“Don’t make me go to the hospital, grandma. I ain’t that sick. Just let me stay home from school. I don’t need no doctor.”
“Vicky, honey, do you know where you are?”
“Ain’t sure. Make it go away. Just make it go away.”
“We’re trying, honey. We’re gonna get someone to help you.”
She was aware of someone touching her, stroking her forehead. She thought it seemed a concerned touch, but she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Was it her grandmother? Who was the other person with her? Was this a trick? Who were these two faces that hovered over her? Were they in cahoots with the phantom? Were they only pretending to be nice? What if they started to pull her hair out by the roots or dig their fingernails into her temple until she spurted blood?
The last thing Vicky remembered was the muffled sound of her own scream.
Allison
Chapter 3
Late January 2006
The lights and colors were unbearably bright while a cacophonic noise of buzzers, beeps, bells, and bubble gum pop music competed for the attention of the children, who ran wildly and aimlessly through the place. In the dining area flashing images of music videos played on three large screens, interrupted only by larger than life-size mechanically operated cartoon-like creatures, which appeared behind the curtain of a shrine-like stage every half hour to perform a second rate Vegas act.
Allison drummed her fingers on the table while Frank slouched in his chair and sighed helplessly. He wore his sad expression this evening, only more disoriented and agitated than usual. Like an old basset hound that has to be put to sleep. Allison thought of Frank, as she watched a ten-foot tall rodent sing and dance from the enshrined stage.
“I can’t believe you brought me here,” Frank said.
“Smile. It’s your daughter’s birthday. You’re supposed to be enjoying yourself.”
“I can’t believe she wanted to come here. Why would she want to come here?”
“Because she’s a kid, Frank. A kid. Not a midget.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you treat her like a small adult, not a child. You’re the same way with Mattie and Alex. Always have been.”
“She’s eight years old, for crying out loud! How old does a kid have to be before they outgrow a place like this?”
“She’s a kid! Where else would she want to go for her birthday? The Pump Room? But because she’d rather eat pizza than escargot on her eighth birthday, you automatically conclude there’s something wrong with her.”
“The only thing wrong with her is that you baby her. She could be exceptional if you wouldn’t hold her back so much and just let her settle for mediocrity.”
“Another dig at me! Let it go, Frank? She wasn’t ready for that gifted program you tried to push her into. You’re just angry because I stood my ground. I’m not going to allow that kind of pressure to be put on our child.”
“She taught herself to read when she was three. You don’t give your kids enough credit,” Frank said with his all-knowing look.
“Our kids, Frank! They’re our kids. Remember.”
“It’s difficult to remember they’re my kids too with the way you smother them.”
“Smother them!? I parent them, which is something you know nothing about. If I am guilty of smothering them then maybe it’s overcompensation for your complete and total absence as a father.” Even as the words were out of her mouth, Allison knew it was wrong to say, but she wanted to wound him in retaliation. It never worked. Frank’s face reddened with anger and she knew she had pushed him too far; too far for a public place at any rate.
“Okay, let’s just not go there. Could you go get us some beer,” Allison said, desperate for a quick diversion, so as to spend Frank’s angry energy and make him feel useful.
“They serve beer here?” Frank’s face brightened.
Allison nodded.
“Why didn’t you say so? I may actually make it through this whole ordeal.”
So might I, Allison thought. So might I.
“I’ll be back,” said Frank, rising from his seat with a heave of great effort. Allison watched the slumped-shouldered husband turned stranger amble towards the front counter while avoiding wildly running children.
She wondered how exactly she would phrase it. She hadn’t rehearsed anything, which was unusual for her. Organization and preparation were her strong points. Certainly Frank would agree. A real go-getter, Allison exhaled a little chortle filled with years of disappointment and cynicism as a Chipmunks rendition of Stayin’ Alive blasted over the speakers.
