A Community of Writers

by A Community of Writers (retail) (epub)

  The problem was, he was the only one in his house who felt that way. Janice continued to care for him, never complaining and even relishing her job of keeping him safe at home. She had been against him returning to school, even though he had been determined. My job was to nudge her along the road to Jason's independence. He would call whenever she stalled, begging for help. Which was why I was in their kitchen, reading his birthday cards after he had gone to bed. Janice caught me looking at a small one that read Happy Birthday, Son.

  "It had a picture of Don's two little ones in it, but I threw that away. I didn't think Jason needed to see that."

  The hurt in her voice did not surprise. Neither did the alcohol on her breath. Janice had taken to having a few after Jason went to bed. I couldn't blame her. I never blamed her. Still, I should have known better than to bring up a touchy subject right then. But time was running out.

  "Have you given any more thought to the group home idea?" I tried to act nonchalant.

  Janice stiffened, drew herself up and back like a cobra ready to strike. "Why are you still talking about this? The answer was no, it's still no. Jason is fine right here with me. End of discussion."

  "I know he's fine, but I think he would really like to try this." I took a deep breath. "And you've got to think of the long-term, Jani. What happens to him when you're not here anymore? What happens to him if something happens to you?"

  I tried to keep my voice even, but it was difficult because I was afraid. I never challenged her.

  Her eyes were full of venom. So was her mouth. "How dare you? How god-damn dare you? Don't you think that's all I ever think about: what's best for him? Don't you think I lie awake at night, alone, after feeding him and washing him and playing f-ing checkers with him and worry myself to sleep thinking about what's going to happen to him when I'm gone? I'm all he has, I'm all there is to depend on. You think you can waltz in here to put in a little time and think you're helping me. You think you can just take him out and drop him off somewhere where nobody knows him and he'll be just fine? He won't be fine. He'll never be fine. He needs to be with me. I'm his mother. Not you."

  She was breathing hard and turning red. She took a long gulp out of a tall glass. Her words stung, as she meant them to. I wasn't anyone's mother, probably never would be. But I couldn't let go, not this time. My head buzzed. The clock ticked louder than it should have. The birthday card blew off the table with a gust of April air.

  "Who are you doing this for Jani?" I stopped for just a second, fearful, because I was about to say things that might make her never speak to me again. "You're being selfish. You need him more than he needs you right now. What are you afraid of? That he's going to leave you too? That someone can get along without you? He's your son Janice. You've done everything for him. He'll always love you. Just like —"

  "Just like mom? Forget it. He's staying with me." She was quiet now, almost whispering.

  "I was going to say, he'll always love you, just like me."

  The quiet was shattered, like her glass as she threw it against the wall. "Get out."

  In a minute we heard the sound of the wheelchair motor. "What's all the noise? Can't an invalid get a good night's sleep around here?" He entered the room, looking nervously at our faces.

  "Sorry we woke you. You know how your aunt gets when we talk politics. She was just leaving when I dropped my glass. You can go back to bed." We both knew he heard, but we all pretended he had not.

  "It's about the group home, isn't it?" Jason looked uncomfortable, but put himself between Janice and I. "I'd really like to go see it, Mom. Won't you take me?"

  "That's where people go who have no one else to take care of them honey. And you have me." She bent forward to kiss his head.

  "But I'd really like to at least see it. I'm twenty-one now. Don't you want to get rid of me and find a boyfriend?" He smiled wickedly his somewhat lopsided smile.

  Janice didn't bite. "No, I don't want to get rid of you, and the last thing I need is a boyfriend. I'm having a hard enough time dealing with my family right now, let alone a boyfriend." That comment was not lost on Jason or I. I moved toward the door.

  "Don't be mad at her, Mom. I started it. I really, really want to go. " Jason moved his wheelchair to block the door. "The counselor at school talked to me. He thought it was a great idea too. He said he would talk to you. Mom, I'm graduating next month. I want to start planning what to do with life. You need to have a life too. I want to be something other than a guy in a wheelchair."

  Because you had to concentrate so hard on what he was saying, and it took so long for him to speak, the mood had changed by the time Jason was done.

  "If you don't get to bed, maybe you won't graduate." Janice said this lightly as she went for the broom. "Be careful over here, there's glass on the floor."

  "Everyone bosses the disabled guy," I heard him mumble as he headed out of the kitchen.

  "Janice?"

  "Don't. Push. Me. Get out or I swear I will call the police. Get out before I hurt you."

  She spoke very calmly, and surprised as I was, I left immediately.

  Graduation day arrived, and clutching my invitation written in Jason's shaky hand, I stood in the back of the auditorium alone and misty-eyed, as Jason received his diploma to a standing ovation from a class of seniors who were in fifth grade when he first started high school. I spotted Janice near the front, looking proud, as well she should. Jason gave a short speech, thanking everyone for helping him and believing in him, especially "the girls who did my math homework for the last three years." He gratefully thanked his Mother, the person who really saved his life, the one he could never have done any of this without, and the one who was going to help him start a new part of life today, another commencement. Everyone clapped and cried, including me, although I didn't think they could understand most of it.

