Siblings fend for themselves when mother goes missing.
Excerpt
Chapter One
It had been nine months and three days since my Dad had died.
God, I was tired of life. The afternoon was heavy with heat, and I had just walked home from my babysitting job to find my Mom with a map spread out on the kitchen table. How strange she looked, sitting there, with an almost cheerful expression-a relief to me. I could smell dinner cooking. This was also a relief to me and most likely to all of us kids. Mom really couldn’t cope right after the news about Dad, so I had taken over the cooking. Neighbors and friends had given us casseroles at first, but after a while, people went back to their own lives, and we had to fend for ourselves in the meal department. Many of my culinary efforts had been scraped into the garbage disposal with nothing left but a lingering hunger and a bunch of dirty dishes.
Looking out the window past my Mom, I could see my little brother Jake in the backyard. He was tinkering with the broken lawnmower. Everything seemed to be broken. Jake was totally absorbed in his repair project, and I must say I felt a tinge of envy. Must be nice to be able to escape that way. Jake was only twelve but had unusual patience for his age. I would have bet all of my babysitting money that he’d have the thing running by the end of the day, but I seriously doubted he’d ever mow the lawn. Before my Dad was sent to Iraq, Jake was always begging to cut the lawn but after Dad left, he kind of lost interest. It was only the second day of July and the lawn was up to my knees. It was my hope that someone besides me would give in and handle it because the yard looked like crap!
It used to be that house beautiful was the major theme around here. On weekends Mom and Dad would go to The Home Depot and return with flats of flowers and bags of mulch. Then they’d dig and weed and mulch and mow. It was amazing to watch them because they seemed to be actually having fun. I remember them cleaning up the garage one Saturday- laughing and working, drinking beer, and listening to country music. A perfectly awful way to spend a Saturday in my opinion, but that was their idea of a good time. Go figure.
After Dad died, yard work, cooking, washing, eating and laughing all moved to the back burner at our house. The front burner was reserved for getting through the day. Instead of bringing us together, Dad’s death sent each of us into our own world. Everyone scattered. Mom went to bed and just stayed there for weeks. Jenny was all drama, tears, and outbursts, then she just bailed and went to her best friend Katelin Fisher’s house where she would stay for days on end. The Fishers are big-time Christian folk and Jenny has fallen totally into the fold. She went over to the Fishers’ a normal girl one day and returned home a Jesus freak the next. She wore a Jesus necklace and a WWJD bracelet and always listened to the praise station.
Mom and Dad used to bring us to church when we were little, but my Dad got fed up one Sunday after the good people of the congregation got too pushy fighting their way out of the parking lot after the service. That was the first time I remember hearing the word ‘hypocrisy’.
I can’t say I really missed going to church. I thought it was boring and found it nearly impossible to pay attention to the sermons. I refused to go to Sunday school. Instead I sat quietly next to my parents, contemplating other great mysteries, like how many people were wearing glasses, or maybe the number of bald men, or how many women were with bald men. Sometimes I would count beams in the church ceiling, or more likely how many minutes ‘til it would all be over and I could go home and try to salvage the end of my weekend. Anyway, we’d never been a real churchy family. To tell you the truth, I’m not even sure if we’re any specific religion. I guess the Jesus thing gave Jenny some kind of comfort but I really didn’t get it.
Once school got out, things got a little easier. It was so embarrassing, having your Dad die. How else can I put it? I wanted to disappear. You could feel everyone whispering and watching. I guess to see if we would fall apart or whatever. Maybe it was just curiosity. The teachers and kids felt bad for us, I know, but most of their condolences made me want to yell at them. It was all I could do to be polite. I found myself going around all day with my fists clenched. I would consciously will myself to relax my hands, but before I knew it they would be back in a fist. It felt as if my insides were crying while the outside of me went on almost normally.
Now, the sadness had turned to madness. Why did my Dad have to join the stupid Army Reserve? What was he thinking? Was it for the extra money? I know that he made extra money being in the Reserve. And why did the President have to start a war? I HATED the President. Mom told me never to say that, but I didn’t care. I hated anyone who thought it a good idea to blow people up for profit or entertainment, or religion, or even democracy. It was too stupid. Too ugly and it didn’t make sense. The world was insane and it all made me sick, sick, sick.