Was it Vicky who finally pushed her into making this decision? It was the push she needed. Funny, she thought. She was sure it was Vicky that night, but as the days passed she grew less certain. A week had passed since then and she’d since convinced herself that maybe it wasn’t Vicky after all. Of course not. It couldn’t be. If it was then she would have to do something, even though she wasn’t sure what. Nonetheless, the whole incident reminded her of Vicky and made her think about the past and how she and Frank married on the rebound. Mulling over these things, she glanced over at the next table where a little boy sat. The bottoms of his white socks were filthy black. She reached in her bag for anti-bacterial hand spray.
He wasn’t over Vicky when we got married. Allison felt the relief of the waterless soap evaporate from her hands. He said he was, but he wasn’t. She’s the one he left behind. Of course Mister Melodrama gets to pine away for his lost love while I sort his socks, press his shirts, and put the toilet lid down after him.
Allison curiously studied a creature on stage–a web-footed winged cheerleader creature shaking a tambourine. What the hell is that thing? The gorilla’s groupie? They just let her play with the band every now and then to appease her.
I guess this is a hell of a time to tell him he’s got to move out. It’s Kristy’s birthday. But when else do I get a chance to talk to him. He works seventy hours a week, comes home, listens to his classical music, sighs and moans half the evening then falls into bed. She figured if she waited until the perfect moment when she had him alone it would be too late. She’d always been an action-oriented person. No time like the present.
The Vicky look-alike last week in the snow reopened an old festering wound and it was time to perform a debridement before it got any worse. This was the perfect setting. The kids were occupied–Kristy playing in the plastic tunnels and Matthew and Alex playing video games. Frank couldn’t go anywhere; he’d have to listen. And a public place with children present, so they couldn’t fight. Neutral territory, Allison thought, watching the long billed blond with the tambourine, wearing tennis shoes which Allison noted were especially designed for her webbed feet.
“Hi Mommy,” Kristy said, as she hugged her mother’s neck and awkwardly pulled her head down to her level.
“Don’t yank, honey. Here, wash your hands.” She held out the anti-bacterial hand spray. “You’ve been playing in those filthy tunnels” Allison sprayed the bottle into Kristen’s palms. Kristen then hopped up on her mother’s lap, once again throwing her arm around her neck. Allison was irritated at all the clinging. Allison had to admit that what Frank had said was true: she had indulged this one in particular and the immaturity drove her nuts.
“Mommy, I’m hungry. Where’s Freddie Fieldmouse? When’s he going to sing Happy Birthday to me?”
“Our pizza’s coming. Freddie will be out as soon as we finish our pizza.”
“But Mommy, I’m hungry.”
“Don’t whine, Kristen. I hate that. And for Pete’s sake, stop tugging on me. I can’t breathe.” Allison felt the irritation growing within her as she pried the child’s arms off from around her neck and scooted her off her lap. Kristen hung her head for a few painful seconds.
“Why are you so grouchy all the time?” she finally said looking up. “Are you and Daddy fighting again?”
Irritation turned to guilt as sh
e saw the tears in the little girl’s eyes, ready to fall with only a single blink. Kristen had Frank’s blue eyes and the same thick dark hair, which was pulled back in a pink plastic clip today.
Kristen was what would have been known in Allison’s day as a crybaby. Today she was called a sensitive child. Whatever you call it, she hadn’t yet learned the coping mechanisms her brothers had. She was the only one of the children still young and unsophisticated enough to be honest about the family situation. She was a constant reminder to Frank and Allison that their kids knew what was going on. Kristen was the voice and conscience of the family. This broke Allison’s heart. This was too big of a burden for a child so young to bear. The two oldest boys had their burdens too.
Their oldest son, Matthew, was a seventeen year-old high school senior and recent recipient of a prestigious college scholarship. He was bound for Notre Dame in the fall. Of course he chose Notre Dame. It’s where Frank wanted to go had his own father not insisted he go to the family alma mater, University of Pennsylvania. Sometimes when she looked at Matt she couldn’t believe this seemingly perfect boy was her son. His blond hair, blue eyes, and rugged good looks bore a strong resemblance to her side of the family, but he had a quiet dignity and savoir-faire that her country bumpkin Brinkmeyer male relatives never had.
