by Corgan, Sky
We settle into a table at the Galley Diner and my eyes instantly drift down to the tacky floral table cloth. I wonder if she loves it because it has roses on it or hates it because it looks cheap. This place is far from fancy, but it has great food. At the end of the day, that's all that should matter. I'm still not sure how her taste with such things leans, though.
“So tell me what your step-brothers have to do with you moving back here?” she asks after the waiter takes our drink order.
Up to that point, we'd both been silent, spending our time staring at the pictures on the walls and almost anything else but each other.
“It's a really long story.” I let out a short, pathetic groan, wishing I hadn't said anything in the first place.
“I have all the time in the world.”
I open my mouth to speak but then see the waiter bringing us our drinks and close it again. We ramble off our orders and then I sit patiently while she squeezes a wedge of lemon into her tea and tops it off with two packets of Splenda before stirring. If I can remember this, I'll earn brownie points when she requests that I make her tea and I can do it without asking her how she likes it.
“So are your brothers from your mother's side or your father's side?”
“They're actually not related to me by blood,” I reply hesitantly. It's a reminder that I shouldn't be saddled with them in the first place. Technically, they're nothing to me.
“Then why would you have to come back for them?”
I furrow my brow, trying to think of how to explain things. “Our parents died, so I had to come back to finish raising them.”
“How tragic.” She pulls the spoon out of her tea and sets it aside.
“It is tragic. I left a life I loved behind for them, and we're not even related.” It's not exactly true. While I was satisfied with my life, I didn't exactly love it. Anything is better than this, though. “So this is what happened.” I exhale deeply, preparing to completely unload.
Ann holds out her hand to stop me. “You don't have to tell me anything that you don't want to, Piper.”
“If you don't want to hear it...” my voice trails off.
“No. It's not that.” She shakes her head. “I can just tell that the subject makes you uncomfortable.”
“It does. But I might feel better if I talk about it.”
“Then I'm all ears.” A soft smile spreads across her face.
My tongue darts out to lick my lips, my mouth feeling suddenly dry. I take a drink of water, but it seems like the moisture evaporates the second that I swallow. I just hope I can get through the story without falling apart.
“My father died of prostate cancer when I was eleven. It was a hard time for me. He was my everything. I had always been a daddy's girl.” I stare through my glass of water, not really seeing it. Memories of fishing with my father and us playing with my dolls and him teaching me how to shoot a bow roll through my head like a happy montage of times past.
“I'm so sorry, dear. You've experienced so much loss for someone so young.” Ann takes a sip of her tea, her eyes ever attentive.
Ignoring her kind words, I continue, “My mother had always been the caregiver. My father was the fun parent. For that reason, my mother and I weren't particularly close. I didn't think we ever would be. For the longest time, I wished it had been her instead of him who had died.
“His death brought us closer together though. In the following years, she really stepped up to the plate. She did whatever she could to fill his shoes. She became like...the best mom ever.” My eyes begin to water as I think of those happy years when we did everything together and shared everything like best friends. “But then she met a man,” my tone takes a sullen turn.
“Your step-father?” She puts the pieces together.
“Yes.” I nod, feeling bitterness pooling in my heart. “It wasn't bad at first. He seemed nice. People aren't always what they seem, though.
“No, they're not.”
“He had two sons. One was just an infant, the other not much older. When he and my mom began getting serious, I ended up saddled with babysitting all of the time. My mother became distant to me. She seemed obsessed with dating this man. I became less of a daughter and more of a maid and nanny.
“I talked to my mom about it, but she never listened. She had turned into someone else. Her focus was solely on making Vince happy and building a life with him.
“They got married and then somehow both forgot how to be parents,” I let out a disgruntled huff. “To make matters worse, Vince and the boys were like wrecking balls. All three of them were slobs, and I was the one who had to clean up all of their messes. They could do no wrong in my mother's eyes. She put the boys before me, constantly trying to please Vince.”
“How horrible.” Ann draws her hand up to her mouth.
“I felt like an unappreciated slave, so naturally I moved out the second that I turned eighteen. I walked out of that house and never looked back, hating and despising Vince and my step-brothers for what they put me through.”
The waiter brings us our order, startling me out of my heavy speech. Ann comments about how quickly our food was delivered, and then we dig in, falling into silence again aside from the occasional comment about how good everything is. It's not until we're about halfway through our meal that she speaks again.
“It's understandable that you would feel bitter towards your brothers.” She picks absentmindedly at her eggs benedict.
“They're not my brothers,” I correct her. “But they're still my burden.” As I look across at her plate, I realize she's hardly eaten at all. “Do you not like it?”
“It's good. I just don't eat much as of late. But do continue your story.” She moves her food around, perhaps to make it look like she ate more.
I sigh, feeling my own appetite wane. “I left Massachusetts to go to college in Utah. Life got better after I moved out. I met a guy and we got engaged. My mother and I spoke on the phone, and we felt more like a mother and daughter through those conversations than we had when I lived in her house. Still, we drifted apart.
