Things Change

by Patrick Jones

  You never hurt me with your hands. You did it with just eighteen words.

  Let's take a walk, not down Thunder Road, but down memory lane. I am twelve years old. I do well at school. I am well-liked. I get picked first or second to play on the sports teams, and everybody seems to think that I have some potential. I come home one day on the bus to a nice house, not a trailer. It is February. I have a stack of Valentine cards. One of the girls who sits behind me, Cheryl Lindsay, likes me. I remember that when I got off the bus, I was eating a peanut-butter cookie from a party that day.

  Your Firebird wasn't in the driveway when I got home, which surprised me, since I remember you got laid off over Christmas and never went back to work, so you were around a lot, at least during the day. I knew you would be home by two in the morning. That is when the shouting started. I didn't know what that was all about, and I didn't really care. I had a house; I had a mother; I had a father. I had a life.

  So I walk in the door. Mom had a job then, so she was gone. I knew what I was supposed to do; I did it every day. I would come home, sit in front of the TV, and wait until she got home around four.

  So I walk in the door that day, my breath smelling of peanut-butter cookie. I don't see anyone in the house, and that is okay. It is quiet, and I welcome it. Sometimes you and Mom fought so loud, it scared me. It scared me when you hit her. I wanted to protect her, but I was too small to do anything. But I guess I also wasn't really sure it was wrong. How could it have been wrong if she never left? I thought it was normal. I thought everyone's family was like this.

  So I walk in the door that day and put my books down. Then I see a note on the table. Sometimes Mom would leave me notes if she was going to be late. I remember when I first started coming home from school that you would leave me things like candy or baseball cards. You would write a short note, in that terrible handwriting of yours, saying you loved me. That day the note on the table is in your handwriting, but there is no candy. I've kept the note; I never even gave it to Mom. She thinks you just vanished without even a good-bye; I know better.

  I am sitting here in room 127 of the Atlas Mini Storage. My breath doesn't smell of peanut butter, it reeks of the hops, yeast, and other ingredients mixed together by my friends at the Stroh's Brewing Company in Detroit, Michigan. They were your friends, too. Next to me is my high school diploma. Do you know what this diploma means? It means that my days of being a child are over; I am a man now. But you already gave me that diploma when I was twelve years old. I wonder if I should have that framed, too. It means more to me than this diploma.

  I am sitting here in room 127 of the Atlas Mini Storage looking at these two pieces of paper. The one I worked for; the other was a gift. Your good-bye gift to me. Let me read it to you, just in case you forgot the note that you wrote to your twelve-year-old son. Just in case you forgot the final words you ever communicated to me. Just in case you forgot the words you used to graduate me at age twelve from being a child to being this pathetic drunken trash bag that writes to you pretending that you are still alive. Let me read it to you now, dead man

  Dear Paul

  I am leaving, please tell your mother.

  Everything is going to be okay.

  Trust me, Dad

  TWENTY-FIVE

  "Johanna, I know exactly how you feel." I looked over at Jackie, my eyes focusing on her mouth, which had uttered those magic words.

  Lynne adjusted the strap of her too-tight black tank top, then slugged back another gulp of what seemed like her tenth cup of coffee. "I feel that way all the time about my parents."

  "You do?" I sniffled, trying to suck it up and not make a scene here in Ann Arbor, the home of the University of Michigan and the mecca of the hip and well-read.

  With Paul working almost all the time, I was at loose ends. At Kara's graduation party I overheard Kara, Lynne, and Jackie talking about a road trip to Ann Arbor. Just like I did that day in the car with Paul, I summoned up my courage and prepared for rejection when I asked if I could join them. To my surprise, they seemed happy to have me come along.

  "Lynne, what about you?" I asked. Lynne looked up, her blue eyes shining brighter than her perfect smile.

  "My parents think they're flawless. I think that is the saddest and the worst part of it." Lynne answered, almost in a whisper. I could barely hear her with the alt rock blaring over the speakers and the muddled conversations of "tramps like us" who had jammed into Starbucks.

