A daughter’s smile can sometimes entice
It is filled with love, sugar and spice
She flips her hair and gives you a wink
A father’s heart will melt, then sink
What is real, what is a lie
Innocence falls, you have to ask why
When she lies down, then dims the light
No matter with whom, the ceiling is white
Small towns = safety, sex and drugs
Father
Growing up in a small town has advantages and disadvantages. Damn, this thought actually mirrors my overall way of thinking. I continuously talk about everything being both good and bad. There can be a positive and a negative aspect to anything, really. In business, it is called opportunity costs. You might even find two different approaches are both positive, but one has a greater payoff than another. Therefore, one would actually end up costing you revenue or profit. As I have found throughout my life you can only accomplish so much in the span of a single day.
When I was growing up I lived in a house for a couple of years with my dad and his second wife. We had a lagoon in the back yard between us and our neighbors. A lagoon is nothing more than a sewage facility, and our entire block used this one. My friend and I decided to make a fort on the bank of one side. We fished out some hammers and some nails from our garage, found some old wood, and before you knew it we had a 3-foot-tall structure that had three walls. You had to crawl inside but you could sit up. You just didn’t have much room to roam around once you got there. We worked on it all weekend. When Monday came we went to school, and as soon as the bus transported us home, we dropped our bags and ran down the hill to jump in.
I was lucky enough to be the first one off the bus. It was still warm outside, and the sun had not yet set. Since it was fall, the day did not last long with the shortened daylight savings time, so we didn’t have long to play. I crawled inside where we had stuffed some sleeping bags, comics and a few GI Joe actions figures. Within less than 20 seconds I was face-to-face with a huge black snake about the size of a full grown whale. That is how I remember it, anyway. I jumped up, hit my head, and backed out as fast as I could. I was in a full sprint, running up the little hill yelling, “Snake, snake, snake!” I never went back into that fort again.
One time, when I was growing up, I was at my cousin’s house, and my uncle was out in the backyard shooting guns. He had a 45 but was spending most of his time firing shotguns. I had never shot a weapon at that point, and he let me hold his mammoth-sized pistol, asking me if I wanted to pull the trigger. I grinned from ear-to-ear, happily accepting the invitation and within seconds was holding a loaded weapon. I outstretched both arms, locked my elbows, closed my eyes and squeezed. It knocked me flat on my ass. Completely threw me backwards, and he laughed so hard he could barely stand up. There was a reason he had only loaded one bullet, since he had no idea where I would end up.
Later that same day he had asked me if I was interested in riding a horse. Since I am always game for anything, I agreed. Horses were his passion. He raised and trained quarter horses. It wasn’t his job, but he loved doing it. He saddled up a good contestant, helped me on board, and I trotted around the gravel driveway. As with all good cowboy movies I wanted to go a little faster, and the easiest way to do this is lift both legs, tap with your heels, and the horse moves.
I raised my feet, tapped them both into the horse’s hind section and, shockingly, held on for dear life as it took off as fast as it could. It only stopped when it attempted to buck me off. I held on for about five minutes, which seemed like an hour or so and finally succumbed to the horse’s wishes as I flew over its head. Apparently the horse’s balls are located somewhere back there and I had raised my heels a little too high. When I implanted them in its hind section, I actually kicked the horse in the groin. I pissed it off enough so that it forcefully removed me from its back. Again, after the horse was caught, my uncle laughed so hard he could barely stand.
These were some of my memories growing up in a small town. We tried pot as much as the rest of them but not until well into high school. Most of our days were spent running from one house to the next, playing basketball or finding out if our motorcycles could jump over the latest hill out in the abandoned strip cuts. The strip mines vanished long ago, and the remnants they left behind made great swimming holes. The excess dirt piled everywhere was a great motocross track. It was still pretty simple. How much trouble could you get into?
My daughter was not that fortunate, or maybe it was of her own device. Maybe bad kids just found bad activities no matter where they were. I wondered if one day I would have to admit that my daughter was bad. Maybe she was the kid who was never invited over to anyone’s house. Maybe she was the child all the parents warned their children to avoid. Maybe my daughter was both the love of my life and the bane of my existence. Maybe I was just being forced to face that which I feared more than anything, myself.
Melissa
Melissa was up in the mountains again. She was back with her dad, which she had sworn she would never do, but what choice did she have? She needed an escape from her mother’s house, and with Curtis getting caught in her bedroom, life with mom was going to get sticky for a while. She did love her dad, but she couldn’t help wondering if she was ever going to forgive him. She still blamed him for dismantling her life. He might have been unhappy, but now his happiness was at the cost of everyone else’s. Was the price he was forcing them all to pay worth the benefit?
Jerrold, her new-found friend had already called, and the plan was for everyone to hook up at the park around 11 p.m. Twin 1 and Twin 2 would be there, but Melissa would not be able to meet with everyone beforehand. She was now perpetually grounded in a never-ending loop of monotony. Yes, she had made mistakes but how long would her punishment last? It was inevitable that she was either cut loose or she would find a way around the maniacal restrictions shackling her. She was a teenager for God’s sake. Didn’t her parents realize she was going to test the limit?
