Breaking Brooklyn

by Scott Leopold

  There was something about the way he said this that was so intense. I could see the seriousness in his eyes. It was bit unsettling. So, you can see I could never tell him about this.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.”

  ~ Thomas Merton

  Jack Napier- Day 6

  I have been in the hospital six days now. I'm not sure exactly why I'm here. Every time I ask about my family, Harleen avoids the question.

  I fear something has happened to them and Harleen is afraid to tell me. Today, she asked me to journal about the day before I blacked out.

  I remember sitting on the couch watching TV. Brooke and I had gotten into an argument earlier about one of her old “guy friends” who always liked all her pictures on Facebook. I'm not the jealous type, but this guy had a lot of balls. I told her I wanted to confront him. She insisted that I leave it alone.

  "Why do you care?" I questioned.

  "He's just a friend, now leave it alone!"

  "It's disrespectful, Brooke!"

  "You don't control me, Jack! And why are you going through my Facebook page? It’s none of your business!"

  "When you post pictures of our kids on Facebook it's my business. Do you understand?!"

  Brooke glared at me with clenched teeth. Without saying a word she gathered up the kids and left the house.

  Something didn’t feel right about this guy. I pulled up his Facebook page. His profile picture was a photo of him and his three girls. He was a nice looking guy with sandy blond hair, chocolate brown eyes, with a lumberjack’s scruff. He was in good shape, unlike me. After Brooke and I got married I put on a few pounds, but I held it well and she never complained.

  In his profile it said that he graduated from Indiana University, but I didn't remember him. There was no information about his age or what year he graduated. I just assumed that Brooke knew him from college before she and I reconnected in Finland. However, something about him looked familiar. It was driving me crazy.

  I read through his profile a little more. Tyler was the youth minister for a local non-denominational Christian church. His relationship status was "Married to Kimberly Richardson Ward". I don't know why, but it was comforting to know that he was married.

  Looking through his pictures, he appeared to be a very happily married man. His daughters were beautiful like their mother, and he had photos from all over the world from his mission trips. It was hard not to secretly like the guy, so I let it go for the time being.

  My birthday was that weekend. I had planned on spending it with my boys, until I got a call from Brooke's mother informing me that my wife and kids were going to be staying with them for a few weeks. She explained that Brooke needed time to “figure things out”.

  Figure things out? What the hell did that mean? So, I spent my 37th birthday alone, drunk, and I guess blacked out. That’s the last thing I remember before waking up in the hospital.

  The only thing that's keeping me calm right now is my journaling. Remembering my childhood is both arduous and nostalgic at the same time. My memories are often blurred. I find myself filling in the gaps with versions that are appealing to me. It’s like I have been given a chance to relive my life.

  When I was a kid, art was my outlet. Along with my comic books and writing, it was my escape, my safe place. When life got hard I would immerse myself in my creative world, drawing pictures of my favorite comic book characters. I got so good my friends would beg me to draw different superheroes for them.

  I can recall one day in elementary school my teacher telling the class there would be a Thanksgiving art contest. Everyone was going to draw a turkey and color it in. The student who received the most votes from the panel of teachers judging the contest would win a prize. Of course, they didn’t announce what the prize would be, but we were all excited anyway.

  My turkey was very unique compared to the others that hung next to it on the wall. After all, in my short yet dysfunctional life, I had lots of time to discover my creative side.

  The turkey itself was well done. I had developed a special technique for coloring it in. I drew very heavy with each crayon I used. The wax built up thick, creating a 3D effect. It even broke off in chunks, adding to the realism of the feathers. I loved it!

  After we handed in our drawings the panel of teachers studied the collection of art that covered the hallway. Keeping up the suspense, they sent us home before choosing the winner. It was killing me! I barely slept that night.

  The next morning, the boring announcements scratched across the classroom speaker. All of my classmates were excited, making predictions about who they thought the winner might be. We even had to sit through the lunch menu before they would announce the winner. After the word of the day, they finally got to the art contest.

