My Daughter's Boyfriend

by Cydney Rax

  “But, Mom, yes we can. Since it’s raining so hard, there might not be a lot of people waiting in line. And if there is, I’ll just go inside and you can stand by. Only takes a few minutes.”

  “Standing in line never takes a few minutes.”

  “Please, Mom.”

  “Ugh, that is so . . . oh, whatever, if you miss your flight, don’t blame me.”

  She sighed and settled back in her seat.

  The intersection of South Gessner and Braeswood had a malfunctioning traffic light. So we had to do the first-come-first-served thingy before we could make any headway. This unforeseen inconvenience caused traffic to bottleneck. I sighed and kept thumping the steering wheel and listening to various newscasts.

  Finally we made it a few miles down the road to the restaurant on Braeswood and Hillcroft. Lauren ran in and emerged fifteen and a half minutes later with her white bag of grub.

  “Better hold on and try to eat at the same time. Only a miracle will get us to the airport on time,” I snapped as I accelerated out of McDonald’s parking lot.

  As I’d feared, there was a sea of red lights on 610. I gritted my teeth and gripped the steering wheel. The weather was in God’s hands.

  I asked Lauren questions about the trip, but she acted like she couldn’t hear.

  Instead, she nibbled at her food, eating a little bit of sausage and most of her hash-browns. The rest was left smiling and mocking her as it sat in the Styrofoam container.

  “Hmmm, I don’t want any more. Just some orange juice.”

  “I knew it, Lauren. Well, don’t leave your trash in the car like you usually do. We had ants crawling all on the carpet last time you did that.”

  “Okay, okay, okay,” she said turning away from me and leaning her head against the passenger-side window.

  We finally rolled onto the airport grounds. All I could think about was the plans I had for my two days of vacation: relaxing, reading, maybe doing a little shopping, probably at West Oaks Mall or somewhere out on Westheimer. But I was in such a sour mood by then that nothing appealed to me more than just going home and crawling under the covers.

  I pulled up to the Southwest Airlines passenger drop-off. Lauren jumped out of the car and removed her belongings from the backseat.

  “Uh, see ya,” I said halfheartedly, but Lauren didn’t say a word, just made a mad sprint toward the building. I felt a tugging in my heart and exited the airport grounds. Since there was a combination of flooding and dozens of construction cones on Airport Boulevard, I decided to take another route. So I made a left turn and prayed I’d be home within an hour.

  I was anxious to get somewhere safe. Bad weather made me miss home, even if it was a small apartment. I couldn’t wait to get back to the familiar.

  I had just turned down a road that looked free of cars.

  “Cool,” I said, smiling. “Maybe I can make some headway.”

  By the time I saw the water, it was too late. The road ahead was flooded, a foot or so, and there was no way I could turn around and go back. I looked out the window and estimated that the water level was probably at the bottom of my car door.

  I winced, drove slowly, then put my foot on the accelerator and hoped I wouldn’t start floating away.

  The waters slapped against the car, rocking us both into fear.

  I had driven midway through the flood when the engine died.

  “Oh God, no, no, no, please.” I pumped the accelerator a few times and waited a minute before trying the ignition.

  I-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i . . .

  A horrible sound of automotive constipation, an utterly hopeless sound that told me I wasn’t soon to go anyplace worth going.

  I shivered and tried to wipe the condensation from the windshield and the driver’s-side window. Hell, I didn’t have the foggiest idea where I was. Just took a turn, not paying attention to street names.

  It was so cloudy and dark I didn’t even have the benefit of knowing where the sun was. It was hidden away, cowering behind some gray and evil clouds.

  I rubbed my temples with my fingers. My skin was moist from the humidity.

  Think, Tracey, think.

  Think, think, think.

  Cell phone.

  “Thank the Lord for cell phones,” I said aloud, and retrieved my precious little Nokia from my purse. I pulled out the retractable antenna. Pressed the one-touch speed-dial button that would get me to the one I missed.

  Aaron.

  At first I did a little bit of a dance while sitting in my seat, but frowned at the female voice that emerged from my phone. “The person you’re trying to reach is unavailable.”

