Call Me Cockroach: Based on a True Story

by Leigh Byrne

  “What’s the rush?” I asked, part of me hoping for a real, white-dress wedding, instead of a quick hitch by a Justice of the Peace.

  “The rush is I’m tired of driving back and forth… and I want us to be together all the time.”

  The last part was all that sunk in.

  The next morning, I gave my notice to the manager at work. He glared at me dumbstruck. “You’re marrying the punk ass kid that tried to start a fight here a few nights ago?”

  Sheila’s reaction was even worse. “You’re marrying the redneck? The best-looking guy who ever walked through these doors asks you out and you turn him down to marry a hillbilly with a little man complex?”

  “I thought you said Chad was cute.”

  “Cute, yeah, to go out with, but I didn’t think you’d marry him! Nobody marries a guy like that.”

  I had hoped she would squeal and giggle with excitement for me, the way all girls do when they find out one of their friends is getting married. But her reaction didn’t surprise me. I chalked it up to jealousy. Everybody knew she had been wishing for an engagement ring from Kevin for months.

  That afternoon, I called Aunt Macy at work and told her I would be making dinner. “We’re having hamburger hash,” I said.

  “Really?” She sounded intrigued. “What’s the occasion? I hope it’s what I think it is.”

  It wasn’t. “It’s a surprise,” I said.

  Over dinner, I told Aunt Macy that Chad and I were getting married. She was not at all enthused to find out. She put down her fork and pushed away her plate of hamburger hash.

  “Aren’t you happy for me?” I asked, feeding back to her the same words she’d fed to me when she told me she was marrying Edwin.

  She furrowed her brow. She had three deep wavy lines on her forehead, like Daddy used to have when he was angry. A snapshot of his furious face the day he found out I’d told the lady from social services about the way Mama treated me appeared in my head. “No, I’m not.”

  “I was happy for you and Edwin.”

  “That’s an entirely different situation.”

  “How?”

  “Because you’re too young to get married. You don’t even know this boy; you’ve barely been seeing him two months.” Tears pooled in her pale eyes. “And what about college? You promised me you’d go back.”

  “And I will. I still have plenty of time, and I’m sure Chad won’t mind.”

  “That boy has no understanding of the need for a college education. Does he even have a high school diploma?”

  “Yes he does.” I replied, defensively. “And he has a good job too, a job where he makes plenty of money to support us.”

  “If you go through with this, Tuesday, mark my word, you’ll ruin your life.”

  “You don’t know that! Maybe Chad loves me. Someone can love me you know. Maybe he’ll take care of me forever.”

  “Maybe he will, but it’s not likely. I didn’t fall off the turnip truck yesterday; I know a thing or two about people.”

  “You can’t talk me out of it by bad-mouthing Chad. I love him and we’re going to be married. Besides, you deserve a life of your own with Edwin. You’ve taken care of me long enough.”

  “Is that what this is about? Taking care of you isn’t a burden,” she said, soothingly. “You’re like my daughter.”

  “And you’re like my mother, Aunt Macy, but I’m almost twenty. It’s time I’m on my own.”

  “That’s just it; you won’t be on your own. Chad will be taking care of you. And if I have him pegged right, once you let him take care of you he’ll think he owns you.”

  “You have no reason to talk about Chad that way. He’s a decent, hard-working man.”

  She got up from the table and picked up her food, all in one motion. Then she stomped over to the sink and dropped her plate in, hamburger hash and all. She stood there for a minute, with her head bowed over the sink, as if she was afraid she’d cracked Grandma Storm’s Blue Willow china. “You’re going to do what you’re going to do anyway, Tuesday; I can’t stop you. But I won’t support you in this either—I can’t in good conscious.”

  MY NEW FAMILY

  Less than two weeks later, on a Sunday afternoon in late September, I was in my room packing my things to move back to Kentucky with Chad. I’d told him to wait in the car because I was afraid he and Aunt Macy would get into an argument. She stood over my shoulder, balling. “Don’t do it, Tuesday,” she pleaded. “Give me the word and I’ll go out there and tell that boy to be on his way back to Kentucky.”

