I took him home and Sarah was standing in front of the glass door on the porch. When she saw me she buried her face in her hands and ran back inside. I put Mr. King and Mr. King’s box under the dogwood tree and then I went inside. Sarah walked back and forth in the kitchen and I couldn’t understand what she was trying to say.
I heard her say, “Is he gone?” Then, “Where is he at? Where is he at?” I showed her. She looked outside the door beneath the dogwood tree.
And then she whined. “How? How, Bubbies?”
I told her he went peaceful and I told her he just went to sleep. I told her he didn’t feel a thing. He didn’t whine from his fear of the darkness but kicked his legs like he was running. Like he could finally see again. Like he was free.
Sarah wiped the snot from her nose and it was on her cheek now. It hung there and I wiped it away. She gave me his favorite piss smelling blanket and she gave me one of his baby dolls and she gave me some treats. I walked outside and the white box was shining beneath the dogwood tree. The white blossoms from the tree were falling around him and I put the things Sarah had given me inside the box and then I took the box down over the hill. I buried the things inside of the box, but it was so hot that I started sweating and getting tired of digging. My arms ached from the shovel and every time I stabbed the shovel in the ground it felt like stabbing concrete.
I finally quit.
I said, “Surely to god that’s deep enough.”
Then I preached his eulogy. I told him that God shows us love through our suffering, but we’re just living things and can’t understand it. I told him that our suffering is a hug from God and one day we would understand, but then I stopped and told him I was sorry because I didn’t believe in God.
Then I left his hole in the ground and the days passed. And we didn’t talk about King anymore. The house stopped smelling of urine, but then one day I decided to go see. It was a month after and I went to go check on the grave. I walked down over the hill and through the bushes and the briars and the weeds.
I saw that the ground was washed away.
There had been a bunch of water runoff and something was wrong now since I buried him at the bottom of the hill next to a culvert and a swamp. Mr. King was no longer buried and the grave was open and washed out. There was a mushy box there but Mr. King’s body had come out of it. I could see his rotting hide coming out of the black bag and his red piss smelled blanket looked rotten as well. I gagged from the smell.
The death smell was a mix of a sweet smell like licorice and something else. Something from the dark. I closed the bag and put him back in the ground and it felt like a bag full of wet towels. So I reburied him. I wondered if maybe this was something other than the ground washing away. I wondered if this was Mr. King resurrecting from the earth and perhaps he had willed it so. After I reburied him, I put a giant boulder over the grave to show me where he was. I returned a few months later and the same thing had occurred. Except this time the stone had been rolled away. The grave was open yet again and the body of Mr. King was gone and perhaps he had resurrected. Or perhaps he’d just been drug away by wild animals in the night. And this is what happens to the helpless things of this world.
That night I dreamed we were all magnets. I dreamed all living things were magnets and from the moment of our births we were being drawn together by some invisible force. I was a magnet and Sarah was a magnet and books were magnets too. We had finally found one another.
In those last days I thought, “What am I going to do?” I didn’t want to tell my parents about the divorce date being set because I didn’t want to hurt them. I was still telling them we were just separated and everything was going to be okay. I drove over to my Mom and Dad’s house with the kids one weekend and tried to figure out what to do. One night Sam woke up at 2 A.M. and I couldn’t get him to go back to sleep. I sang to him and then I gave him a bah bah but he wouldn’t sleep. I told him, “This is how little guys get shaken baby syndrome, dude.” Sam didn’t laugh though and just looked up at me with a face like “That’s not something to be joking about, fat boy.” I rocked him some more and touched his forehead like I was a baby whisperer. Then he just started to smile and giggle and still the baby wouldn’t go to sleep. He looked up at me like “What are you going to do? You’re so fucked.” I told myself that he was just a baby and he couldn’t even talk, but I kept imagining he could.