“Then one day I got a phone call.” I chew my bottom lip, trying not to allow the memory to make me emotional. “My step-father had apparently gone crazy. He shot my mother and then himself.”
Ann pauses mid-bite, her fork suspended in the air. “Oh my God, Piper, I'm so sorry.”
“The boys were both at school at the time, so he didn't kill them. But with no other family, they became my responsibility. That's why I'm here.” I set my fork down and look away.
“And your fiance, what does he think about all of this?”
“There is no fiance. He cheated on me. I'm all alone.” Saying it makes my chest feel hollow. “I'm all alone having to raise two kids that I...” I choke on the word. Hate. That's what I wanted to say. I hate my step-brothers.
“You're a very responsible and mature young woman.” She gives me undeserved praise. Nothing that I've done since returning to Boston has been responsible. I've just been doing what I have to to get by.
“I don't want this responsibility.” I shake my head before propping my elbows up on the table and cradling my face in my hands.
“Life is full of unfortunate circumstances and events. It's how we handle them that shapes who we are.” Ann slides her hand across the table to squeeze my arm.
I look up at her, my eyes bloodshot from the tears threatening to come forth. “I haven't been handling this well at all. Those two boys, they're like a reminder of how my life went wrong. So many years of babysitting and cleaning up after them. I don't want to be their mother. I don't want anything to do with them.”
I expect her to be sympathetic, but her expression hardens slightly. “Piper, this isn't just about you. I know that you feel like you've suffered a great loss, and you have. But they've lost their father—a parent—too. They're hurting right now. And if they have no one else to be there for them, then that person has to be you.
“I'm not sayi
ng that it's going to be easy. And I'm not saying that the past and what happened to you isn't going to haunt you. But you need to remember that the way your mother and their father treated you wasn't their fault.”
My mouth falls open at the fact that she's defending them, and I suddenly feel angry. “It was their fault. They didn't have to be little slobs. They could have helped me out. Done some chores. They saw how hard I worked.”
“They were how old?” She smirks as if me being upset is amusing.
“It doesn't matter," I grumble.
“It does matter. Kids are impressionable. They follow their parents' lead. If their father was as much of a slob as you're saying he was, and your mother always made you clean up after him and them, then why wouldn't they continue that pattern of behavior? If your parents never got onto them for being messy, then why would they stop?
“I know that sounds horrible, but that's the way things often are. Most people don't magically inherit compassion, especially at such a young age. And boys are the worst.” She rolls her eyes. “How old are they now?”
“The oldest one is fifteen. His younger brother is eleven.” I sink back into my chair, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Good. They're much older now.” She nods. “Don't punish them for what their father did. They have nothing to do with that. They're likely hurting just as much as you are. And don't think of them and yourself as you were when you lived together previously. You're the adult now, and they'll listen to you. Maybe not right away.”
“Or not at all. We're practically strangers to each other,” I cut her off.
She closes her eyes, and I realize that I should have kept my mouth shut. “They will. Give them time. And be compassionate. The kinder you are, the more you can communicate, the more likely they are to listen to you. Trust me on this. They know they're not the only ones who lost someone. They know that things are going to change. You just need to show them the way.”
It's an oddly comforting thing to hear. Motherly advice. Maybe I have been too hard on the boys. Have been raising my guard too high, refusing to let them in because of distant painful memories. There's no reason for me to continue to be so bitter towards them when we're all hurting right now.
“Thanks, Ann.” A small smile lifts the corners of my lips.
“No problem, dear. Life is hard sometimes, especially when faced with seemingly impossible scenarios. I can't offer you much, but I'll be here to listen and give you advice when I can. It's the least that I can do.”
“It's more than enough.”
“Now how about we get some to-go boxes and head back. I'm sure you have a lot to think about.” Ann gazes at me across the table with a twinkle in her eyes, and I know that she can tell that her words have made a difference.
***
Theory and practice are two different things.
The second that I step through the door of my house, I have that nagging uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach. I know I shouldn't dwell on the past, but just looking at the kitchen and thinking about how Earl left the milk out this morning makes me angry.
This is your chance to retrain them. You're the adult now. You make the rules. I repeat that mantra in my head several times. They're hurting right now. You should be there for them.
I walk into the living room and find both boys sitting on the sofa watching Sons of Anarchy. There are empty paper plates on the coffee table and opened soda cans without coasters beneath them. My right eye twitches as the yearning to yell at them kicks in. Then I realize that I need to take a step back. Being pissed off has gotten me nowhere with them so far.
“Hey, guys. Whatcha watching?” I lean over the side of the sofa nonchalantly.
“Television,” Earl grunts, not even turning to look at me.
How I want to ring his little neck. Or at least smack him in the back of the head. If we were blood-related, I wouldn't hesitate to do it. He's being a rude little shit.
“Did you have a good lunch?” My gaze falls to a mustard smear on one of the plates.