  Damn! Damn! Damn!

  Where is that guy? Doesn’t he know I need him? Doesn’t he even care? I put the phone down on the seat next to me. That was when I noticed the bag of garbage, the irritating leftover food that Little Miss Lauren had neglected to trash.

  “Ooooh, she gets on my nerves. The ants will be crawling all in my car. I’m the one who’ll have to scratch my legs ’cause the stupid ants will be crawling all over me.”

  I got so tired of sitting, so weary of being stuck in a small place that made me feel like I was suffocating. My butt was starting to feel like I was sitting on a block of cement. I was dying to stretch my rubbery legs. And I was afraid that if I opened the door to stand up, all the water would pour inside my car, rushing over my feet, wetting the carpet, and causing my Malibu to smell like mildew forever.

  “Oh, this is starting to get annoying,” I complained to the window.

  I looked at my Nokia, and it seemed to be talking to me.

  Derrick.

  Derrick? Call Derrick?

  It was tempting. Derrick was always there for Lauren. Maybe he’d have mercy on me and at least call a tow truck if I asked. But I didn’t even know where I was. And even if I did, how could I possibly grovel well enough to persuade this man to help me? Nah, it ain’t gonna happen, I thought.

  “Oh, forget it. Forget him,” I said aloud, as if the car would care.

  Steve Monroe.

  I laughed.

  “Yeah, right. I can just see myself calling Steve Monroe. His new woman, wife, mistress, or whatever the hell she is, will answer the phone and curse me out. And if that happened, I’d deserve getting told off this time. Nah, better leave Steve and his dysfunctional family alone.”

  I looked down at my clothes. In our rush to get to the airport, I’d thrown on the first clothes my hands could touch: a wrinkled denim shirt and some stained, stone-washed blue jeans; mismatched socks, one white, one tan; and my new running shoes. I’d slapped on Lauren’s bad-hair-day cap and called it a day.

  Usually when Houston was attacked by these crazy floods, I’d be the one at home, sitting in front of the television, shaking my head, looking at all the people who were trying to roll their cars out of the bayou, who were forced to abandon their precious little Ford pickups in the middle of the freeway-turned-parking lot. There’d be reporters all over town, sticking a microphone in some old grandma’s face so she could tell how she was rescued from the top of a Metro bus, or some other dramatic story.

  I shivered and noticed how my throat was starting to feel sore. Like I was coming down with the flu. I felt achy, itchy, cranky, and bad-weather blue. I wanted to get going. My fun-meter had died a half hour ago. Let’s call it a day and get me home.

  Another thirty minutes passed. I was getting hungry. Last night I’d only eaten one piece of chicken. Lauren didn’t let the chicken stay in the oven long enough, and once I bit into the meat and saw the red and pink—well, chicken had never looked so bad. I ate some of the mashed potatoes she’d made, but basically I went to bed mad and hungry.

  I thought about trying to call Aaron again. It had been a while since I last called him. I picked up the Nokia again, but when I tried to dial, I heard this horrid little beeping noise, the sound that lets you know you can’t make a call on this phone ’cause this here phone is good and dead.

  Shoot!r />
  I started to plug the cell-phone charger into the cigarette lighter, but hell, what good would that do? I slapped the phone and jabbed the cigarette lighter. Felt like kicking the console and throwing back my head and screaming. I felt like someone was playing a trick on me.

  God.

  I started laughing and talking at the same time.

  “Oh, okay, okay. I know what this is about. Church. You’re mad at me because I haven’t been to church in a while. Well, hey, what can I say? If it weren’t for all the Christians, I’d have come to church. But you know how they are. Ha, they—oh, never mind.”

  I hovered in fear, looking through the window, up at the sky. But it still looked dark, desolate, and eerie, like the Lord’s day off.

  Right about then I wished more than anything that I had a Bible. I used to keep one in the car. For months and months it lay underneath the seat, but probably a couple months ago I’d thrown it somewhere in my walk-in closet. Hadn’t seen it or thought of it since. But now I just wished I could conjure up a word of hope, some scripture that would make me feel like I wasn’t alone.