I took Sam and went into the bathroom and I sat him down on the cold floor next to the toilet. Then I sat down on my knees and I started to gag. I put my hands on the toilet seat and Sam just watched me. But then my gag gagged so loud that Sam started to cry. I patted Sam on the back and said, “Daddy’s just having a panic attack. Don’t worry. Daddy’s going to get his shit together I promise.” I whispered hush now, but Sam wouldn’t stop crying. I tried talking to him and said, “Come on, Sam. Are you a baby or are you a man?” Sam looked at me with his brown eyes and said, “I’m a baby.” Then he cried some more. I tried to calm him and reminded myself that this wasn’t really Sam talking and he was only one year old. I could hear him judging me and saying, “You even picked up a hitchhiker the other day when you were alone and got drunk with him.”
I told him there was nothing wrong with picking up hitchhikers. I told him what my mom would say,“It could have been Jesus.” Then I told him what the hitchhiker said, “It ain’t no sin if you’ve been drinking gin.” But Sam wasn’t buying it. I turned back to the toilet and I started to throw up a black bile. It dropped in the toilet and sounded like someone clapping hands and then I watched it float on the surface and drift somewhere and seeing it made me more sick. Then: the vomit laughed. Then Sam and the vomit laughed together. They said, “What are you going to do, fat boy? You’re totally fucked.” Then Sam had a look on his face like, “I hope I get a new stepdad soon. One who doesn’t have panic attacks and is rich. I’ll probably even change my name to my stepdad’s name. Get me a cool ass last name. McClanahan is such a shit name. Get me a rich stepdad. Get me a BMW.”
I wiped off my mouth and leaned back against the wall. I told him a good name is chosen rather than great riches.
I heard a knocking at the door. It was my mom. I listened to the knocking and my mom said, “Are you okay, Scott?” She was using the voice she always used when I was 13 years old and I locked myself in the bathroom with the Sears catalog.
“Are you okay in there and why did you take the Sears catalog with you?” I couldn’t tell her that the bra section had changed my life and I had a purpose now. I couldn’t tell her that the bra section had made my life magical. And now it was twenty years later and my mom was still saying, “Are you doing okay in there?” Sam had a look on his face like she’s going to find out. Then Mom said, “Are you getting sick in there?” I heard my 13 year old boy voice say from somewhere far away. “No. Mom. God. Leave me alone.”
But I didn’t. Instead I said, “Yes” and she opened the bathroom door and walked in wearing her nightgown and robe. She looked so much older now. Her hair didn’t even have gray anymore. It was white. She’d spent her life watching me grow older, but I’d spent my life watching her grow older too. I got up and gagged in the toilet. She put her arms around me and said, “What’s wrong, Scott? What’s going on?” Then she picked Sam up and held him against her soft granny chest. She was a momma bear. Then she sat down beside me on the floor and I felt ashamed. I cried and punched the tears away from my eyes with the bottom parts of my hand. Then I told her I was a thorn tree in the whirlwind. I laughed because I didn’t know what that meant and she whispered, “What? Tell me, Scott. Tell me.” And so I told her that Sarah and I had signed the papers already and the divorce date was set. I told her Sarah said she hadn’t loved me in over two years.
My mother watched her child who was now a man look at her and cry. And now—she could do nothing. My mom held Sam and rocked him in her lap and she said she knew there was something going on. She told me the last time she saw Sarah— Sarah looked at he
r like it was the last time. I listened and Mom asked me if I’d tried everything.
I told her I’d just been giving her space. But I kept hearing the Sam voice in my head and it said, “He called her Dad the other night. Hah. What a pathetic pussy.” But then I saw that Sam’s face was sleeping now and so he wasn’t saying anything and I was losing my shit. I stared at my mom’s feet and these were the same feet from long ago. This was something we could always recognize when time had taken its toll. Our dumb feet. She still painted her toenails the same way she did when I was a boy and Sam still wasn’t talking and had turned into a baby again. I told Mom I called Elphonza because I didn’t know what to do and I wanted to see if he could help me change Sar-ah’s mind. Mom asked me what he said and I said, “He told me I just needed to take care of myself.” Then my mom listed off her complaints. She told me I was gruff and hard to get along with and then in her mother voice she told me all of the other things that were wrong with me. She told me I wasn’t smarter than god and I told her this was true.