Matt was smart, mature, responsible, and confident. At least it looked that way. He had learned how to put his best foot forward. Allison had always been closest to Matt. He was a wonderful companion and great conversationalist, even as a small child, but now he was distant and secretive. She missed the days when he confided in her, when he was shy and awkward. They had a bond then but it had slipped away. He was like a shiny gold trophy she was happy to show off to others, but the thing itself was cold and lifeless and the best she could do was to stick it on a mantle and keep it dusted.
Then there was Alex, their middle child–fourteen years old and a disaster waiting to happen. He was an angry child and his anger leaked out all over the place. His anger was costing them money. He’d kicked his bedroom door so hard he’d left a hole behind. He’d thrown a lamp across the room. Then the countless trips to the emergency room, the stitches in his lip from the fight he got into at school, the broken arm from falling off his bike. “All boy,” Frank would say. “Accident prone,” Allison would say, but the child psychologist labeled it “aggressive” and “self-destructive”. An Oppositional Disorder. ADHD. They had thrown away a wad of money on this child. Nothing any professional had done had helped. What would they be forking money out for next? Legal fees, fines, bail, drug rehab? Allison shuddered at the thought.
Then there was the rivalry between Alex and Matthew. Alex was perpetually flunking while Matthew was an “A” student who’d already tested out of several colleges classes. It seemed the more Matthew tried to be good, the more Alex tried to be bad. Allison knew there was no one to blame for this mess but herself and Frank And here it was–all this pain and heartbreak reflected on the face of her youngest child. She’s too young to have a face like that. Kritsy was supposed to be our redemption, our last chance, mid-life baby who would make us realize all the good we take for granted. She was supposed to revitalize our marriage. A hell of an expectation to put on a child.
“Honey, please don’t cry.” Kristen’s lower lip quivered and she swallowed hard, her blue sad puppy dog eyes staring up at her, completely guileless, making Allison want to cry instead.
“It’s your birthday, honey. Please, don’t cry. You look so pretty. Come here.” The child stepped into her mother’s arms. Allison couldn’t put enough comfort into the hug.
What are we doing to these kids? She closed her eyes and squeezed tighter. They won’t have to see us fight after this. I just don’t want them to see another fight. She felt an ache in her chest as she thought of how the fights had increasingly turned uglier in recent years. How long before the verbal abuse would escalate into physical abuse? How often Matthew, who’d increasingly taken on the role of parent, ended up between her and Frank during a fight, pleading with them to stop? He must know how close we are to taking swings at one another. She remembered one night wanting to kick Frank so badly it took every ounce of energy to restrain herself. This isn’t like me. I hate what I’ve become. I want to put all this anger behind me. There’s no other way to do it. Surely it will be better for the kids this way.
“Everything’s okay, Kristy. We’re not fighting,” Allison said, trying to get comfort from the lingering hug.
“Where’s Daddy? He didn’t leave, did he?”
“No, sweetie, he went to get some drinks. He’ll be right back. You’re hungry, aren’t you? You’re just like your mother. You get cranky when you’re hungry.”
Frank approached the table, moving slower than usual, a plastic cup filled with beer in each hand.
“Daddy!” Kristen, impulsive as always, ran up to Frank and threw her arms around his waist. The foam from the beer sloshed precariously from side to side, threatening to spill all over.
“Whoa! Watch it there birthday girl.”
“You didn’t leave,” she said not wanting to release her father from her grip.
“Leave? Why would I leave?”
“Because you and Mom are fighting again.”
Frank looked at Allison. She shrugged her shoulders.
“Nobody’s fighting. Hey, let me put these drinks down before I spill them all over you.”