She no longer cared about getting caught as long as she was discovered after she was finished with the activity she so desired. It wasn’t about following rules, it was about finding a way around her restrictions. Her parents were powerless to stop her activities. They might get in her way, but as her dad once told her mother, she was a teenager. If she wanted to do something she was going to figure out how to do it.
Her dad and sisters had been asleep for a couple of hours now. It had been a long day so they passed out rather quickly. Melissa quietly picked her way down the stairs and headed out the back door. It was getting a little chilly at night, but still tolerable without a large coat. She didn’t really wear coats to begin with. She was more of the slutty halter top type as her mother so lovingly described her. Ironic, coming from a woman who dated as many men as she could get to call her from her “I am available, so come and get me” singles page. Anyone and everyone -- that was her mother’s motto.
Once she was outside in the cool night air it was as if she were inhaling freedom for the first time. She was in control. She was the master of her destiny. Maybe this fallacy was the allure that tempted her to sneak out to begin with. The feeling of being grown up and finding one’s way down the path of life. She walked the few blocks in the dark to the park and was greeted by upwards of 20 people, who had been hanging out for a few hours now. Most of them were already stoned, so they immediately offered her a quick toke.
Melissa was an anomaly in the crowd of locals. She was looked upon with some admiration since she was the “big city” girl. Most of them had never been past San Francisco. As she inhaled her first long drag she wondered how many of them had ever been out of the country. She would tell the twins about Paris, and their eyes would bulge, almost popping out of their heads. In reality, she could barely remember going there. She had been so young at the time, but she would never tell them that part of her story.
Within 20 minutes of her arrival, the crowd had gr
own by another 10 or so people so there was quite a large gathering happening. The police usually left the kids alone since they knew most of their parents. It was better they congregate someplace where they could be seen versus hiding out and getting into trouble. The exception tonight was Scott. He was older than most, probably in his early 20s, and wasn’t very nice. He had been bad-mouthing Jerrold and the twins’ older brother to the point that a fight was going to break out soon. No sooner had she thought this than Scott pulled back his arm and jammed his fist into the twins’ older brother’s head.
She wasn’t sure who this guy was, but in this crowd everyone knew each other. He seemed to be completely alone. Immediately after his arm retracted from the initial blow, the three closest guys jumped him. One grabbed his arms while the other two tackled him. One of the would-be tacklers knocked Melissa down as he pushed his way through to his prey. This guy was now in line to get his ass kicked.
It is amazing how few people get into fights throughout their entire lives. It just doesn’t happen that often. On the rare occasion when a fight does erupt it is usually met with a hasty ending. Fights are almost always over long before they even start. Most altercations are one and done. After the first blow not many more are landed. Melissa wondered if that would be the case or if she was about to see Scott get pummeled several times over again.
That is when she heard the noise. It almost sounded like a firecracker, but one of the really loud ones. Like an M80, not that she had ever actually heard an M80 blow up before. She had been to several 4th of July celebrations, but lighting her own fireworks was not part of her background. Her dad talked about growing up in the sticks of Illinois, and apparently everyone was privy to explosives and a lighter there. Having a festival of lights in your own yard was as commonplace as flies on a cow’s ass. Ha, how is that for a hick saying?
How often does your hand move so slowly you can count the hairs on the back of your fingers as it passes by your head? Melissa attempted to turn around and run like everyone standing next to her, but instead, she watched her arm move awkwardly as it flew by her face. She, as did everyone, saw Benny clutch his side as he was knocked backwards. The blood instantly began spurting from his blue and yellow tank top like the sprinklers in her back yard when they were first turned on early in the morning. It is that initial spurt, then another one, then a gurgling sound as it erupts in it endless spray.
Benny was a friend of the twins’ oldest brother. Melissa had seen him a couple of times but really didn’t know that much about him. He was a local boy, she thought he was a senior and might have been 18. The only memorable quality about Benny was his nose. It stuck out almost as far as Steve Martin’s in that old movie Roxanne. Most people who knew Benny called him “Beaker” but Melissa thought that was demeaning so she had always called him by his actual name.
Benny’s shirt turned red very quickly as a little pool of blood spread outward in an almost perfect circle. His back arched awkwardly, and he tumbled to the ground below. Scott’s mouth was moving, and he continually screamed something incoherent at everyone around him.
“Get your shit off of me!” he finally articulated. “Who is the big man now?”Melissa wasn’t listening intently. She, liked everyone around her, ran full bore in all directions. Everyone left Benny to just lie on the ground, clutching his stomach, as he looked up with eyes that were filled with terror. Melissa had been afraid before, but she had never seen anyone with that look in their eyes. It was almost like Benny saw his death and sat contently, waiting for it to happen. His eyes were the beacons of his inner thoughts, and they overflowed with the anticipated doom.