There were only two things that keep me from jumping off a bridge. The first; my guitar. I bought my guitar with my own money saved up from many hours of torturous babysitting. A Taylor, model 510. I bought it second hand, though in excellent condition, at Guitar Warehouse. I’d stay in my room and practice for hours on end. It was the only time I’d feel kind of o.k. All the crap seemed to disappear when I was learning a new song. I’d even begun to write songs. It came naturally. Maybe that was the up side to feeling like an emotional wreck. Maybe someday I could write a song that would change the world!
Jana was the other “thing” that kept me from killing myself. She was my little sister and even though she could be a flake (and couldn’t keep a secret if her life depended on it) she had always been kind of like my baby. I was six years old when she was born, so it was like I was her ‘little mother’. Jana, unlike Jake and Jenny, needed me. She was only eight and was a Daddy’s girl. With Mom being so unlike Mom, and the whole house being so sad, I just fell into the role of Jana’s comforter. In a way it helped me, because I had to stay on the positive side for her. I had to “do” for her, which kept me moving, because I must admit the temptation to stay in bed was overwhelming at times. Anyway, I loved Jana, who had gotten kind of lost in the shuffle. I didn’t want her whole life ruined over this thing. A lot of times, (at least in books) kids lose a parent and still end up having nice lives, so that was what I tried to keep in mind.
Jana spent a lot of time at my Aunt Shirley’s playing with my cousin Robin. Robin, was a horrific brat, but she and Jana had been cradle pals and had always gotten along well. Aunt Shirley, my Dad’s older sister, was the family nut. She was messy, bossy and nosy; and those were her good points. I really couldn’t imagine how Jana could stand spending so much time there. Jake, Jenny and I would have all rather gone to the dentist than my Aunt Shirley’s.
Mom used to say stuff, like, “Her house in that condition? And still she tries to tell everyone else how to order their lives?”
There had always been tension between Mom and Aunt Shirley from my earliest memory, but things have mellowed between them ever since Dad died. And Mom doesn’t have much to say about messy houses these days anyway.
I was just glad that Jana had Robin to hang with, because that left me time to baby sit and play my guitar. Hanging out with my friends was kind of weird because they treated me differently and I admit I was different and just a little bit jealous of the ones who had fathers or even normal functioning mothers. My friends’ lives seemed so shallow with nothing better to do than think about clothes or going to the mall or what was happening on the latest stupid TV show. I just did ‘t care about that stuff anymore.
Everything had been getting on my nerves and on that particular afternoon I was feeling sticky and irritable after only making ten bucks for four hours of babysitting the ‘Whiney White twins’. Usually they were okay, but that day I hated them. I was also disappointed about the money end of things. My attitude was dangerous and I knew it. I had learned from experience that when I was feeling so dark, my best plan of action was to lay low. My idea was to go into my room and play my guitar until I dropped, but seeing my Mom in an almost good mood was such an uplifting change in the scenery, that I decided to sit at the table and see what she was doing. She seemed to be studying a road map of the United States and she looked up at me as I sat. I waited ‘til she spoke, kind of afraid of breaking her spell.
“Jamie, I’m thinking seriously about us moving to Grandpa’s farm in Oregon.”
I was shocked into silence. Grandpa had died about two years before, and all I knew was that there had always been some kind of bad mojo between him and Mom. Us kids had never even met him– never seen his ranch. I guess my silence encouraged Mom because she confided in me further.
“We are very low on funds,” she said in a quiet voice. “Your father made good money at his job before he was called to serve in Iraq and we lived rather high on the hog. Now I’m left with a lot of debt.”
It was true. Mom and Dad both had been known to be big shoppers. Mom had three closets full of clothes and a bathroom full of expensive makeup and stuff. Dad’s ‘Beamer’ was still in the garage, along with lots of tools and toys that he’d bought over the years. We kids had had it pretty good too.
“Even with the military benefits,” she was whispering now, “I’ve already missed a few house payments.”
Despite the heat of the day, I was suddenly chilled to the bone. “We’re poor!” I thought. I’m embarrassed to say it felt as bad as Dad being dead. Silent and reeling, I waited as Mom went on calmly.
“The farm is paid for and Grandpa left it to me.”
I never knew that! No one tells me anything. Why did Grandpa leave the farm to Mom? She was his only child, but they never even spoke as far as I knew. I remembered that my grandpa’s ranch was in a town named Promise. This cheered me a little and was also highly intriguing. I purposely kept quiet, hoping to keep my Mom talking. She went on with alarming enthusiasm.