  “The Lord is my shepherd I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down, he maketh me to lie, aw shoot.”

  If I’d been smart enough to leave King James where he should’ve been in the first place . . .

  I picked up my Nokia again, rubbing it, pressing the little power button again and again. Ohh, how I wished my cell phone would miraculously come on. Then I could call, hmmm, oh, I could call . . .

  Indira.

  Indira was my buddy. Always there for me. She’d listen to me try to explain as best as I could where the hell I was. She’d try and come find me even if she didn’t know where I was. Rushing out the door, almost breaking her leg trying to get to me. Now that’s a friend.

  Oh boy, my poor hands felt like they were about to go to sleep.

  “Don’t fall asleep on me now, hands,” I said, shaking them to rid myself of that tingly feeling. I blew hot breath on them, hoping that would wake them up.

  My hands woke up, but then my stomach growled.

  “I know, I know. Mom knows the baby’s hungry,” I said, patting my tummy. My voice caught. It had been a couple of hours now. Felt like weeks, though. Things were getting monotonous. Surely I wasn’t going to die out here on the road. I didn’t even know if my daughter got to Dallas or not. What if she decided she couldn’t go on the plane again and needed someone to come pick her up? What if she tried to call me but my phone was dead? Oh, I forgot. She wouldn’t call me first; she’d call tight-butt Derrick. He was the one Lauren turned to when she was in trouble.

  I wiped away the hot tears that make a surprising appearance on my face. My face, the sliding board for tears. Hot liquid that humiliated me: their very presence was proving to the world that, yes, I knew I was a low-down, unfit, uncaring, and selfish mother. I deserved just what I was getting. Death by starvation. Disintegrating into the nothingness that I was.

  What good does it do to have a mom, if she acts like she doesn’t love you? If she’d rather hang out with your boyfriend than with you? I hid my face in my hands and ducked my head. I knew that no one could see me, but it still felt like the entire solar system knew who I was.

  “The clouds know my name,” I told myself, and laughed. It was amazing to realize that such notoriety wasn’t reserved just for the Creator.

  I sat and stared at those clouds for the longest, praying that I could see over and above the clouds, believing that they could somehow reveal the secrets of what was happening in my life. Wasn’t it logical to think that clouds were physically closer to God than I was, and that maybe, just maybe, the Almighty had whispered something to his creation about me, something that his heavenly haze was willing to share so I could receive some type of answer about the puzzling events of my life?

  I think the fact that I found myself squinting, searching for those signs and wonders, showed how utterly desperate I’d become.

  Say something, I screamed inside my head. I’m listening, I wanted them to understand. I was convinced that someone knew something, if I could only get them to admit it.

  But when I got tired of the search, and took one final glance up in the crowded sky, I marveled at how the firmament displayed so much of God’s glory. Beautiful colors, shapes, and images that perhaps the world hadn’t before seen and might never see again. And by the time I decided the clouds weren’t going to open their mouths, that they just wanted to show off how beautifully elegant they were, the only thing I could do was look and wonder. Wonder why, even when I felt desperate enough to unlock a mystery, the answers still refused to be revealed.

  I wept inside my hands, shaking my head at all the things I’d been doing for the past few months. Secretly glad that Aaron liked me more than my daughter. Jealous of the time when he was still dating her until he could tell her that he’d chosen someone else. Elated that he’d changed his mind about giving her that Christmas present.

  My heart felt mega-heavy. I was so afraid. So alone. I wanted to yell and scream, but what good would it do? Why have a voice, if there’s no one who can listen? So I was quiet. My mouth was numb, tongue stuck inside it, feeling gluey, gummy, and tasteless.

  “I’m so thirsty,” I said, as my stomach growled pitifully again. It was a loud and vicious growl. An angry sound that blasted from the depths of my belly.

  “Huh, that’s a laugh. Even my stomach’s pissed off at me,” I thought.

  I sighed and looked at the passenger seat. Saw the bag.

  I tore open the bag and smiled when I saw the leftover food. Half a piece of sausage sandwich, a few eggs, and five swallows of orange juice.

  “Oh, ohhhhh, thank you, Lauren.”