Melissa ran straight home. She didn’t stop at her friend’s, she didn’t mill about to see if anyone was okay. She ran. She ran as hard as she could and didn’t stop until she was inside, with the door closed and the bolts locked. She forgot to lock the door behind her sometimes, but not tonight. Tonight she locked the door, the bolt, checked it and, then, checked it again before heading upstairs. She shook uncontrollably now. She felt slightly nauseated like she might throw up. The only thing she could see in the darkness were two brown floating orbs watching her directly in front of her face.
Try as she might, she couldn’t get the picture of Benny’s eyes out of her mind. She knew it was all in her mind. She couldn’t be seeing his eyes floating in mid-air. They were still in Benny’s head. He was going to be ok. He couldn’t die. She had never seen anyone die before. She didn’t really understand the concept of what death meant unless you were old. Old people died, not people her own age.
When she was a little girl her great-grandmother died. She lived in Illinois and had cancer. She didn’t know the full story, but apparently she had cancer a long time ago, and it somehow went away. She was treated, got really sick from the treatment, and then the cancer went into remission. After eight or so years, it came back and, as with most people, the second time around is normally the last. It took over her body quickly, and everyone went home to pay their respects.
She lived in California at the time, but her dad made the trip back, and she went with him. She loved those few days because it had been just the two of them. Amelia was alive at the time, but she was just a little baby. Her mother hated Illinois to begin with, so she decided she would stay with the baby, and Melissa would go back with her dad. That had been both exciting and scary.
Melissa had never been that close to her great-grandmother. She had only visited her on a few occasions. It takes time to get close to anyone, even extended family. It was hard for her to comprehend her great-grandmother having reared her father when he was growing up. She looked too old and frail even when she was healthy. From a child’s perspective everyone over the age of 30 looks old and frail, though. So, maybe the viewpoint is warped.
She would never forget arriving that day. It was the last time Melissa would see her great-grandmother alive. They entered the house and several family members were gathered in the living room. There was a hospital bed, the kind that lifts up in the back. It sat between the couch and a chair so it could face the TV. Why it was facing the TV was beyond her imagination since there was no way anyone would be watching it, let alone her great-grandmother.
Tubes stuck out in all directions from her arms and even from a contraption around her face. She learned later the machine over her great-grandmother’s face provided oxygen, allowing her to breath. Without the mask she would’ve died. She never fully understood what the rest of the tubes did. She was told they provided, food but that didn’t make any sense. How can any form of food be shot through a tube that small and stuck directly in your arm. Melissa had known then that she would never have the desire to be a doctor.
She was required to hug her great-grandmother within minutes of arriving, and it sent a chill through her body. The hands that reached out for her were nothing but bones with bright blue and purple lines popping out. Those sickly colored veins were barely hidden below her translucent skin. Melissa remembered the skeleton her dad hung up every Halloween, and it held a stronger outer layer on its body than her great-grandmother did. The hug was fleeting and weak as her great-grandmother couldn’t hold her arms very high for very long. She tried to give her a kiss but finding her way through the mesh of tubes proved too difficult. It was more than she could take.
It was sad, in a way, that her last memory of somebody who played such a key role in her father’s life was one of such frailty. Everyone probably felt the same way, but if you are lucky enough to make it to old age, then your body will most likely deteriorate around you. It is probably better than the alternative. If your mind goes first, what good is a body that is built to last?
As Melissa reflected back on those last few days surrounded by the only death she had ever known those eyes flashed back into her memory. Benny’s eyes reminded her so much of her great-grandmother’s eyes. Was it because they both were faced with death? Does everyone have the same glossy vacant stare when their time comes. She cried then, letti
ng loose her emotions for Benny and even for her great-grandmother. She knew that everyone must die but she wasn’t ready. She couldn’t be ready. She might be floundering in her sadness, lost in a world she didn’t understand, but she wasn’t ready to die.
She only hoped that Benny wasn’t ready either. Jesus, she had spoken to him only minutes before he was shot. He had been standing right next to her. Now he might be dead. She wondered if he could see her.
Father
I heard Melissa enter the house late that evening. I was up early to get some water and saw she was not in her bed. My first reaction was to get angry but the emotional drain had been too much to think about, so I just went back to bed. How can you control a daughter who refuses to be controlled? There will come a time when her world will implode, and then she might finally grasp reality long enough to break through problems. All I could do was hope she made it through in one piece.
I heard the next day about a boy shot in the park. He was going to be ok, but it had been a close call. Luckily one of the kids had actually dialed 911 so the ambulance arrived in time to save his life. It sounded like most of the kids had just taken off running. I wondered if Melissa would care enough about another human being to make the call, or would she be too self-absorbed in her own little world.
I asked her if she knew anything about it, and she stared back at me with a blank face and said no. I was unsure if it was me or whether she had retreated even further inside herself that weekend. I wondered if she even knew who I was, and if she did know, did she care?
Learning to Cry Page 16