“We can grow our own food, and get local jobs, and Jake and Jana can go to a nice little country school and you girls can finish High School in a nice little country high school, and. . . ”
“Mom!” I had to interrupt because she was really freaking me out. “Have you mentioned this to any of the others, Jenny or Jake?”
With a kooky look on her face, she said, “No.” But something about that kooky look made me think that she had already made up her mind.
“Well, keep me posted” I said, getting up from the table and giving her a little hug.
“At least things are getting interesting,” I thought, as I hopped up the stairs two at a time. I hadn’t had the energy to do that for months.
What a mind blower, I thought later, up in my room, strumming a few chords on my guitar. Mom was acting really weird and I wondered if she had, like, totally lost it or something. I wasn’t sure what I felt about the whole thing. I had to admit to myself that if we had to be poor, I surely didn’t want to do it here, in Hamilton! It would be easier to be poor where nobody knew us. . . . And Jenny, my mind raced on, how will Jenny take this? She’ll die. She may think herself, oh so holy, but she’s far from taking a vow of poverty.
Jake and Jana? I wasn’t sure how they’d react or how much Mom would tell them. Jake had a way of always knowing what was going on but Jana pretty much lived in her own world. I wondered if Mom was really serious and, if she was, when was she thinking about leaving?
Chapter Two
Mom was serious and, once she decided that we were going to Promise, there was no stopping her. One month and two garage sales later, we were saying our goodbyes to all of our friends and family in front of our house in Hamilton. I guess it really wasn’t our house anymore. The SOLD sign was still staked into the front yard, and the new family was supposed to be moving in next week.
Mom took the money that she had made from selling the house and Dad’s car, and paid off all of our debt. She had about $1,000 left.
It was the 29th of July, and already growing warm as friends and family stood around our overloaded Saturn Wagon. I bid my adieus, gave hugs, and even managed to squeeze out a tear or two, but in my mind I was already flying down the highway toward Promise, Oregon.
“Yes, I love you all, but I’m out of here and my heart is singing”.
Such was not the case with Jenny. She resisted the move with intensity. She cried and cried and even lobbied to live at the Fisher’s, but Mom was surprisingly firm on this one.
“No Jenny, you’re coming with us. I am sure you will find new friends and a church and all of that.”
Jenny was not convinced. She made a big scene before we left. She hugged and cried and blubbered. You would think that someone who was so religious would have more faith. After much fuss, Jenny and her bible finally got into the car. She grabbed the front seat which really bugged me. Just because she’s the oldest and has her learner’s permit and is supposed to be picking up driving pointers. HA!
Fact is, I’m the one with the driving skills. My friend, Kayley, and I took out the car one night and everything went perfectly until Dad caught us. It was a total blast until we pulled the car back into the garage. There was Dad, waiting for us with hands on hips.
“We’re dead” I said to Kayley grimly. “Goodbye to life as we know it.”
But Dad seemed to be more relieved than mad. I think he was more afraid of what Mom would do to him if she found out. Anyway, Dad gave us ‘the big lecture’ and made us wash both cars the next day. He never told Mom. After that, he would always wink and call me Mario, after some race car driver. Mom was always a little confused by this, and I think that she suspected something but really didn’t want to know what had happened.
This little memory made me miss my Dad, but it also made me smile, and I was feeling good as we drove away from Hamilton, Ohio. Mom and Jenny in the front, Jake, Jana and me crammed in the middle, with the cats, Swartz and Isaiah in their carrier in the back.
Swartz and Isaiah were given to us by a clueless neighbor after our Dad was killed. Mom just didn’t have the strength to say ‘no’ at the time, and the kittens were so cute and funny. They had won over every member of the family, even Mom . . . especially Mom. She was as bad as Jana about doting on them.
Everyone had their pillow and one carry-on. The rest of the stuff, including my guitar, was in ‘Never, Never Land’, in the ‘Yakima’ on the roof of the car. The cats were doing that crying-baby noise thing and it was really annoying. Mom told everybody to quiet down because it was so stressful driving through the city out to the Interstate. No one wanted to piss Mom off when she was driving because she was the nervous type, so we were all quiet except for the cats crying and Jenny’s sniveling in the front seat. I reach back and kind of tapped the cats’ cage but realized that I offered little comfort. Their howls grow louder. Jenny’s sniffling sounds were still coming from the front. My good mood was fading quickly. Funny how that happens. A good mood turns bad or even a bad mood can turn around to good, though that doesn’t happen often enough if you ask me.