  "Mine, too, although they have a perfect system," I added. The complaints departed from my mouth with surprising ease. "My father was a marine, so my house is very rigidly organized. It's like on TV. You know how they talk about good cop, bad cop. My house is more like evil genius general, bad bitch lieutenant."

  "That's funny," Kara said.

  "No, that's screwed up," Jackie said.

  "That's my life." I rolled my eyes for emphasis. "They just won't let go."

  "I wonder if graduating is going to change that?" Lynne asked no one in particular.

  "God, I thought I was the only one." I almost shouted the words; sharing the pain of my parents made me ecstatic. I had been telling them about my mother's once-a-week rule and all the other roadblocks thrown on my path to Paul.

  "My mom has two faces." Jackie was on a roll as she pulled out a clove cigarette from her purse, bouncing it on the table to the rhythm of her speech. "She's like always telling me to stand up for myself, be strong. Be strong, she says, except when it comes to obeying her. She's always yelling at me for stuff, and then if I talk back, she just yells louder."

  Jackie was living my life. We had been in the same school for three years on opposite sides of the social spectrum, yet we still occupied the same emotional space. Mr. Edwards would tell me the laws of physics wouldn't allow it, but Jackie and I were living parallel lives.

  "At least she just yells," Lynne said in a tone as cold as the ice coffee I had been sipping for the past hour. "My mom never yelled; she just used to hit."

  "Lynne, I'm so sorry." It was all I could say. I didn't want to talk about hitting at all. I couldn't talk about it; I had to hear about it.

  "Sorry?" Lynne looked at me with surprise. She pushed the blond hair from in front of those baby blues and shook her head. "Johanna, when you say you're sorry, you make it sound like you pity me or like it is my fault. That's wrong on both accounts."

  "I was just-—" I started.

  "It's not so bad anymore, but every now and then. Every now and then." Lynne had no emotion in her voice whatsoever.

  "What did you do?" I asked, needing the answer badly.

  "I hope you told them off," Jackie jumped in, ready to take on the world. "Got in her face and told her to knock it off or else."

  "You sure can be dumb sometimes," Lynne said, causing laughter all around. She was wrong: I had underestimated Kara and her friends; they were all very smart in ways I only hope to achieve.

  "What do you mean?" Kara asked.

  "I'm just kidding, Kara, chill," Lynne said. "It is just that there is no or else.' I just told my mom that she wasn't going to hit me again. You gotta take a stand."

  I sat back thinking about those words and savored my coffee while the three of them launched into a discussion about their post-high school plans. They chatted about maybe finding second jobs and then getting an apartment together, but it seemed more talk than anything else. Finally Kara drew me back into the conversation.

  "So what are you going to do after you graduate? Should we save a room for you?" Kara asked.

  "I'll probably go to college," I said, like I was ashamed.

  "Johanna, you are still such a bad liar," Kara said, then laughed. "You know you'll go to college, probably a school like Stanford, all expenses paid. I would love something like that."

  I laughed and let down my guard. "I don't think I'll be going to Stanford. I want to go to Columbia in New York City."

  "Does Paul know that?" Kara asked, raising her eyebrow just like she had seen me
do in reaction to one of Paul's bad puns.

  "No, I haven't told him," I confessed. "Or my parents. They want me to go to school here. This is hard stuff to figure out, especially since I don't have anyone to talk with about it."

  I finally shutup and chewed my thumbnail, washing it down with a big swig of ice-cold coffee. There would be no chance for a refill as they finally turned the lights off on us.

  "Johanna, I told Lynne and Jackie that you were the smart one. That was a really dumb thing to say," Kara said softly.

  "What did I say?" I asked, the tension in my voice obvious to all.

  "You said you didn't have anyone to talk to about this," Kara said, putting her hand on my shoulder. "You have us."