“We had corn dogs.” Joe's large brown eyes meet mine. He's oblivious to the tension between Earl and I, definitely the sweeter of the two boys.
“Were they good?” I cross my arms over the back of the sofa and smile at him.
“Mhm.” He nods.
“Could you be quiet? We're trying to watch television,” Earl barks at me, making me instantly recoil.
Fuck this shit. If he's going to be a prick, then why should I even keep trying. They're obviously fine on their own. They can do their own thing and I'll do my own thing. No need for us to interact.
Disgusted, I decide to take off again, this time to Walmart to pick up a lock for my bedroom door. I groan when I pull into the parking lot and realize that it's only 4 PM. The day is going by so slowly.
With a seemingly never-ending surplus of time to kill, I walk the aisles, picking up things that I want but don't actually need, then changing my mind and putting them back. I try on outfits that I'd never wear, look at shoes that I'd normally find hideous. Everything is interesting when you're killing time. If I weren't so lazy, I'd hop from store to store, but I feel drained on so many levels. Emotionally. Physically. Psychologically.
Once I finish shopping, I get into the longest line to check out. Then I put my items out in my car and come back inside to eat at the Subway attached to the store. Each bite is meticulously slow. My eyes flit between the clock on the wall and my turkey sandwich. Club Fet doesn't open until 8 PM. It's 6 PM now. By the time I go home, install my lock and get dressed, it will be time to leave. It will be boring getting there so early, but I'd rather be at the club than stay at home.
I finish my sandwich and throw my trash away. Then I head back out to my car, sighing as I slip behind the steering wheel. If I'm lucky, the boys will both be up in their rooms when I get home. That's highly unlikely, though. It's probably going to be another game of avoidance from the second that I walk through the door.
I listen to the radio to soothe my nerves on the way home. Low and behold, when I step into the house, the boys are still both watching television. I shake my head and grab a screwdriver from one of the drawers in the kitchen before going to my bedroom to change the doorknob. Just because they're home doesn't mean that I have to interact with them.
I'm about twenty shades of frustrated by the time I pry the knob and locking mechanism out of its packaging. Why manufacturers insist on sealing everything in so tightly that it practically takes an act of God to cut the product out, I'll never know.
Calm down. Once you put the lock on the door, you'll feel a lot better. You'll have more privacy. And besides, you still have time to kill. Doing this now will keep you occupied.
I suck in a breath, trying desperately to calm myself. Then I grip the screwdriver firmly in my right hand and start unscrewing the old doorknob from the door. The screws come out blessedly easy and I'm able to pull the doorknobs free on both sides. The locking mechanism, however...
I stick my finger in the hole where the doorknob should be, gripping the latch and trying to wiggle it out. It doesn't give. I grab the screwdriver and push it through the hole where the original doorknobs went through the latch. Then I grab both sides of the screwdriver and yank towards me. It still doesn't budge.
Stress balls up in my chest and floats to my head like smoke, burning my eyes. My teeth are clenched so tightly that I feel like they could crack. Violently, I jerk at the latch, losing all composure. It's a lot more stable than I am. After nearly ripping the door off of its hinges, I surrender, letting go of the screwdriver to sit back on my calves and cry uncontrollably. Why can't anything go right in this house?
“Are you alright?” a soft voice asks me from down the hall.
I glance back to see Earl standing there looking at me with an uncomfortable expression. Quickly, I wipe my eyes, sucking back in the emotions that so desperately need to spill out. “I'm fine.”
He takes an apprehensive ste
p forward. “Do you need some help?”
I hold my hand out to him, turning my face away so that he can't see the fresh tear trail streaming down one of my cheeks. “I got this. Just go back and watch television.”
For a few moments, everything is silent except for the sound of my breathing. I wait for Earl's footsteps to retreat back into the living room, but they don't. My arm is getting sore from me holding it out, but I feel so frazzled that I'm practically frozen in place.
Finally, he moves. Not away from me, but towards me. Stubbornly, I refuse to acknowledge him. All I want is to be left alone. It's taking everything in me not to say that much. If one rude thing comes out of his mouth, I know I'll snap. I can't hold myself together any longer.
“Here.” He kneels beside me and picks up the screwdriver.
Against my better judgment, I look to see what he's doing. He jams the head of the screwdriver between the bracket of the latch and the wood of the door and wiggles slightly. Almost immediately, it starts to come loose. Within seconds, he has it pulled out.
I move back to give him room, expecting him to lay the latch at my feet and return to the living room. He doesn't though. Silently, he sets the latch down, then picks up the new doorknob and begins installing it. All the while, I just sit there and sniffle.
When he's done, he gathers the old doorknob and the trash from the floor, then he stands. “There. All done. You don't need this stuff anymore, do you? If not, I'm going to throw it away.”
“No.” I shake my head.
I stare at the newly installed doorknob as Earl steps out of view and walks down the hall. It's such a surreal moment, and I'm still in shock that he actually came to help me. I've been horrible to him, and he came to help me.