  Seeing Aunt Macy cry broke my heart, but I had no intention of changing my mind. I looked forward to being a wife and living on my own like an adult, but most of all, having no one to tell me what to do. “Aunt Macy, why are you crying? Why can’t you be happy for me? It’s what I want!”

  “You don’t know what you want! You’re like a lost puppy following anyone who shows you some attention.”

  “Chad’s not the only one who’s given me attention. Plenty of guys have asked me out!” By plenty of guys I meant Bart. And Kevin said he would’ve if he wasn’t dating Sheila. “I chose Chad because I love him!”

  She followed me to the bathroom and stood over me as I dug through the laundry hamper to see if any of my clothes were in there. “I’m going to miss you, sweetheart,” she said in a fragile voice.

  I turned around and looked at her standing in the doorway. Her angry tears were gone, replaced with painful ones. She had the same lost, bewildered expression on her face she had the night she walked in and caught me eating toilet paper. She’d believed in me then. Stood by me even as I turned on myself, convinced I was a hopeless freak. Nobody had understood me and loved me like Aunt Macy. Nobody. My heart lurched for her. I started crying—deep from my gut crying. What was I doing leaving the only person I was sure loved me? “I’ll miss you too, Aunt Macy.”

  I was so close to backing out, so close to changing the course of my life, when Chad honked his car horn. Gathering my belongings, I ran out to him carrying an overstuffed suitcase in one hand, and dragging a plastic trash bag full of clothes behind me with the other.

  “This all of it?” Chad asked, getting out of the car to help me load my things into the trunk.

  “Yes, but I have to say good-bye to Aunt Macy. I’ll be right back.”

  I went into the house, hugged Aunt Macy and told her I would call her in a few days.

  “I love you, Tuesday,” she said. “But if you leave here today, you’re on your own. Don’t come crying back to me if it doesn’t work.”

  The closer Chad and I got to Sullivan, the more nervous I became about meeting his family, particularly his mother. True to his nature, he hadn’t told me much about any of them. All I knew was he was the only boy, and the youngest of six, and that he and one of his sisters, Trudy, still lived at home.

  “Tell me about your mom,” I said.

  “There’s nothing to tell. She’s a mom.”

  “What’s she like?” I reached over and twisted one of his black curls around my finger. “I’ll bet she spoils you rotten because you’re the only boy.”

  “Yeah, I guess she does.”

  “Your sisters probably do too, right?”

  “I don’t know about all that…”

  For a minute or two, I stopped talking, hoping he would offer up something on his own without me having to ask. I thought maybe he might slip into a childhood story that would illustrate his relationship with his sisters, or relate something cute he’d told them about me, or us. No such luck. He matched my silence with his.

  “So what have you told them about me?” I asked.

  “I told ‘em we’re gettin’ married; that’s all they need to know.” He pointed a thumb toward the back of the car. “Hand me a cold beer, would ya?”

  As I fished an icy PBR from the Styrofoam cooler in the back, I saw, on the floorboard behind the driver’s seat, the ball-peen hammer Chad had used to beat up the guy at the bowling alley. I re
ached down and shoved it from my sight. I’d learned that one from my dad; shove a problem out of sight and maybe it will go away.

  After shaking the ice from the can, I offered it to Chad. “Ain’t you gonna open it for me?” I pulled the tab and handed him the beer. He took a cursory check around him for cops before drinking. Then, as if the alcohol had lubricated his tongue, he said, “Mom did ask me why you were living with your aunt.”

  “What’d you tell her?” Please say you did not give her an answer under four words.

  “I said your dad’s dead and your mom’s a nutcase.”

  “Oh, great, that covers it all!” My sarcasm flew right over his head, so I tried the direct approach. “That’s it? That’s all you told her?”

  “Pretty cut and dried, ain’t it?”

  “No, Chad, it’s not cut and dried.”

  “Is to me,” he said, and swigged his beer. “She acted strange after I told her though…”

  “That’s because she thinks there’s something wrong with me.” Turning away from him, I watched out the passenger window, without saying a word, as the last of Tennessee disappeared.

