Amanda shrugged and ate a French fry. “We’ll see what happens.”
That was the story of her life—and mine. Waiting, watching, never doing. How long would I wait to see what happened? When would I stop waiting and start making life happen for me? The words I’d written a few weeks ago played in my head. They went round and round. Like a circle.
***
Susan Droste came over that evening to talk to my mom. It had never occurred to me that she could be that brave. Her hands were trembling and she kept looking over her shoulder, but she was there.
“Hi, Alex. I wanted to speak with your mom if that’s okay.”
“Sure.”
“How are you feeling, sweetie?”
“Good. I’ll go get my mom. Um, you can come in if you want,” I said, stepping back and gesturing toward the living room.
She flinched. It was the place her son killed my father, thus ending both their lives. “I’ll wait out here on the porch if that’s alright.”
My mom’s eyes grew wide when I told her Susan was at the door. She put her book down and heaved herself off the sofa. Mom tucked a few loose strands of mousey brown hair behind her ear and trudged to the door. She exchanged a nervous half-smile with Susan.
“Ellen, I just wanted to say…”
“You don’t have to…”
“I’m so sorry…”
“It isn’t your fault...”
“I should have seen the signs…”
“There’s a lot of things I should have noticed but didn’t,” my mom said, beginning to cry. “My husband was a good man, but he was sick. Alcoholism is a disease. Drinking made him do some bad things, but you can’t blame him for it, just like you can’t blame Sean for his mental illness.”
Susan seemed at a loss for words. She opened her mouth, but shut it again. At last she said, “Alex, please let me know if there’s anything I can do for you or the baby.”
For a moment, I couldn’t speak. I was still reeling from my mother’s declaration. My husband was a good man. Was she insane? My father had never done anything good in his entire life. He was evil, cruel, a waste of space. I was glad he was dead—glad there was one less child molester in the world. My face burned with the intensity of the hatred I felt toward my father—and my mother. She was just as bad as he was.
And just like that, I made a decision—my mom helped me with her ignorance and her refusal to acknowledge that it was more than a drinking problem that caused my dad to abuse me and Claire. He was flawed, broken, a sociopath. She was his enabler.
I stepped forward, pushing past my mom, and gave Susan a hug. “I’ll let you know if we need anything. Don’t worry, Susan. I won’t keep your granddaughter away from you. When I come home to visit, you and my mom will be the first people I see. You’re always welcome to come to Columbia. I’m moving in with my sister so she can help me with the baby while I go to college.”
“But, I thought…” my mom trailed off when Susan interrupted her.
“That’s great, Alex. A change of scenery will be good for you,” she said. She cast a quick glance toward my mother and her face hardened into a mask of dislike, but relaxed again when she turned her eyes back to me. “Good for you. I want you to graduate and do something spectacular with your life. Be happy and strong. Give my granddaughter a mom she can be proud of.”
She pulled me into another hug—this time she squeezed me tight. She whispered in my ear, “My son didn’t treat you the way he should have, but I turned my head and looked the other way. I’m sorry for that. Don’t ever let another man push you around.”
“I won’t.”
Susan gave my mom a stilted goodbye. She didn’t apologize again. Maybe she knew my mom played a role in the tragedy of my father’s death—and the tragedy of my life. We were all at fault—each of us played a part. My father played the villain. My mom and Susan each played the enabler. Sean played the avenger. I played the victim.
I didn’t blame myself for the abuse, only for my continued silence even as Sean began to take over where my father left off. Blame wouldn’t change my life, though. Therefore, I was prepared to let it go.
The most significant day of my life was the day I chose to take responsibility for my own future…
“Alex, I thought you…” my mom’s words trailed away as I climbed the stairs to my bedroom.
The phone rang four times before Claire answered. “What’s up?” she asked.
“Are you still looking for a roommate?”
“Yeah. Why? What’s going on?” She sounded concerned. Maybe she thought Mom kicked me out.
“I just realized something. I’m not mad or anything…well, maybe a little. A lot. Whatever. Mrs. Droste came over to apologize and Mom said it wasn’t Sean’s fault. Just like it wasn’t Dad’s fault he molested us because he was a drunk.”
“She actually said that?”
I tried to repeat my mom’s words exactly as she’d said them, but it was difficult because I was crying so hard. All the anger I’d held inside—anger directed toward my father, or toward Sean when he’d become abusive and controlling—broke loose and shattered. Shards of rage skittered in different directions, each jagged piece claiming a new owner. Dad, Mom, Sean, Aunt Carrie—each became recipients of my fiery wrath.
“Don’t cry,” Claire sobbed into the phone.
My laughter was forced, but it broke the mood. “I’ll stop blubbering when you do.”
“I’m glad you’re coming to Columbia,” she said.
“Me too, but are you sure I won’t get on your nerves? When the baby comes…”
“I’m sure you will get on my nerves,” she said. “We’ll deal with it. Alex, I don’t know how long I’ll be in Columbia. I’m graduating in a year. I just want to help you out for a while, not forever.”
Oh. I thought it would be the two of us against the world, that where she went, I would go. What was the point of going to Columbia if my whole living situation might be changing in a year?