  I picked up the eggs with my hands; a few ants were crawling on them, but I flicked them off and filled my mouth with the food; the eggs were cold but I hardly cared. I was laughing and crying at the same time. I thought of my daughter, Lauren. Wished I could touch her and feel her kiss against my cheek. Wished I could hear her whine, “Oh, Mom.” Wished I could hold her in my arms like I did when my mother first handed her to me on that eleventh day of November. My skinny self was bruised and sore, body shocked in a natural kind of way after just going through what nature called me to do. She was such a sweet baby and she smelled so good. Even when she was just three hours old, her eyes were big and luminous. She looked at me like I was the most wonderful thing she’d ever seen. And I looked back at her. “You’re Lauren Hayes,” I said. “And I’m your momma, I’m Tracey.” I nuzzled her precious little cheek with my nose. “And—and I love you.”

  I told a person whom I hadn’t even known a few hours that I loved her. She was breathing, she was healthy, and she was mine. I didn’t abort her; I didn’t sign her life away to an adoption agency. I wanted to keep her. Raise her. Have the privilege of leading her little life and seeing how she made out down through the years.

  Lauren.

  I opened my purse and fished out a wallet-size photo of her that was snapped when she was eight. She had a couple of missing teeth back then. Snaggle-toothed, cute, and smiling. Her head full of wavy red and blond strands. Kids would always tease her about her hair. Not because it was ugly but because it was different. She stood out even if she didn’t want to.

  Yep, that was my Lauren.

  She was a pretty good kid, as kids go. She’d been making decent grades until recently. She abided by her curfew; she’d listen to me when I’d advise her. She might complain, but she’d always do as I asked. And she’d held off from having premarital sex.

  She listened to me.

  At one point, yes, she did.

  “I’m so blessed,” I thought.

  A lot of other teens would have gone right out and gotten rebellious and had sex with ten different boys by now. Bringing home diseases, babies, and live-in boyfriends; sneaking boys in to live inside their rooms without their parents having a clue.

  “But not my Lauren,” I said aloud.

&n
bsp; Stuck my chest out. Raised my head.

  I wished I could hear her voice just more time, and that she could hear mine. If she were with me right then, I would’ve told her how proud I was of her. And that I did—I did love and care about her. I may not have told her often, but really I did.

  AFTER I DIGESTED THE LITTLE BIT of food, for some reason I started singing. It was a song they used to sing when I was a teenager in the Church of God in Christ.

  Everything will be all right

  Everything will be all right

  After the storm comes passing over

  Everything will be all right

  I sang it softly to myself, the same old words, the only words I could remember. Sang it and didn’t think of anything or anyone else. And once I’d completed my concert, I looked up and noticed the sun breaking through the clouds. The clouds looked like a horse galloping across the sky; a man was sitting on a giant horse and they were headed my way. I sat up in my seat, the sun brightening my face. The man was smiling and nodding at me. I waved, but he didn’t wave back.

  I looked around and noticed the water had receded.

  When did that happen? I thought.

  I opened the door, got out, and lifted the hood.

  Jumped back inside the car and pressed my foot on the accelerator again.

  I-i-i-i-i-i-i-i . . .

  “Okay, okay, I recognize that sound,” I said softly.

  My bottom lip quivered, but I stopped it almost as soon as it started.

  “No, no, no. Not gone cry, no more tears. I know I’m getting out of here, I just know it.”

  ANOTHER HOUR DRAGGED BY.

  I sure wished I could use the bathroom. I could feel the tension, the hot liquid aching to be released.

  One good laugh, and my car would’ve become a public restroom.

  Lucky for me wasn’t anything funny.

  After a while I heard the sound of a car driving down the street. I looked up, barely having the strength to lift my head.

  The car was taking its time, driving as slow as a hearse in a funeral procession.

  I snapped my door locks. Looked around for something heavy to hold. My body was trembling and I didn’t want anyone to know my true feelings. So I was sitting and shaking and I heard the car coming closer and closer. It stopped behind me. I kept looking straight ahead, acting like I was driving and I was going somewhere. The hood was lifted, but I was still driving. I’m getting the hell out of here, I think.