  “Now don’t get your panties all in a wad. I know Mom’s excited about you coming, because she put clean sheets on my bed. And she’s making pot roast with new potatoes and carrots for dinner. She only makes pot roast for special people. Besides, you’ll have plenty of time to tell her all about your life after we get married. She’ll be like your mom too.”

  I kept my face turned to the window. Chad pressed his cold beer against the side of my neck. “Quit!” I snapped.

  “Still love me?” he asked.

  I looked over at him. One side of his mouth was turned up, mischievously. He winked an eye with unfairly long, black eyelashes. “I guess so.” As stingy as he was with his words, I decided it was probably best he hadn’t told his mom anything more. I would tell her when I got to know her. I would explain everything.

  “You sure are sexy when you’re pissed,” Chad said. Although I tried, I couldn’t keep a grin from taking control of my face.

  For the rest of the trip, I thought about his mom. I pictured her as having beautiful dark features, like Chad’s, and baking pies in a kitchen decorated in rustic country. I liked the idea of having a mother-in-law and a family to call my own. Marrying Chad was the right decision. I was sure of it.

  Chad lived in a rural area right outside of Sullivan where nothing but miles of bumpy, wooded land separated each farmhouse. As we pulled the sloped driveway up to his house, I took in my new surroundings. The large hill of a yard, lined with honeysuckle and blackberry bushes, lead to a white aluminum-sided bungalow with black shutters. As we got closer, I saw English ivy growing up the front of the house, and potted mums in terra cotta pots by the porch. A good sign, I thought. Nice people have flowers. As we got out of the car, a grayish Shepard mix, trotted from around the back. Nice people have dogs too.

  “Hey there, buddy,” Chad said, scratching the dog behind one ear. “Did you miss me?”

  How adorable; he’s a dog lover! “What’s his name?” I asked.

  “Wolfman,” he said. “C’mon, let’s go in. Hope Mom’s got dinner ready. I’m starved.” He grabbed my wrist and led me to the back of the house. As we walked, I combed through my feathered hair with my fingers, and then bent over and smoothed out the creases in the lap of my jeans.

  Chad opened a sliding glass door, and we entered the eating area of the kitchen. As soon as we went in, a large dining table was right there. Literally, right there. We had to squeeze between it and the door just to get in. There were only four people living in the house and yet the dining table could have easily accommodated fifteen. And there were thirteen plates set out. Who else is coming? I wondered.

  From what I could see, the house was smaller than it had appeared from the outside. The kitchen was dark, the air—close and cigarette-smoky. Contrary to what I’d expected, there was no one waiting to greet us. But a heart-shaped plaque that read welcome hung on the wall by the door.

  Chad continued on through the house, and I followed him down a dark wood paneled hallway to the living room. I saw his father first—a small, weathered man with a flat face and ruddy skin, kicked back in a worn recliner, puffing on a cigarette. He glanced at us when we entered the room as if we were a distraction, and then went back to watching TV.

  A young woman with big, bouffant hair, who I guessed to be Chad’s sister, Trudy, sat board-like on the edge of the sofa. “There they are,” she said, in a tone that sounded neither pleased nor surprised, her generous hairdo bouncing like a bobble-head doll’s.

  In a far corner of the room, Chad’s mother—or who I assumed was his mother—filled an overstuffed chair with layers of fat. She looked nothing like I’d imagined. She had unkempt salt and pepper hair, and she was wearing a nearly transparent housedress without a bra, her breasts supported only by her protruding stomach. “You’re late,” she said. “I’ve been holding dinner.”

  Chad put his arm around me. “It took this one longer than I expected to pack.”

  “I don’t have a lot of room for your stuff,” his mom said, looking straight at me.

  “Oh, that’s okay. I can keep some of it in the trunk of Chad’s car.”

  “Whatever.” She struggled to get out of the chair. “Now let’s eat before my roast dries out.”

  When both Chad’s parents were standing, I couldn’t help but notice they were an odd couple. When I first saw his dad, I could tell he was short in stature and small-boned like Chad, because he sat low in his chair, but when he stood, I was startled to see he was barely over five feet tall. His mother, in contrast, was well over five feet seven inches, and significantly overweight. If you examined her face closely, you could see the beautiful woman she once had been, but with age had let herself go. Chad had gotten his deep chocolate eyes and pore-less skin from her.