  “Now, for the announcement you all have been waiting for, we have the name of the winner of the Thanksgiving art contest. I would first like to say that all of you did a great job on your drawings. They were all so wonderful. It was a hard choice to make. But the judges finally did choose a winner. And that winner is...” The kids started banging their hands against their desks to mimic the sound of a drumroll, “... Jack O’Malley!”

  Me! I won the contest for the best drawing! All of my friends patted me on the back as I was instructed to pick up my prize at the office after school. I was a celebrity for exactly one whole day. Kids were congratulating me as I walked down the hall and at recess.

  What could the prize possibly be, a pair of skates, a baseball glove, what? When I got to the principal’s office I was handed a giant cage with a live turkey inside.

  “GOBBLE! GOBBLE! GOBBLE!”

  The principal walked up to me with a huge smile on his face and said, “Jack! This is your prize. Take it home with you! It’s yours!”

  “GOBBLE! GOBBLE! GOBBLE!”

  I could barely hear him over the turkey. The cage looked like a space ship that was piloted by a fat, feathery alien with a bright red gobbler dangling from his chin. I am sure my jaw hung open. Why couldn’t I have won something normal, like movie tickets or a gift certificate?

  Trying to walk with the cage was impossible. Principal Hilgenberg tried to jump in and help when he realized I was falling. Turkey, cage, and disappointment all fell on top of me.

  Struggling and with no help from my friends I managed to carry the turkey, clucking and gobbling, all the way home. The cage hit my ankles every step of the way. By the time I got to our townhome, my arms hurt like I’d been doing push-ups all day.

  Wrestling the kitchen door open, I brought the turkey inside. I set the cage down in the middle of the kitchen. I took a few breaths, then I studied the beast in front of me. His brown and white feathers were majestic like body armor. On his neck were a trail red moles that led to two large red ones that resembled a ..... set of very unhealthy testicals.

  Figuring there was only one place for such a pet, I opened the basement door and dragged the cage down the stairs. Every step brought another scrape to my ankles, while the gyrating motion made my new friend more anxious. Once I reached the bottom step, I rested. Taking a moment to catch my breath, I admired my new buddy. When I noticed the turkey looking at me, I didn’t move a muscle in an effort to not scare him. His head cocked to the side as his raven-like eyes connected with mine. This only lasted a second. That’s when I decided that feeding my new friend might be the nice thing to do.

  Not knowing what turkeys eat, I went upstairs and rummaged through the cupboards. Cornmeal should work, I guessed. Taking it down stairs along with a bowl of water I made the peace offering.

  My plan was to watch my friend all afternoon, just to figure out what a turkey does. What I quickly discovered is that turkeys don’t do that much. Really, what can you do with a turkey in a cage? Bored, I headed upstairs to my room.

  Hours later, my grandfather came home. Who knows when my mom finally dragged her ass in? I fell asleep thinking e
verything was okay. That is, until six o’clock in the morning, when it sounded like a fire alarm went off. A loud cackle rang throughout the house. GOBBB-GBOB-GOBBLE! Then that noise was followed by another loud cackle, GOBBB-GBOB-GOBBLE!

  Popping out of bed, I ran down the stairs, meeting my grandfather in the kitchen. Grandpa Bob glared at me with bloodshot eyes that were half-open. Standing in white boxers and a dull gray tank top, he flailed his arms and yelled cuss words. In came my mother. She was not happy either. Then we heard the sound again.

  “GOBBB-GBOB-GOBBLE!!”

  “GOBBB-GBOB-GOBBLE!!”

  ”I know it’s close and when I find it I going to wring its neck!” Grandpa shouted.

  When I saw him looking toward the basement door I panicked, feeling my eyes pop right out of my head. I did the only thing I could think of… I stepped in front of the door, but my grandfather pushed me aside. Flinging it open, he started down the steps.

