From there, the conversation spiraled into ugliness. Allison said things like, “Well, when I put that job application in last month, the lady said she would hang onto it and give me a call in August,” and “I don’t even want to go to college, Mom. I’m only doing it because I know I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Don’t go to college for me, dear. Don’t go, and then blow it all off. That’ll be an even bigger waste of money.”
“Well, it’s not like we can even afford college.”
“You’re right, Allison, none of us can even afford college. That’s why they’re called student loans. Everyone I know has them. Student loans are just a fact of life. If you don’t want to go to college now, though, then don’t. You could also use your graduation money to pay rent—somewhere. It’s entirely up to you. The way I see it is your graduating is like a gift to me. In turn, my graduation gift to you is giving you your life. The choices are all yours—as are the outcomes of those choices. Okay? I went to college right away, because that’s what my mom wanted me to do, and I didn’t do really well. When I went back, so many years later, my grades were much better—but it also cost a lot more to go to college. That’s why I think it’s better for you to go now. But, the choice is yours.”
I walked away, to continue cleaning the house. Allison went outside to swing.
Monday, May 21st. Driving the kids to school in the morning, I turned to Allison and said, “Today is the last Monday of high school for you, like forever.”
Forever. No matter where her life led her, she would never be heading to high school, on a Monday, as a student, ever again.
At 10:23 a.m., a text message from Allison. “I forgot tampons. Can you bring me some? And my white jean shorts.”
Allison didn’t come home until about eight. “I was helping Ryan with his World War II homework. He’s failing.”
The excuse made as much sense as the time she claimed to be helping Katie with her chemistry homework, or her taxes.
Tuesday. I got up early because Tommy said they had to be at school for a special choir rehearsal. “Allison has to be there at 7:30, to work on the girls’ song, and I have to be there at 7:45, to work on the boys’ song.”
After I kissed Allison awake, I whispered, “Tommy told me you have to be there early today.”
Allison whispered back, “Katie’s giving me a ride. She broke up with Ron, and now everyone is stabbing her in the back.”
“As long as she gets you there in time for your choir thing.”
I was ready to leave the house at 7:15 a.m. Allison was still blow-drying her hair.
Tommy was ready to leave the house at 7:22 a.m., but I convinced him to have a bowl of cereal. I wanted to see Allison leave.
Allison finally said, “Katie’s here” at 7:25 a.m. She dashed out the front door while Tommy and I headed for the garage door.
Katie’s car pulled out of the driveway as Tommy and I got into the car.
But when we pulled into the school parking lot ten minutes later, I saw Allison and Katie still sitting in Katie’s car. Allison was blowing off the special choir rehearsal for the night’s concert.
“Are you going to drive over there and yell at her?” Tommy asked as I drove up to the main doors.
“No, no point. She’s a big girl. Let her get in trouble.”
“I’m going to tell Mr . . .”
“Have a good day, sweetie. I’ll see you at three! I love you.”
“I love you too, Mom.”
Driving home from the choir concert that evening, Allison said, “At least my friends are consistent—no one ever comes to my choir concerts.”
“I’m sorry. Guess you should get new friends, eh?”
Although I said it with a smile, I really meant it. Allison either needed to pick some new friends, or she needed to learn to be a better friend herself—or both.
“And Matt said he can’t come to my party, because he’s out of town with work. He said he had to leave three weeks ago, but I saw him swimming with Kelsey and Lacey two weeks ago. I hate when people lie to me . . .” she said while climbing out of the car.
I wanted to point out how she lied all of the time too, but didn’t want to make her night any worse.
Maybe she was starting to grow up.
Wednesday. I picked the kids up after school, as usual. We weren’t home five minutes, though, when Ryan pulled into the driveway. Allison was back out the door, and into Ryan’s truck, before I had a chance to ask her to help me continue cleaning in preparation for her party. As I walked to the door, I saw Josh pull into the driveway—then both vehicles were gone.
I didn’t say anything when Allison got home at six-thirty. I didn’t want to start a fight.
“So Carly got back today,” Allison said as she walked into the bathroom.
I was cleaning out the sink’s drain pipe. I didn’t really care who Carly was, or where she just got back from.
An hour later, though, when Allison and I were in the car heading to the grocery store, I asked who Carly was.
“Josh’s ex. She just got back from the treatment center.”
“Oh! Why was she there? How long had she been there?”
“Her mom found out she was cutting after she and Josh broke up—and she was threatening to kill herself if they didn’t get back together.”
Didn’t you tell me drunk-Mandy was Josh’s ex- a week ago?
Thursday. Allison’s last full day of high school.
Standing in the bathroom in the morning, Allison said, “I’m going to miss high school.”
I bit my tongue, quickly stopping the torrent of words exploding in my brain. Miss high school? Bullshit. The entire year had been about I-can’t-get-out-of-high-school-soon-enough. She just didn’t want to become a nameless person in a crowd again.