Because Claire was just like Mr. Chalmers. She wanted to give me a hand up. She wanted to help me get over the hump, and once I was on a trajectory toward a positive future, I would have to fly alone. That’s what help was supposed to be about—tossing a pebble in the water to create a new pattern, not jumping in and taking over the whole pond.
“Do you still want to come?” she asked.
“Yeah. I do.”
Claire and I were full of plans. She told me to make a list of all the things I had to do before I could move, and though it seemed overwhelming, I knew that everything I forced myself to do now would set up my life for the future. I wanted a life. Not, an existence. Claire said there was a difference. I’d have to wait and see. No. Not wait. Reach for it. Make it happen.
Before I could tackle the list, there was something I had to do first. I fired up the computer and opened my email. After reading every message I’d received from Mr. Chalmers, I began to type…
Dear Mr. Chalmers,
Your letters found me in excellent physical health, but a poor state of mind. I’m happy to report I’m feeling much more optimistic about my future. When I left your classroom, I’d already begun to sink back into lethargy and despair.
I’m on welfare now. I haven’t signed up for a single college class. But, I will. This time I mean it. In a few days, I’m moving to Columbia with my sister. She’s going to help me for a year, and after that, it’s up to me. I know I can do it. I have to.
I want to thank you for sending me all those emails. When I opened the attachment on the first one, I hated you for sending it, but now I’m glad you did. I know why you did it. Because I made a promise to myself, and breaking a promise to yourself is worse than breaking a promise to someone else.
This time I’ll keep you posted. I won’t ignore your emails. I’ll change my patterns. I promise.
Best Wishes,
Alex
***
I tackled the items on my list one at a time. I conta
cted Family Services and told them I would be moving and why. My caseworker wished me luck and gave me the phone number for the office in Columbia. Once I accepted I wouldn’t be on public assistance forever, the idea of being on it for a couple of years wasn’t so bad. It was temporary—a means to an end, not a lifestyle.
There was a difference, though most people didn’t see it. I didn’t care what everyone else saw. I didn’t have the strength to worry about everyone else. As Claire pointed out, when I achieved my goal of becoming a lawyer, I’d be paying taxes up the ass and would more than make up for the few bucks I was receiving from the government right now. She said the taxpayers could consider it an investment in my future.
I cried when I said goodbye to Amanda and Callie. Amanda had taught me a lot. Not just the lessons she set out to teach me. I wouldn’t judge her. Everyone had to walk their own path, but she did give me an idea of what I didn’t want to become.
Callie threw her chubby body into my arms and kissed my cheek. My face was sticky for the rest of the day because I refused to wash off her juice box kisses. If my baby were half as adorable as Callie, I’d consider myself lucky.
The second week of September was a whirlwind of packing, ordering copies of medical records to take with me to my new OB/GYN, phone calls to the University, and multiple attempts at deflecting my mom’s tearful pleas.
“But, I thought we were going to be a family,” she wept.
She’d had her chance to raise her own kids, and look how that turned out. Why the hell should I give her a shot at raising mine? My hatred toward her simmered, but I knew it wouldn’t do any good to argue with her, so I didn’t.
“Alex, you don’t know anything about taking care of a baby. Neither does Claire. How are you two going to take care of a baby and still go to school and work?”
We weren’t imbeciles. We’d figure out how to make it work. As for child rearing…lesson one: don’t leave your kid with a pedophile. Somehow, my mom missed that lesson. She also missed lesson two: don’t stay with an abusive, drunken asshole who raises his children with an iron fist and wandering dick.
“How are you going to make ends meet?” she asked.
Child-rearing lesson three: don’t spend all your money on beer and cigarettes in order to appease the abusive, drunken asshole you married. In other words, with careful planning and frugal budgeting, Claire and I would do just fine.
“What are you going to do if she graduates and moves away?” she asked.
I paused. That was my biggest fear—and an opportunity for lesson four, a lesson poor mom had never quite learned: Children learn values by watching you. If you want them to learn to be independent, lead by example.
“Everything will be fine,” I said. “I have to do this. If I don’t, I’ll never be able to make a life for myself, or for my baby.”
“But…”
“Can we talk about it later?” I asked, grabbing my purse.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to the jail with Susan. I need to say goodbye to Sean,” I said.
It was the final item on my list, the thing I dreaded doing the most.
“Why?” she asked.
I could have used any one of the vast excuses at my disposal: because I owe it to him, because I have to, because I told Susan I would, because I need closure.
In the end, I told the truth. “Because I want to.”
Chapter 32- Sean
And I was shivering in the eternal shade
Whether ‘twere will, or destiny, or chance,
I know not…
(Canto XXXII, lines 75 – 77)
“Droste. A visitor.”
Those words never ceased to thrill me. Anything that broke the monotony of the day was a welcome distraction: a fight between inmates, a new kid on the block, or an unexpected visit from my lawyer.
“How’s it going?” Mr. Olive asked when I slid into the seat across from him. He always asked the same thing. It used to piss me off, but now I appreciated his efforts to normalize our conversations.