  That’s when the loudest cackling sound nearly ruptured my eardrums GOBB – GOBB-GOBBLE! Grandpa Bob’s cussing could be heard in the next county.

  “What in the hell? Where in the…what in God’s name…?”

  My mother joined in his tirade as they tried to figure out why there was a turkey in their basement. Suddenly, my new friend was quiet. It was like someone hit the snooze button on the turkey alarm clock.

  I ran down the steps to protect my prize, asking them what they thought they were doing with my turkey.

  “This is your turkey?” my mother yelled. “How in the world did you get a turkey?” She stood in front of the cage, blocking my view of Grandpa Bob. I tried to see around her, but I knew to pay attention when she was mad.

  I started to answer, telling her about the contest. She quickly interrupted, telling me she had no interest in some bullshit made-up story about my artistry. I kept telling her it was true.

  “I don’t want to hear it, Jack!”

  “But Mom, he's my friend!”

  “Goddam it, Jack! I don't need this shit right now. You are nothing but a pain in my ass!”

  She glared at me with her all-too-familiar look of resentment. A look that said “I wish you had never been born.”

  I waited for her to tell me how I was holding her back. How she should have aborted me. How she should be a model in New York City. She said nothing - the expression on her face said it all.

  I started to protest. Before I could continue, my mother announced that the turkey was going to her cousin’s farm. I knew what that meant. My friend was on his way to becoming someone’s turkey dinner.

  I begged for his life, but no one was listening. At that point I lost it.

  “It’s not fair! He is my friend! He needs me!”

  “Quit whining. You know I hate when you do that,” my mother barked at me like an angry dog.

  Knowing I was powerless to stop what was about to happen, I marched upstairs. I didn’t even saying goodbye to my Turkey. When I got to my room, I felt like a coward. That turkey liked me. I didn’t fight to try and save him. I was sure he would feel like I abandoned him.

  Taking out a piece of paper I began to draw. It didn’t matter what is was. I just wanted to get far away. I didn’t want to think about day I just had or the friend I just lost.

  Cindy

  Chapter Four

  “There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.”

  ~ Laurell K. Hamilton

  Cindy Napier’s Diary

  January 12, 1978

  Oh my god, I am two weeks late! My period is always on time. Like clockwork. Debbie agreed to come over and take me to the drugstore to get a pregnancy test. Thank God she went in to buy it for me. I honestly can't imagine having to do it myself. We went straight back to Debbie’s house, only to confirm what I had initially thought. I am pregnant! I am only seventeen! Why? Why me? So many of my friends had sex with their boyfriends. This didn't happen to them! I can't believe I’m pregnant. I have no idea what I'm going to do. I am too young to have this baby. I guess I will either put it up for adoption or have an abortion. I want a future. I want to move to New York City and become a model. That has been my dream ever since I was old enough to remember. This cannot be happening to me!

  January 13, 1978

  I would be lost without Debbie. After making some phone calls and staying up all night we have come up with a solution to the problem that’s growing inside me. The answer is in Kentucky. It’s the closest state to Indiana that will allow me to have an abortion without my mother’s consent. We called the clinic and made the appointment for January 15th. Debbie has agreed to take me. We are going to tell both our parents that we will be spending the day shopping at Glendale Mall.

  When I made the appointment, the nurse said that there might be some protesters outside the clinic. She said I should just ignore them and walk straight in as fast as I can. I was told under no circumstance should I talk to anyone outside of the clinic.

  January 14, 1978

  I don’t know why I decided to write a letter to my mother explaining what I was about to do, but I did. When I was done I put it in the drawer in my bedside table. I had no intention of giving it to her right away, if ever. I just needed to write out my feelings. This way if something happened to me during the procedure she would know how I felt. How I got myself in this mess. The letter gave details about my plan, my love for her, and how sorry I was to disappoint her.