I didn’t hear anything from Allison until 6:51 p.m. “Are you home?” the text message read.
“Yep.”
She got home about seven-fifteen, and sprawled out on the freshly vacuumed living room floor—to eat, and work on the graduation cards and gifts I had to buy for her to give her friends.
About 8:20 p.m., I noticed Allison re-applying her makeup, putting her shoes and jacket on, and pacing back and forth to the front door. “I’ll be right back,” she said as she ran out the front door.
Josh’s car was in the driveway when I walked over to shut the front door.
The car was gone, though, when Tommy informed me it was time to take his friend home ten minutes later.
Friday. Allison’s last day of high school.
When she came upstairs, I raced over to give her a kiss and a hug. “It’s your last day of high school!”
“Well, we all considered yesterday to be our last day, because today, we only have classes until ten-thirty. Then we go to the auditorium, get our instructions for graduation, and then we have the picnic.”
“Okay, well, it’s the last day I get to drive you over for—”
“Katie’s going to pick me up.”
“What? You mean I don’t even get to take you—”
“I’m getting a ride with Katie, Mom.”
“Oh.”
Neither Katie nor Allison understood the emotional significance dropping Allison off for her last day of high school held for me.
When I saw what Allison was wearing to school, though, I decided to let go. For her last day, Allison was wearing a tight little black skirt she bought with her birthday money. I’d always hated the skirt, because it was so short, tight, and had a zipper running from top to bottom in the back. To make matters worse, Allison had pulled the skirt up enough to roll the waistband down about two inches.
I spent the day cleaning again. Even though Allison was supposedly done with school by noon, she nev
er came home. She never sent me a text message. I was angry to be doing all of the work by myself.
When I picked Tommy up from school at three, a new wave of anger rolled over me.
“Allison’s not coming with us?” Tommy asked as I started to pull away from the curb.
“No. I have absolutely no idea where she even is.”
“She’s right there!” he said, pointing back to the school’s front doors. Allison had just walked out of the front doors, flanked on either side by Katie, Ryan, and Josh.
I drove away as the anger built. I wanted to pick up the graduation cake and sandwich buns from the store before my mother and sister got into town.
Just before five, my mother and sister arrived.
Ten minutes later, my cousin and her two teenage daughters got out of their car.
Five women, four of whom live two states away, had come to help me get ready for the party—but the graduate herself couldn’t be bothered.
Saturday. Graduation morning.
I woke up with a headache.
Even though I was up until well after eleven the previous night, cleaning the house, preparing the food, and getting my mother, my sister, and my kids settled in for bed, I had to get up at six to make sure everyone had time to shower and dress before the 9:00 a.m. departure.
I ate a bowl of cereal, but forgot to take an aspirin for my headache.
Katie arrived at 8:50 a.m. She was going to leave her car at our house, and ride over with Allison and me. The graduates needed to be at the building between 9:20 and 9:30 a.m.
I took pictures of the girls in their caps and gowns when they got out of the car. I took pictures of the girls adjusting Allison’s cap and tassel. I gave each of the girls a hug before we parted ways at the building.
My head continued to pound.
As the crowd began to fill in around me in the auditorium, I realized how bad my headache was. I sat through the next two hours with a pounding headache, fighting the waves of nausea, talking to no one. The stadium-seating didn’t make for easy conversation with anyone beyond the people sitting directly to my right and left: my mother, who can’t hear out of her left ear, was sitting on my right, and an older, gray-haired gentleman I didn’t know sat on my left. Tommy was sitting with the choir.
I forced myself to be alert when Allison’s row of students stood up. I watched her snail’s paced approach to the stage. I snapped pictures when she breached the top of the stage, was handed her diploma, and waved at me with a smile from her seat again.
My baby had officially graduated from high school.
After the ceremony, the family gathered outside for pictures. In spite of the blustery wind and chilly temperature, Allison wanted to take the pictures with the lake as her backdrop.
I drove Allison and Katie back to the house, watched Allison change shoes, and heard her say they were going to meet other friends for some ice cream really quick.
I headed downstairs, to crawl under some blankets on the futon, and fought the waves of nausea that threatened to take over.
I missed most of the graduation party, and never ate any of the food I had spent so many hours preparing.
Allison missed most of her party as well. She was home for an hour, to take some pictures and collect her gifts from the extended family. Ryan and Josh came in then, together, and whisked Allison away. I didn’t hear from her again until 8:05 p.m., when she sent a text message saying she was “getting gas then coming home.”
The family-party managed fine without either of us present.
When I was finally in bed at 11:45 p.m., Allison came in and said, “Grandma gave me a really big, long hug today, and said she was so sorry that my mom wasn’t even at my party.”
