sink just as she swings her around to look at me almost expressionless.  I know there are a hundred questions going through my mother’s head.  Dad tends to react immediately when a bomb like this is dropped on him.  I would already be getting a furious earful if he was here.  Mom, on the other hand, builds up to her explosions, like the slow burning fuse of dynamite.

            “What?  Where?”  Her eyes dart around the bathroom searching her mind for answers before I can give her any.  “With who?  Letti, your cousins?”

            “No, not them.”  I quickly shake my head to get the thought out of her mind.

            “No…you couldn’t possibly.  You were with me the whole time on Wednesday.  But we were here last November, and that was before Katelyn went into rehab.”

            “No, Mom,” I interrupt her, “not in Fresno.”

            “But,” she struggles to make sense, “Wait!”  Her face morphs from confusion to suspicion.  “On the trip…it was on the trip wasn’t it?  Letti?”

            “But I didn’t do it, Mom.  I said ‘almost.’”  Feeling slightly nauseated at my confession, my hands dangling at my side creep up and rest on my gut.  Although I’m innocent of taking part in the drug itself, shame floods my heart, and my eyes drop refocusing on the edge of the tub.  Hunched over, I move in the direction of my gaze hoping to catch my breath once seated. 

We’re facing each other as she’s now leaning up against the edge of the counter looking down at me with her arms folded once again across her chest.  

            “But you had,” she slowly says with growing anger, “an opportunity, Letti!  How?  How did you have an opportunity?”  I’m silent to her question.  I can feel my face change as I prepare to fight.  Moments ago, I fearfully confided in my mother what’s been eating at me for days.  Now that the whole truth must be revealed, I’m fully aware just how ugly this could get. “Well?”  She presses again.

            “I snuck out of our hotel room.”

            “You did what?  You snuck out…of our…f-freaking hotel room?”  I hate that look on her face; the one where she scrunches her upper lip resisting her temptation to say the f word, replacing it with a less offensive adjective.   She’s furious and out of breath.  I wait for it.  I know what’s coming. 

Her hands now cupping her face and the sides of her head with fingers digging into her scalp, she makes agonizing sounds until she throws her hands down and continues. 

“I can’t believe you!  You snuck out!  Are you crazy?  Where?”

            “In Oklahoma.”  The words fall from my mouth with no emotion attached.  It’s always easier to go through Mom’s tirades while guarding my feelings.

            “In Oklahoma…well, it must have been Claremore.  It couldn’t have been Tulsa since we didn’t stay at a hotel there.”  I nod my head to her without releasing my eyes from her intense stare.  Though I’m tempted to go on the offensive and rattle off something cleverly sarcastic, I remain unmoved, locked in my position for the fight, waiting for her words to come flying at me like a contender’s boxing gloves. 

When Dad goes berserk like this, my head hangs low in shame.  He usually has to keep telling me to look at him.  With Mom, I just battle, even when I’m in the wrong.  And now, that shameful feeling from moments before is suffocated under a blanket of determination to stand my ground.  After all, I’m the one coming to her just like she always wants me to.  Can’t I get at least some credit for that?  Why did I think she’d be understanding? 

“Letti, I can’t believe you snuck out…in the night…in a strange town!  Who the hell did you meet up with?  That cousin we met?”

“Well, kind of….”  I answer in the same frame of mind.

 “Are you serious?  What was his name?  Brian?  You met up with some twenty-something year old strange guy doing God knows what.  How could this have happened?”

“Mom, it’s fine…I’m fine…I mean, come one…you’ve done worse.”

“Really?  You’re gonna compare yourself to me?  God, Letti!  Anything could’ve happened to you.  Are you even still a virgin?”  She cocks her head with a quick raise of the eyebrows challenging me to reveal more.

“Mom!  How can you ask that?  I was trying to open up to you and now you’re accusing me of that?”

“Well, why not?  You’re gonna bring up my past, you little smart-ass.  What do you think

I’m gonna ask?  And what am I supposed to do now, Letti?  Oh, good God!  The danger you put yourself in….”  Mom’s eyes swell in anger telling me to beware.  “I can’t just let this go!”

            “But I said I’m fine, Mom.  And I didn’t do meth, either.  I said ‘almost’.  And it wasn’t even an ‘almost’, it was more like a thought.  And…and what are you getting at?  What?  You’re gonna punish me?  Are you serious?”

            “Well, I have to do something.  I…OH!”  She blurts out.

            “What’re you gonna do?  Spank me?”  I sarcastically yell out almost laughing.

            “No!  I don’t know.  You snuck out!”  She sighs in agony again.  “Maybe…maybe I just won’t let you get your license.”

            “What?”

            “Not only that!  Forget about youth camp next month!”

            “Mom!”  I stand up looking her straight in the eye.

            “What?”         

            “You can’t do that!”  Fear wells up in me once again.  Mom’s not one to threaten.  She follows through with punishments.

            “You bet your ass I can.  You’re the child…I’m the mom.  I can do whatever the hell I want.  I make the decisions here.  Do you hear me?”

            “I hear you loud and clear, mother.”  I storm out of the bathroom.

            “Letti, get back in here!”  I move quickly to grab my purse off of the bed and head back to the front door.  “Where do you think you’re going?”  I don’t answer.  I look back at her for a millisecond, slam open the door, and disappear through it.

            “Scarlett!”  I hear her yell at me just as the door closes.

I’m paralyzed outside the door.  Bits and pieces of the conversation echo in my head ending with my name being called out.  I expect her to follow me, but I’m alone.  My intentions are to go to the Starbucks across the parking lot.  I can see it from where I’m standing.  But I can’t move.  I’m reminded of standing outside the door of the hotel room in Laughlin trying to get up my nerve.  At that time, I was attempting something mischievous, but all I want to do now is take a moment to myself and gather my thoughts.

I’m stuck in my tracks. 

The thought of walking even a few dozen paces across this normal looking lot freaks me out completely just because it’s located in Fresno.  I’ve never been so scared of anything in my life.  I’ve had my moments of fear, but this is crazy.  My knees start shaking as I consider taking even one step further away from Mom.  I’m still furious at her, but she’s all I have right now.  She’s my center of safety.  I look up at the sky, the Suburban in the parking space to my right, and then the rest of the surroundings.  I hate this place….

            “Letti!”  The door opens and Mom yells for me as if I’m far out of her reach.  Then I hear a startled sound escape her as she bumps into me.  Almost falling, I catch myself with hands on knees barely able to catch my breath.  “What are you doing?”  She asks walking around to see me face to face. 

“Mom?”  I look up at her, and the terrified look on my face must be sending alarms through her because instead of continuing the battle, she grabs me and pulls me to her.  I feel rescued from what I considered to be my certain doom.

Written by Amie Spruiell

Amie Spruiell After the Event © 2016