I started to hyperventilate and go “Hee hee ho ho, hee hee ho ho,” like I was birthing a baby. I turned to the toilet and gagged gah but Sam was startled with a surprise and opened his eyes. Then he slept some more. I leaned back on my knees and my mom reached around me and did a kind thing. She pushed the handle of the toilet down and I watched it flush. The water twirled in a tornado and I watched it disappear. Then the water filled back up in the toilet again and I leaned back against the wall and cried. I said, “I just love her so much mom. I love her so much.” My mom reached out and touched my hand and she said the only thing she could say, “Of course you do, Scott.” Then she touched my face and we were taken back in time. I said, “What am I going to do, Mom?” I said it like a man who had no memory and who had forgotten things.
I had forgotten my mom had taught children for 33 years until she became a child herself. She looked at me like a fool, “What are we going to do?” She knew what we were going to do. She said, “First, go to sleep. Go in the bedroom and try to sleep. Second, I’ll stay up with Sam for the night.”
“And then tomorrow?” I said. “Tomorrow,” she said. “Who knows?” Mom handed me Sam and I held him. He was halfway sleeping still. Then she tried to get up off the floor. “Ugghh, it’s no fun getting old,” she said. She tried to push herself up on one knee, but it wasn’t working. I pushed on her butt and tried to help her and then I stared at the back of her legs and her veins were broken purple and black and blue. She got up on all fours and sat with her butt towards me and then she stood up the way a toddler stands up when she’s taking her first steps. She turned towards sleeping Sam and said, “Grandma doesn’t move around as good as she used to, Sam. She’s getting old.” Then she stood up and took the baby back from me and then she told me our plan again. She told me to go to sleep and she would sit with Sam in the living room.
I went into the bedroom and I tried to sleep. I put the pillows over my head and I tried. I turned on the tiny fan my mother kept in the corner to drown out the sounds the house made. Then I closed my eyes and I imagined them in the living room. My mother is sitting in the dark room and rocking Sam. I hear her singing little songs she sang to her first graders long ago, “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” and, “Feed the Birds.” She was 63 years old and I needed her again. We were raising children together.
I was late the morning of my divorce hearing because I was writing Sarah a love letter. Of course, I’d been telling her for months now that no one would love her like I did. She always laughed and said, “Thank god. I sure fucking hope not.” On the morning of the divorce hearing I got up and wrote her, “I know you said that I never wrote you love letters anymore, but I’m going to try and make up for it. One day I’ll write a beautiful book full of pain and laughter.” I finished the letter and hit send and imagined her reading it and changing her mind. I got dressed in the same suit I wore at our wedding and I put on the same tie I wore at the wedding too. When I got to the courthouse I could see that Sarah had been crying.
I told her I sent her an email and she said “What?” I told her I sent her an email and I wondered if she got it. She said she saw it.
I wanted to ask her what she thought of the letter in it, but I didn’t. We just sat in the waiting room of the courthouse in Beckley, West Virginia and Sarah saw an old woman in the hallway. The old woman said, “Sarah! I haven’t seen you in years.” It was Sarah’s old babysitter from decades before. Sarah said, “Hi.”
Then the old babysitter said, “Well, how have you been and what have you been doing?”
Sarah smiled and said, “Oh you know. I’m here getting a divorce.” Then Sarah laughed and then I laughed. The babysitter just stood with her mouth open but then she laughed too. Sarah pointed to me and said, “I might be bad off but at least I’m not as bad off as him. He keeps threatening to take his life and I think he’s serious.” The former baby sitter didn’t know what to say. Sarah and I thought this was normal conversation for the time and I nodded my head yes and smiled because it was true. Then the babysitter told Sarah it was nice seeing her and walked away.
I wanted to ask Sarah if she read my letter and liked it, but I didn’t. I just held out my arms and I showed her my wedding suit. I asked her if she recognized the suit.