I didn’t know which one to be angrier with: my mother, for suggesting I was boycotting the party like Allison’s father was, or Allison, for telling me something so hurtful after all of the hours and days I had spent—by myself—getting ready for her graduation party.
Before I could get too angry, though, a quick question entered my brain: was Allison telling the truth, or was she merely trying to manipulate me again?
Part Three: Tough Love
19. College
Friday, August 24, 2012
Allison headed off to the local college. She was going to live in the dorm with one of her high school girlfriends.
The text I sent to my sister, Sara, and Lindsey at 7:36 a.m. spoke volumes: “Finally, it’s Friday morning. Lest I get nostalgic about it, she comes upstairs and glares at me because I got into the shower first. Good luck in college showering when you want, sweetie!
“Then I discovered she took the special sour cherry pop from the bag in my closet—purchased in Montana last month. Love ya, but it’s time to go!”
Sunday, September 30, 2012
I was awakened in the middle of the night by the persistent ringing of the house phone. Allison was calling for a ride back to the dorm. She explained she had gone to a party with her roommate, but the roommate (her ride home) had disappeared. I was extremely annoyed, but also worried about the health and safety of my daughter.
“Text me the directions,” I said before hanging up the house phone.
“Never mind,” Allison sent to my cell phone two minutes later.
“No, you already activated the emergency call system,” I angrily replied. “Give me the directions.”
No response.
I called Allison’s cell phone five times before she turned it off.
As I crawled back into bed at 3:11 a.m., I sent Allison one more text message: “Canceling the ‘emergency call’ at 3:00 a.m. is HUGE.”
The next morning, Allison told me she was “roofied,” then raped at the party. When I told her to call the police, she hung up.
From there, the story grew. “Hi, this is Allison’s friend Hannah,” began the text message I received later in the morning. “I was with her last night, and . . .”
Why was Allison’s friend sending the message from Allison’s phone, though?
Future versions of the party had expanded details. Allison claimed she was roofied, then gang-raped. No police report was ever filed to my knowledge, though.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
“So, looks like I don’t have an iPod,” began the text message from Allison at 12:13 p.m. “The one I have, Katie gave me, and she wants it back now since she hates me.”
“Why?”
“She thinks I stole something from her, but I didn’t. I figure she misplaced it. She isn’t coming to get it. Megan has to drop it off at her mom’s.”
By 7:37 p.m., Allison’s mood had dramatically changed. “Ha ha, I’m such a butt.”
“What did you do?”
“So Katie wanted her iPod back, right? Well . . . I threw it against the wall. A few times. It’s totally demolished. Megan told Katie’s mom it’s been that way for a while.”
That’s not being a “butt,” Allison, that’s being a criminal.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
“Mom, I’m getting kicked out of the dorm. Can you come get me?”
“Sweetie, I told you way back when that you couldn’t go to college, bomb out, and come back home without at least having a job. I will store your stuff, but not you.”
“But where will I go?” she screamed into the phone.
“I have nowhere to go!” she screamed from the living room floor, several hours later.
“Guess you should have thought about that when you were skipping all those classes, dear.”
“FUCK YOU, MOM!”
“Maybe it’s time you get to know your dad, since that’s who you’ve been chasing after your whole life. I’ll keep your stuff here, and pay for the bus ticket to Chicago, Allison. Give him a call.”
; Frank didn’t like the arrangement, but accepted it when he figured there was no way to wriggle out.
Monday, January 14th, I took Allison and her two bags of luggage to the bus station. I purchased the one-way ticket for the trip—the exact same bus route she took when she ran away in 2009—and gave her $100 cash travel money.
I fought back the tears as I waved good-bye, and stood frozen to the spot in front of the bus station until the bus was out of sight.
20. Chicago
I was born and raised in Chicago. (In the city, not the suburbs.)
I still miss the food, but I don’t miss the lifestyle.
My sister lives in a suburb of Chicago. My cousin and her family live in another suburb of Chicago. Every few years, I break down and drive to Chicago for a visit. One year, it was a Christmas visit, another year, an early summer visit.
I start to feel claustrophobic almost as soon as I’m close enough to the city to pick up my favorite radio station in the car.
I get nostalgic for about five minutes, driving through the old neighborhoods, before I get crabby with the traffic.
I left when I was twenty-four, but I will always consider myself to be a Chicagoan.
I left the city because I got too scared. I left because too many bad things happened to me there, because I never wanted to raise children there. I left the city—but I sent my daughter to live there with her father.
I felt like I lost my mind the morning I watched the bus pull out from our bus “depot” in northern Minnesota that January morning.
But I didn’t know what to do with, or about her anymore. I hoped because they were so much alike, Frank would be able to convince Allison to grow up.
I hoped Allison would stop looking for love in all the wrong places.
I hoped Allison would see who Frank really was, so she would stop blaming me for the divorce.
I hoped. And prayed. A lot.
Tarnished Dreams Page 21