  I remember the terrible feeling of isolation I carried, removed from my sister, divorced from the only family I had, guilt already moving slow and warm inside of me like a first sip of brandy.

  Jason was going to start a new life, whether Janice wanted it or not. I had not spoken to her since the night in the kitchen, but I had spoken to Jason. When he turned eighteen, Janice had proudly let him remain competent in the eyes of the law. Competent to make his own decisions, even though he couldn't carry them out on his own. Competent, with the aide of a good lawyer, to move out from under the sheltered blanket of his mother before he smothered.

  And I was a good lawyer.

  I left the graduation without seeing Janice or Jason. He would tell his mother the following day of his plan to move out. If she resisted, he would call the school counselor who would come and talk to her. If she still refused, he would call me and I would try and explain the legal situation to her. If she still refused, I would start the process anyway. She would fight, but it would be to no purpose. Any attorney would tell her that, including me.

  None of this was done in anger, I told myself. None of it with bitterness for the life Jason might lose, or the life I had lost. When our mother lay dying, our father had left long before, she told me I was special. That I would be someone who would make a difference, save the world maybe. That she loved me more than anyone, even more than my sister, who drove our father away. And as she told me this and closed her eyes for the last time, I saw the movement from the corner of my eye. Janice was there. She had heard. I stood up and hugged her tightly. Her weight was crushing. We never spoke of it: the hurt, the betrayal. But I lived it. I spent my life trying not to be special, making Janice special, loved, in control, because of the guilt I felt over being loved more. Because of the fear I had that the one person left in this world with me would think I believed what our mother had said. I would show her by the way I lived my life that I didn't think I was any of those things.

  I let Janice pick my career, my law school even. She found me my job, close by her and Don so that we could always spend time together. She talked me out of boyfriends an
d a bad engagement. And I let her. Until now. Now I stood ready to change all that, and except for my fear and my guilt and my sadness, I would.

  The phone rang. "If you do this, we are done. If you do this, I will kill you." It was Janice, badly slurring her words She had lost it when Jason told her, so much so that he had packed a few things with my help when Janice was out and was now staying at the group home, awaiting the judge's order. He loved it, but was in anguish over his mother.

  "She's angry and drinking every time I talk to her." He told me this the day before. "Please help her."

  "She'll be okay, Jay." I didn't really believe this. "She's just scared for you and for herself. But this is all about you. It's your life. She'll come around."

  "You make it sound okay. You make it sound normal. All kids my age move away from home. And all the moms hate it." The excitement returned to his voice. "But you're right. They all get over it. Let's do this. I rock."

  I clenched the phone hard as I mentally returned to Janice. "Do you want to talk about this? I'd really like to talk."

  "There's nothing to talk about. He's my son. Mine. He needs me and loves me. And I love him. More than anything in the world." Whether she said this on purpose or not, the words sounded hauntingly familiar. I waited for the click. It didn't come.

  She was waiting for me to crumble, again.

  "Jani, Janice. There are a few things you need to understand." I used my quiet, lawyer voice, the one I used in the library. "I am not doing this. He wants this. He needs this. And he's going to get it. If you come to court tomorrow, you are going to lose. Second, you are right, he loves you more than anyone in the world." My voice caught. "Just like I do. Third. Don't ever threaten me again. See you in court." It was the first time I had ever hung up on her. I felt exhilarated. I felt ashamed. I picked up the phone and put it down again. I felt special.

  I slept better than I had in months, confident in what the next day would bring. Something good, I was sure of that. I would make sure. Janice would be crushed, but in time she would see that it was for the best. She could decide to hate me forever, but I didn't think she would. We were family, after all, and had been through things together that many wouldn't see in a lifetime. I was helping Jason start a new, exciting life. When I left the house, I had purpose. And a new suit, a briefcase and a determination to show everyone there the amazing lawyer I always was.

  Only I never got to show anyone. Court was scheduled for 9 am. I arrived early, to shuffle through my papers, greet all the character witnesses as they came in. Jason took the van from the group home, partly to show the judge, and partly to show his mother, that he could get around on his own. A few news people hung around; the case had made the papers, but luckily it wasn't front-page news. It was getting warmer. I took off my jacket, still smelling new. The judge asked for a second cup of coffee. A reporter left.

  At nine twenty-five, still no Janice. The judge was talking contempt. Her attorney continued to make phone calls while Jason became increasingly worried. I snuffed the impulse to feel smug. She knew she had lost. It was the first time I wouldn't let her win, and she couldn't stand it. But I would forgive her, for everything. We would all move on, having grown and matured through this painful experience.

  At nine thirty-two, the court deputy escorted in a state trooper who said Janice had lost control of her car and run head-on into a utility pole. Dead at the scene. Alcohol was present on the scene. As was an unregistered, but loaded, hand-gun.

  Kathryn Grace is a Central Pennsylvania native. Although she works in orthopedic surgery, she dreams of being a writer.