Sarah said, “Yeah. The worst day of my life.”
Then we both laughed and then the bailiff called for us. Before we went inside, I watched Sarah lean into the corner and cry and the bailiff burped a soft burp. He looked at me and I looked at him. I patted Sarah on the back and she put a wadded up tissue to her face. I kept patting Sarah on the back and she finally looked up at me and pulled the tissue away from her nose. She had snot on her face. I was going to reach down and wipe it off but I didn’t know if I should. I remembered we were getting a divorce and it’s the tiny victories like not wiping off someone’s snot that makes life meaningful. I watched a young couple leaving the office of the justice of the peace. They had just been married and they were smiling. They were dreaming about their future together and they were full of joy.
We went inside the courtroom and stood at our separate podiums. I tried not getting mad or reminding her about how she asked the bailiff to move me during our child parenting class. Then the bailiff asked us to raise our hands and we did. He asked us to swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and we did. Sarah raised her hand but then she had to wipe her nose because she was crying. She dropped her arm and then she wiped her nose some more and then she raised her arm back up. She held it there. Everyone smiled and Sarah said she was sorry. Then we were sworn and we all sat down. The bailiff asked us to rise again and the judge came into the room. He told us to be seated and we took our seats. He read our names and then he started talking in talk that sounded like blah blah blah blah blah blah.
The judge started asking us questions. He asked one question and Sarah said yes and he asked another question and Sarah said no. He asked a question and then I said yes and he asked another question and I said no. Then he asked me another question and I said yes when I should have said no and it was obvious to everyone that I should have said yes. So I said yes and then everyone laughed. The judge asked Sarah if she was currently pregnant and Sarah said no. It was some strange antiquated law.
The judge went through the list of the property. He asked both of us if we were happy with the way things were divided and then he asked Sarah if she wanted anything back and Sarah shook her head no. I wasn’t crying like Sarah was and I figured this probably impressed the judge. Then he discussed the children and the custody issues. He read the names of the children. Iris McClanahan. Born 6-24-08. And Samuel McClanahan. Born 12-31-10. When he read off the names of the children it was like he was reading the names of hostages. Maybe he was.
He read some more and Sarah started to cry more. This time a deputy brought over a box of tissues and I just stood there. Sarah took a tissue and said “Thank you.” Someone else was wiping away her tears now and so I looked o
ver and I saw Sarah’s head dropped down and O if I could only tell you how sad Sarah looked. Even now I can see her head bowed. I shake my head but this memory won’t turn loose. The judge gave his final verdict. He said my name: Scott McClanahan. He said her name: Sarah McClanahan. And then it was done. When we left the courtroom I told Sarah that I wasn’t sure if she had the chance to read my letter that morning, but I’d like it if she read it. I sent it to her email. She was still crying some and she said she would. Then we smiled and I gave her a hug and we walked away.
I imagined her reading the love letter later that night and crying. I imagined her listening to the song I sent her too and whispering, “I’ve lost him. I’ve lost him.” I imagined her re-reading the letter and thinking she’d like to get back with me and that she’d made a mistake. I imagined the song playing at my funeral far away in the future and Sarah sitting somewhere in the back and her eyes full of tears.
That’s how it ended. Two weeks passed and Sarah still hadn’t said anything about the love letter I sent on the day of the divorce. I sent her a text one night asking her about it again, but she never replied. So one night I logged into her email and I checked her email like some creep. I saw emails from clothing sites, junk email from baby sites, amazon.com offers and tons of emails from discount websites. They were all saying, “If you don’t buy you die.” And they were all unopened. I scrolled to the bottom and I discovered the love letter I sent her. I saw the song I had sent her too. She hadn’t even checked them. And so I laughed because this was life, and a part of mine was over now and nothing exploded and no light was revealed. I hit delete and I laughed. There was no new path and there was no new way. There was no revelation. There was just a stupid ending and a tiny voice saying, that’s all. That’s all.
The Sarah Book Page 14