  I locked on to those words: "You have us." Then I remembered what Jackie had said earlier in the evening: "I know exactly how you feel." I think I had been waiting my whole life to have friends who would say those things to me. I missed Pam, but this was different. This was belonging to a group and not feeling left out, like Pam and I often did. This feeling of being part of something other than me and Paul was so new to me. My parents always told me that my grades were outstanding, but tonight I didn't feel like I was standing out at all.

  The cool of the evening and the coming morning never felt more soothing than when we walked outside. The street, although less crowded, was the same as when we had entered the Starbucks hours ago, but something was different. Looking at my reflection in the Starbucks window, and then looking at Kara, Jackie, and Lynne, it felt like an earthquake rumbled inside of me. I could actually feel my life change; it was a visible shift.

  TWENTY-SIX

  "Just where do you think you are going, young lady?" my mother asked me as I stood next to the refrigerator drinking a glass of juice. I was dressed up, wearing a short white sleeveless dress that Kara and her friends helped me pick out.

  "Paul is coming over to pick me up around noon," I replied, and then let out a loud yawn. I tried to sleep most of the way home from Ann Arbor, but the conversation with Lynne, Kara, and Jackie continued during the drive back, and then later at a twenty-four-hour diner. All the while I was talking and laughing I was also planning for this morning.

  "You're seeing Paul today and Wednesday." My mother punctuated her statement with a smoke ring, as though she expected me to jump through it like a trained seal.

  "I think I'll probably see Paul today, tomorrow, the day after, and the day after that, and then all next weekend." I stated it as fact, not a matter of dispute.

  "Since when do you think you get to set the rules around here, Johanna?"

  "I want to talk about these rules." I sat myself down at the table, getting comfortable for some uncomfortable times in the making. All I could think about was what Lynne had said: "You gotta take a stand."

  "There is nothing to discuss." My mother started out the door. My father sat there, solid as a stone. This had become the pattern of their interaction with me since February. My mother would question and try to control me; but if I didn't respond, she would just throw up her hands in frustration. She held back her trump card of "I told you so," while my father said very little. He cared, but I guess he couldn't find a way to break through my defenses, and I didn't make it easy.

  "Mom, you have to be fair," I yelled after her.

  She pivoted on her heel. "Your father and I are being very fair about this. We told you that you could see Paul twice a week during the summer. You don't think that is fair?"

  "No, that's not fair at all."

  "I don't like your tone," my mother said, her voice raised. "Why do you think you can talk to me like this? Is this how your precious Paul talks to his mother?"

  "I just don't like your rules," I said back to her. I didn't want to talk to my mother like Paul talked to his mom, but I wanted her off my back. Same end, different means.

  My father, as usual, was lying in wait, silent, acting like the reserve battalion.

  "You live here, you obey our rules. What is so hard about understanding that?"

  "I will obey reasonable rules, but these aren't reasonable. They aren't fair."

  "I guess we just disagree on what is fair," my mom said, again walking out of the room—signifying that in her mind, the conversation was over and I was dismissed.

  "Mom, I want to talk about this," I said. My voice was shaking, which made sense because my whole body was one raw nerve.

  My father got up, looked past me, and followed my mother into the family room. I had been writing this speech in my head as I tossed and turned in bed for those few hours last night.

  "Really?" My mother smiled as if I were amusing her.

  "Really," I shot right back at her, and followed them until I stood in front of them. I was fully clothed, but I felt naked because I was going to tell them how I felt about everything. It was a few weeks late, but it was Independence Day. Time for the fireworks.

  "I do everything you ask of me, and I always have. You have pushed me to succeed, and I have. Those things matter to you, and they matter to me." I paused to catch my breath and continued to summon my courage.

  "You just listen one second—" my mother started.

  "No, it's time for you to listen." I watched her visibly recoil; my father's eyes remained cold. "I've thought about this for a long time. I want to be able to go out with Paul, not once a week, not twice a week, but as much as I want. I'm sorry you don't like Paul, but I do."