  THE NATURE OF SIN

  By

  Maria McKee

  “Memorize these stages of sin,” Sister Avila admonishes my sixth-grade Sunday school class.

  The room is warm and the class is restless. Sister claps her hands. “Pay attention!

  “First, you are tempted. Second, you keep thinking about what tempts you, and lastly, you commit the sin. What is sin? Sin is a mockery of God.”

  Sister takes several deep breaths. The large starched white bib on her chest rises and falls; her cheeks redden. She’s warmed to the subject, anticipating her next words.

  “Heed this, children!” she shouts. “God will not be mocked! Ask the Almighty to make you impervious to temptation. Remember our God sees everything you do.”

  Thwack! We all jump as she whacks her desk with a ruler.

  “What you do has consequences! Most sinners forget this.”

  Sister reaches for her rosary and brandishes the crucifix around the room like a spiritual divining rod, poised to quiver at the tempted or the already-fallen. When she stops, the crucifix is pointed at me.

  Sister’s lesson has come too late: I had already sinned. Most definitely.

  At the moment, I felt rather good about it.

  Sunday mornings my sister Teddy and I walked downtown to Catechism and Mass. We passed department store displays filled with all manner of things for sale: toys, radios, televisions, band instruments, mannequins wearing the latest fashions and jewelry, treasures enough to lure a pirate from his ship. I couldn’t resist window-shopping.

  I was content enough to daydream until the Sunday I paused before a display of girl’s shoes with pencil thin one-and-one-half inch high heels. The universe tilted. I felt stunned. Lightheaded. Speechless. In love. A large sign called them kitten heels. “These tiny trainer heels are the first step in your daughter’s becoming a young woman.” I had to have a pair.

  Then cold sanity washed over me, and my universe righted itself. How would I acquire the shoes, given that all the desires in my life had to first pass through the omnipotent evaluation and quality control system called Mother? I planned my strategy during Mass.

  I didn’t know how the girls who wore kitten heels had convinced their mothers, but in dealing with mine, I’d learned to anticipate her objections and have answers ready.

  She’d surely cite safety and cost. If I could convince these were needless worries, I stood a good chance of success.

  Talking points fixed in my mind, I approached her.

  “No,” she said, “not a good idea.”

  “Why?” I asked, knowing full well her objection.

  “Because you’ll twist your ankle or fall.”

  This was going just as I’d expected. I continued in a calm, confident manner.

  “But, compared to the stilettos—you know those really, really—really—high heels, the kitten heels I want are low to the ground.” I showed her the measurement on a ruler.

  Mistaking her silence for acquiescence, I forged on. “All the girls are wearing them, and they aren’t twisting their ankles, which means other mothers think the heels are safe. And besides that, you won’t have to buy me school shoes. I can use my Sunday shoes for everyday.”

  Mama shook her head, not impressed by my impassioned plea, nor one to be swayed by other-mother peer pressure.

  “No.”

  “But why can’t I have the heels? Give me a reason… please?” A whine crept into my voice. “I’m the only one that still has to wear baby shoes.” My confidence and bravado vanished. I’d promise anything if she granted me this desire. “I’ll…I’ll—”

  Mama interrupted. “The reason is because I said so, and being the only one isn’t a bad thing—it shows how sensible you are.”

  Sensible? I wanted to be glamorous and grown-up. Sensible had no room in my pre-teen vocabulary. “But—”

  She held up her hand. “End of discussion.”

  Disappointed and desperate, I appealed to my father.

  “You want a kitten?” he asked, laying his newspaper aside. “I don’t think your mother would like that. Cats can be destructive.”

  “No, Daddy, I’m talking about shoes with kitten heels.”

  “Shoes with kittens for heels? What are you talking about? Is this some kind of horrible new fad?”

  I sighed and described the shoes again.

  He g
lanced at my feet. “What’s wrong with the shoes you have?”

  Before I could explain, he shook his head. “Kitten shoes…what’s next? Dogs? Go ask your mother. She knows about these things.” He picked up his newspaper and disappeared behind it.

  With my last hope dashed, I should have given up, yet I couldn’t stop thinking about the shoes, and the more I thought, the greater grew my longing. Throughout the summer I left nose prints on shop windows all over town, but in terms of fueling the flames of desire, most of my coveting took place after I’d received communion. While I kneeled in prayer posture with my head bowed piously, anyone who might randomly have looked at me, would have seen that my eyes were not focused on matters spiritual, but were instead riveted on the passing parade of feet. I scrutinized the shoes for my favorite colors and the most popular styles, and with each gaze, I became more entrenched in the first and second stages of sin.

  One Sunday during shoe review, my heart sank even more. I had overlooked a crucial need: hose. I couldn’t wear heels with the lacy white ankle socks my mother favored. I prayed, and God responded with not one, but two miracles.

  My aunt gave me a pair of hose for my birthday. Though I had zero expectations Mama would allow me to wear the nylons, she gave her permission, begrudging though it was.