“I don’t think I can stand this any longer, Brother Isaiah. This is torture!”
“No kidding, Brother Swartz. Until now, I’d always thought that the humans liked us.”
“This is all your fault. A direct result of the giant turd you left in the hall closet.”
“That is impossible! I left it way in the back and it hardly smelled at all.”
I settled back for the long haul and surveyed the scene. Jake was in his own world, reading his new science magazine. Thoughtful, quiet and sane, my brother was, though he had a lazy streak, just like Dad. Though he seemed the least affected, I knew that Jake missed Dad a lot. Sometimes we’d talk about it, but after a while, what is there to say? Maybe it is good to talk about grief but, really, much of it you have to wade through alone.
Jana, in the middle, was already sleeping-the lump! Just five miles out of town and she was drooling on her pillow. I thought Jana and our cousin Robin must have had a wild “last night together” fling-complete with too much candy, no sleep and lots of big, big laughs. Even though she’s going to miss Robin, Jana is so pretty and funny that I’m really not worried about her adjusting to the move. She’s only eight and the boys are already calling. I was pretty sure that Jana would be as popular in Promise as she had been in Hamilton.
Swartz and Isaiah finally had quieted down. The only sound to be heard was of the air rushing through the open windows. I covertly dipped into my stash of candy and popped a lemon drop into my mouth. Things were starting to feel better for the moment and my good mood was making a comeback. I put my face to the wind and took a deep breath, saying a little prayer of my own. “Please, God, let us like Oregon. Let there be some cool people there. Most of all, please let us have money”.
The countryside rolled by. I was starting to feel relaxed and even a little sleepy when all of the sudden, Mom completely harshed my mellow by turning on a country radio station. This was bad. We all knew what was coming. The tension was high. Even Jana woke up. We hated when Mom sang! Oh no, here it comes! . . .
“Big city turn me loose and set me free.” She sang with wild abandon.
Oh God! There’s a dark side to my Mom being in a good mood! I knew what I had to do, and better sooner than later.
I said, as gently as I could, “Mom, please don’t sing.” I received grateful glances from Jana and Jake. (And I thought Jake wasn’t paying attention). Mom looked kind of hurt but she knew that we hated when she sang. Big City continued on without my Mom’s help. But just as things were settling down, Jenny asked if we could listen to the praise station. This was a deal breaker. I was forced to protest, perhaps a bit too vehemently. An argument followed. Things got ugly. Mom got really ugly. Things got quiet.
It was finally agreed that everyone would get one half hour of their musical choice. Mom picked country, Jenny, praise, Jake asked for quiet, I chose talk radio, and Jana for some strange reason wanted classic rock, which was probably the most tolerable to the whole group.
The miles stretched on. Lots of really pretty farm land, green pastures and white fences. There was some ugly stuff too, but I would just close my eyes when those places went by and think of my new and wonderful life on Grandpa’s ranch. We ate a late lunch at a McDonald’s near Indianapolis, took a few pee and gas stops, but mostly just kept driving. By eight o’clock, we were all begging Mom to stop but she just kept on going.
She said, “We have a long way to go. You can sleep in the car just as well as in a motel room.”
Was she nuts? There was barely enough room in the car to close your eyes.
We drove until after ten o’clock at night, finally stopping in Des Moines. The Motel Six sign never looked better. Mom talked the lady into letting us all stay in a double room with a cot for Jake. The hitch was that it was on the second floor, so we did a lot of hauling up the stairs, which actually felt good to me because I was so tired of sitting. We had dinner-you guessed it-at McDonald’s. It was the one place that everyone could agree on and conveniently located right next to the motel. I enjoyed my filet-o-fish, coke and french fries, but more than anything, what I really wanted was to be horizontal. The motel room wasn’t bad. When we’d all gotten settled we were too tired to even fight over what to watch on T.V.
Jake had the remote control and was lying comfortably on his cot. Jana and Mom shared one bed, and I shared the other with Jenny and her Bible.
“You’d better keep that thing over on your side of the bed.”
Jenny burrowed deeper into her bible, pretending to ignore me. She never had appreciated my humor, but I really didn’t care. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.
Read more about Off the Grid and EN McNamara HERE.
Copyright 2008 EN McNamara. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
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