“What took so long?” asked Allison taking a swig of beer.
“I had to wait for them to get their liquor license. I think they got some of the gorilla’s relatives working the counter.”
“I hear you. The pizza’s not here yet either.”
“Some service.”
“Honey, go find your brothers and tell them to come to the table,” said Allison. “We don’t want to have to hunt them down when the pizza gets here.”
Kristen ran off happy.
Should she tell him now? The impulse struck Allison, but only for a moment or two. They were both operating on an empty stomach, and besides there wasn’t enough time. The kids were on their way to the table and the pizza would be here soon. No, she would proceed with her original plan and tell him after the pizza, and the birthday cake, and the visit from Freddie Fieldmouse. She would send the boys back to their games and Kristen back to the tunnels, and then she would tell him.
Allison focused her attention on the large TV screen. A music video with kids dressed in early sixties garb dancing to “It’s My Party”. “And I’ll cry if I want to,” Allison found herself singing along.
Frank looked at her.
“So what do you want?” she asked him.
“I want the giant animals to come out here and do their act again. I think I like them better than the music videos.”
Allison laughed in spite of herself. Why ruin the last pleasant moment they would ever have together? They were becoming so rare. “Nothing like beer on an empty stomach to change your outlook on life.”
“Cheers.” Allison tapped her plastic cup against Frank’s. She didn’t notice her emotions until a small tear worked its way out of the corner of her eye. She wiped it away with a discreet rub of her index finger.
“Are you okay?” she was surprised to hear him inquire.
“Fine.” He put his hand on her back. Oh, great! Now he’s going to be nice to me for the first time in about a year. His annual nice moment. Why did he pick now? She looked at him. He looked happy. It’s just the beer. I haven’t loved him in years. Tonight’s the start of a new life. I will not back down.
Luckily, the spell was broken by Kristen who came running up to the table with her big brother, Matthew, who was trailing behind with his cell phone in hand, rapidly texting a friend.
“Where’s Alex.?”
“He’s playing Alien Wars,” Matthew said. “He said to go ahead and eat without him.”
“Great, that’s just what he needs. More mindlessly violent shooting games,” Allison said in disgu
st.
That’s all it took to set Frank off. The mad basset hound was back. Frank sprang from his chair so quickly he almost knocked it over. “I’ve had it with that kid! I don’t care if I have to drag him to the table by his ears, he’s going to eat with the rest of the family or he’s not going to eat. Period!”
“I’ll get him, Dad,” Matt said.
“Daddy, don’t!” Kristen’s lower lip was quivering again.
“Sit down, Dad. Everything’s cool. I’ll go get him.” Matt rose.
“Yeah, Dad, sit down and calm down. That vein in your temple is beginning to bulge,” Allison added.
Frank acquiesced, plopping in his chair with a loud sigh of exasperation. “All right, go get him. But if the two of you aren’t back here in two minutes, I’ll, I’ll...”
“Drag him to the table by the ears,” Allison said. “We all heard you the first time, dear. Now calm down before you have a stroke.”
The pizza arrived at the table as soon as Matthew left to get Alex.
“Two large pizzas,” came the dull and depressed voice of a teenage girl with dyed black hair, matching black fingernails, pierced eyebrow, pierced nose, and ears pierced up to the cartilage.
“Is that a question or a statement?” Frank asked the waitress as she reached across Allison to set the pizzas down, nearly dropping one on her lap in the whole awkward process.
“Huh?”
“Were you announcing that these are in fact our pizzas or were you asking us? I couldn’t tell.” The waitress stared at him blankly unaware of what he even meant.
“Never mind him,” Allison said to the waitress. “Frank, don’t be such a smart aleck.”
“Will there be anything else?” the waitress responded with all the zest of a poorly programmed robot.
“Yes, as a matter of fact there is. When does Freddie Freeloader...”
“That’s Freddie Fieldmouse, Frank.” Allison corrected.
ODD NUMBERS Page 4