  Later that night Debbie and I were watching The Sound of Music at her house when the phone rang. It was my mother. She was crying hysterically, telling me that she had found the note. She said she was on her way to pick me up. Did I subconsciously want her to find out about my plan so she could stop me? No, no way in hell! She was probably just being nosy going through my room and found it. While I waited for her to come get me I wondered how she was going to react. Was she going to be furious that I did this behind her back or would she understand and be supportive of me and my decision? Am I feeling a sense of relief that she knows? God I don’t know. I guess deep down I want my mother to know and approve of my plan to have this procedure. She is all I have now that my father is nowhere to be found. She is the only person in my life who is here for me. I desperately need her.

  Surely she wants me to have a life, to make something of myself, and to finish high school and go to college. She will agree that having the procedure is the best choice for me and my future.

  When my mother got to Debbie’s house she didn’t bother to come in, she just honked her horn. She didn’t say anything the whole way home. When we pulled into the driveway she broke her silence telling me how late it was. How I needed my rest. Walking me to my room she said goodnight. To my surprise she hugged me and began to sob. I thought, oh my God, she does understand? I’m sure she will go with me to Kentucky. This whole thing will be over with soon. I will have my mother’s acceptance, which is the most important thing to me. Her next words changed everything.

  My Mother: "Cindy, you will not be going to Kentucky tomorrow with Debbie or anyone else. I will not allow you to kill your unborn baby.”

  Me: “What? You are crazy if you think you can stop me. I am going to have this done whether you like it or not. It's my body, my choice!!!”

  My mother told me that my only options would be to have the baby or put it up for adoption. She didn’t even bother to ask who the father was. She just assumed it was my boyfriend Sam. She told me she would be calling Sam’s mother to discuss the matter. Then I lost it. I told her that Sam didn’t know about the baby. How I wasn’t sure it was his (Oh God, how I wish I hadn’t told her that). Besides, there wasn’t going to be a baby anyway, so he didn’t need to know. I screamed at her, telling her she couldn’t control me, that she had absolutely no right do this to me. My last words to her were, "I hate you! Get out!"

  January 15, 1978

  I snuck out of the house this morning before my mother woke up. Debbie picked me up in her mom’s car
and we left for Kentucky. I was quiet most of the ride, knowing my mother was going to be furious with me. When we got to the clinic all we could hear were protesters yelling and shouting as we walked towards the entrance. I was so nervous I couldn’t make out what they were saying. It was all a bunch of white noise to me. When we reached the front of the clinic it was lined with angry faces. I could hear them shouting, “Murderer!” They begged me to save the life that was growing inside of me. I just ignored them and went inside.

  In the reception area were mostly young women like me. Most of them looked like they were in their 20s, but a few looked older. After about 20 minutes, a nurse came out and read off four last names. One of which was mine. The nurse led the four of us back to a small room at one end of the hall. It looked just like the reception area only much smaller. She handed each of us a paper cup containing two pills. She gave us water and instructed us to take the pills. She said they would help relax us before the procedure.

  After the nurse made sure we took our medicine, she left. Shortly after, I started to feel dizzy. I was tipsy like I had drunk a few glasses of wine. I thought about asking some of the other girls how they came to their decision to have the procedure. Then I realized that was not a good idea. None of the girls were making eye contact or talking. So I decided it was best for me to just leave it alone. After what seemed like a long time the nurse came back and called my name. She escorted me down a long hallway to a restroom where I changed into a gown. She then took me to the place where they were going to do the procedure.

  I felt present, but not really, like I was in a dream, or rather the start of a nightmare. I saw three nurses with blank stares on their faces. I was expecting the doctor to come in and introduce himself. He just entered the room and directed me to get on the table, put my legs in the stirrups, and scoot down. He told me that I would hear a loud noise that would sound like a vacuum. He continued to explain that I would feel some cramping, but the procedure would only take a few minutes.