“As well as can be expected,” I replied. “Did I tell you my girlfriend is having a baby girl? I’m going to have a daughter.”
“Yeah, I think you mentioned it the last time we went to court. Congrats. If you behave yourself…and the judge approves the plea bargain…you’ll be able to take her to the zoo in about seven years.”
“What do you mean if?” I asked.
“The judge has to confirm the deal. When we go back to court in a few weeks, the judge will ask you if you understand the nature of the charges against you and you’ll make an official plea of guilty. Then, he’ll confirm the deal.”
“After that, I’m being transferred to prison? Which one?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Can you make sure they send me to one where I can get married and have marital visits?”
“You can get married at any of the prisons. I’ll check on the rules, but there are no conjugal visits in the state of Missouri.”
“But, some of the guys said…”
“I’m sorry,” he said, but he didn’t seem like he was sorry at all.
“So, why are you here?” I asked, ready for him to leave now that he’d brought nothing but bad news. Alex and my mom were supposed to visit later and I wondered how my future wife would take the unfortunate news that we wouldn’t be able to consummate our marriage. Of course, we hadn’t actually discussed a prison wedding, but I knew she’d be on board. She didn’t want to be an unwed mother.
“I had to come over to check on another client, so I thought I’d stop in. I have some good news.”
“Yeah, what’s that?” I couldn’t imagine anything that would make me feel better after the cruel news that I wouldn’t be able to have sex for seven years.
“The assistant DA is dropping your assault and property damage charges.”
That was his great news? So what? Who gave a shit about an assault charge when you were going to prison for murder?
“They could have added time onto your prison sentence. In light of the murder charge, they decided to drop the others. Sean, believe me. It’s a good thing.”
Whatever. I really didn’t care. I’d take a hundred felony assault charges if it meant I could have an hour alone with Alex.
“I’ll stop in to see you before the next court date. If you need anything, call my office,” he said, pushing the chair back and standing up. I leaned forward on my elbows, too depressed to move. Only the thought of seeing Alex later kept me from giving in to complete despair.
When my mom showed up, I almost cried. Where was Alex? I couldn’t live another two weeks without seeing her.
“She’s here,” my mom said. “I thought we’d visit for a few minutes before she comes back to see you. She wants to talk to you alone.”
A shiver went through me. Talk to me alone, meaning two-way-phone-sex and words of endearment? Or, talk to me alone, as in bad news she doesn’t want to say in front of my mother?
“Why? What does she want to talk to me about?”
My mother looked uncomfortable, so I knew it wasn’t good. “It’s between the two of you. It isn’t my place to pry,” she said. Did that mean she didn’t know, or that she didn’t want to tell me?
“So how have you been?” she asked.
Fine until I found out I couldn’t have sex with my future wife for seven years. Fine until you came in here and practically announced that Alex had something horrible to tell me. “Okay,” I said.
My mom prattled on about work and some other stupid shit until I finally interrupted her. “Can I see Alex now? I just want to know what she wants to talk to me about.”
“Sure, sweetie. I love you, Sean,” she said. Her mouth worked as if she was trying not to cry and my heart slid down to my feet.
When I caught my first glimpse of Alex, I reassessed my initial opinion that she had something horrible to tell me. She didn’t seem nervous or shifty. Her walk was purposeful, an
d though she kept her eyes averted as she strode past the other visitors, she held her head high. Higher than usual. Actually, she seemed a little too confident. Maybe something was wrong after all.
“Hey, baby,” I said the moment she picked up the phone. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too. I have to talk to you about something,” she said looking me straight in the eyes. This was very un-Alex. No stammering, no hedging.
“What’s going on?” I licked my lips—an old nervous habit I developed back in middle-school when the other kids tormented me mercilessly.
“I’m moving in with Claire,” she said.
Oh, so her bitch of a mom kicked her out. No big deal. “You can move in with my mom,” I offered, surprised she hadn’t thought of that before.
“No. I’m moving in with Claire because she’s going to help me with the baby while I go to school. I’m starting in January.”
College. She was abandoning me—and our daughter—so she could go to college. “So, you’re gonna dump our kid off with your sister so you can take a bunch of stupid classes? No. That’s a waste of time, Alex, and you know it. You’ll never stick with it.”
“Yes, I will.”
“Do you even have your GED?” I asked. Of course, Alex wouldn’t consider the practicalities. Once I put up a few roadblocks, she’d turn the car around and forget she’d ever thought about college. “I know your ACT score was good and all, but Mizzou ain’t gonna take someone who doesn’t have a high school diploma.”
I fought back the urge to smile while I waited for my words to sink in. For the first time since she sat down across from me, she hesitated.
“I have my diploma,” she said softly.
“How the hell did that happen? You didn’t go back to school did you?” Rage battered the edges of my restraint. So, Alex went back to school before her father’s body was even cold? She sat down in her usual seat in the lunchroom chatting with Cole while I sat behind bars?
“Mr. Chalmers set it up so I could take my finals after the last day of school. I passed all my classes,” she said. I could hear the pride in her voice and it pissed me off even more.
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