  My mother was shaking her head. "Listen, Paul is—"

  "This isn't about Paul. This is about me." I cut my mother off again. "You've told me for as long as I can remember that I was smart. If I am so smart, then give me control over my life. I'm not saying that I shouldn't have to obey any rules, but you need to ease up on me. You need to let me live my life. My life."

  My mother sighed. "Explain to me why this young man with his loud car, dirty clothes, and long hair is so important to you. You're going places, but he'll be here forever. Can you tell me why he matters so much, because your father and I don't understand it?"

  "Because I love him." I didn't even stumble over the word love.

  My mother laughed at me. Not a chuckle, not a giggle, a full-fledged laugh. She could have pulled every hair out by the root and not hurt me any more than she did with that laughter. "Johanna, you are too young to be so involved with anyone, especially someone like Paul."

  "What does that mean?" I asked angrily, not ignoring her insult.

  "Don't you think your father and I know what is going on?" she asked.

  I took a deep breath, hoping my lies hadn't been discovered.

  "I don't think you care."

  "Jojo, of course we care. We want the world for you," my father said, breaking his silence. "Your grades are going down. You don't talk with us. Your teachers are concerned."

  "How would you know?" I asked.

  "Mr. Taylor called us. There are a lot of people who care about you," my father said.

  "People other than Paul," my mother said. "Just because the two of you have shared some kisses doesn't mean he loves you or that you really love him. You just—"

  "I knew you were going to say that," I said. I wanted to knock the cigarette out of her hand and the smirk off her face and tell her how I had shared not just my lips with him, but my whole body. How I had shared a bed with him, too, but this wasn't about anger. This was about my life becoming mine first and theirs second. "Maybe you're right, Mom. Maybe I don't know what that word means, but let me decide that. Let me define it. You need to trust me."

  "Of course we trust you; why would you say such a silly thing?"

  "You say that, but you don't really mean it," I shouted back at her.

  My mother looked at my father; they both sighed. They looked at me as a child, but I wanted to be a woman. To Paul, I was. I had changed, and they hadn't even noticed.

  "Honestly, where do you get all these ideas?" my mother asked me. She didn't think I was serious. "Is it Paul? It must be because you're too sm
art to say such stupid things."

  I wasn't backing down. "I've been thinking about this for a long time."

  "See what happens with just one day in Ann Arbor," my father chimed in. "If this is what you learn these days at U of M, then maybe we had better send Jo someplace else."

  "Don't worry about that!" My tongue was running two laps ahead of my brain, but I was in no mood to even out the race. "I'm not going to Michigan; I'm going to Columbia."

  "Oh, really?" my mother asked, raising her eyebrows.

  "I've decided," I said, crossing my arms. "So you see, you won't have to worry about Paul much longer. He'll be in California, and I'll be in New York."

  "How do you think you'll pay for that?" my father, the big bear of the practical, asked.

  "I'll get a job this summer and after school next year," I answered firmly.

  "Seems you've made yourself a few plans, doesn't it? You think that this is all your decision. We've made plans for you. We thought it was what you wanted, too," my mother said.

  "It's my life," I said. "It's my life, and I want it back. I want it back starting now."

  "Oh, let me tell you something, Johanna Marie—"

  "No, let me tell you something. I don't care anymore. You can set rules, and I can break them, or you can learn to respect my decisions. But I'm not going to fight with you the rest of the summer and all of next school year about Paul. Do you hear me?" I shouted at her.

  "You won't give me an ultimatum, young lady."

  I smiled at her, trying to capture her smirk and reflect it back, trying to force that bitter medicine down her throat. "Well, it seems like I just did."

  I wanted to vomit, I was so scared. I needed Kara, Jackie, and Lynne here. I needed Paul here. But I also needed to do this for myself, by myself.

  "Enough," my father said. He looked at me with those cold eyes. I don't think that my father really understood me, but he understood this.