  As Chad’s mother led the way back to the kitchen, I tugged at his arm and stopped him in the hallway. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

  “There ain’t any need for formal introduction. They know who you are.”

  “Well, I don’t know who they are. You haven’t even told me their names!”

  “Oh. Mom’s name is Bobbi, short for Barbara, and Dad’s is Chad, like mine, only Mom calls him Big Chad so we’ll know which one of us she’s talking to.”

  “Big Chad?” I snickered. “It’s meant to be a joke, right, like nicknaming a linebacker Tiny?”

  Chad was not smiling. “No. Dad’s real sensitive about his size. I wouldn’t joke about it in front of him if I was you.” Ah, the little man complex. That’s where Chad got it.

  “So does your mom call you Little Chad then?”

  “Hell no!” He jerked his arm away from my hold. “They call me Chad Jr. Now can we eat?”

  In the kitchen, everyone shuffled sideways trying to squeeze in around the massive table. “You can sit anywhere,” Bobbi said. “Except there at the head; that’s where Big Chad sits.” I took Chad’s advice and held my giggle inside.

  Bobbi began barking orders as she pulled drinking glasses from a cabinet. “Chad Jr., we’re going to need one more chair; grab a fold out from the hall closet. Trudy, you get on the phone and call Brenda. Tell her I’m filling bowls now.”

  “What about Lilly,” Chad hollered out from the hall.

  “She called right before ya’ll walked in,” Bobbi hollered back. “Said she was on her way.”

  Nobody bothered to explain who Brenda and Lilly were, and I was embarrassed to ask, because I didn’t want them to know Chad hadn’t already told me. But my guess was they were two of his sisters. And judging by the thirteen place settings, either they were both married and had two kids a piece, or they were single mothers, each with three kids. Or one of them had three kids, and the other had one. Or, maybe one of them was single with four kids and the other was childless. These trivial rambling thoughts eased my nerves and busied my mind as I sat awkwardly in my
strange new world.

  After Chad had set up the extra chair, he took the seat beside me. I leaned in to him and whispered in his ear, “Who’s Brenda and Lilly?”

  “My sisters. Lilly lives down the road and Brenda’s next door. They’ll be here in less than five minutes.”

  Bobbi began placing on the table, bowls filled with new potatoes and carrots in meat juice, macaroni and cheese, and green beans. In another trip, she brought white bread stacked high on a small saucer and a plate of sliced onions. “Can I do anything to help?” I asked.

  “No, I think I’ve got it under control,” she said, placing, on the table in front of me, the biggest platter of pulled pork I’d ever seen. Bobbi seemed like the kind of woman who didn’t want anyone messing around in her kitchen. The kind of woman who claimed it as her territory and took credit for everything that came out of it. “Thanks anyway,” she muttered, as she headed back to the stove.

  Two fair-haired toddler boys, close to the same age, appeared at the sliding glass door. A pretty, petite blond and a man in a John Deer cap with lots of scraggly facial hair, were close behind. “Lilly’s here,” announced Trudy.

  Minutes later, another petite woman came to the door. This one had long, brown hair. With her were two older children, a boy and a girl; her husband also had a beard and wore a cap.

  When the kids barreled in chattering, suddenly the house was infused with light and life. The two men spoke to me; one of them tipping the bill of his cap. The sisters barely looked my way before they got busy loading their kids’ plates with mac and cheese.

  No one in Chad’s family paid any attention to me, even though I was the elephant in the room. The elephant that was going to marry their son, their brother. The elephant moving in that night. Maybe they were ignoring me because, to them, I was just some kid Chad had brought home and they were only tolerating my presence for him. Maybe they were too busy getting ready to eat to be bothered—a hungry family that appreciated their meals. When things calmed down and everyone was seated at the table, the questions would begin, and all eyes would turn to me. Or, although not probable, they were ignoring me because Chad had already talked to them about me, talked their heads off about how he adored me, talked so much they felt like they knew me and I was already part of the family.