by K. L Randis
I hate this room. My butt is asleep. Yes, Miss Secretary, can I help you? I’ll just stare back.
Mismatched posters held to the wall with ripened shards of tape. My uncle’s chair had one leg slightly shorter than the rest and his mindless rocking helped pass the time.
My aunt picked up a pamphlet sitting next to her and opened it. It returned to the table just as fast. STDs and their warning signs were not her choice of reading material.
Heather shuffled through the door with wide eyes, banging her briefcase against her knees. “Okay, good, everyone’s here then.”
She was my designated victim advocate. Her job was to guide me through the court hearings so I could understand, usually having to explain things to me more than once. The flood of information I was expected to absorb about the judicial system failed to hold any meaning to me.
Heather didn’t try to sugarcoat anything. She was blunt. “This is what the judge means,” followed by, “Any questions?”
Hundreds. Thousands even. I solved chemical reactions with ease but tripped over the things Heather tried to drill into my head. She was worn too.
“I don’t know how you’re doing this,” Heather had said just a week earlier, her emerald eyes glazing over. “I give you a lot of credit kiddo. They really tore you down in there and you kept your own. I know I keep saying this, but it’ll be over soon.”
I would get an Irish victim advocate. Her hair bounced around her face, blazing in a fireball of red glory while highlighting the doubt in her eyes as she tried to soothe me. I took it with a grain of salt, smiled, and accepted the one of many hugs that generally came my way after a debriefing.
She would often make some kind of remark about how us both being Irish was the only reason we would ever consider fighting so long and hard but that, “We make a great team, don’t we?”
“You’d better come see me when all of this is over,” she said. “You know, if you can ever handle coming back here,” she motioned, flicking her hand into the space surrounding us.
She was right. I hated that room, the entire place: the smell of burnt coffee, the weird sounds the elevator made as we hurried down to courtroom three. I wanted to forget it all.
I had lost track of how many courtrooms I had testified in sometime after the first year of going there. Heather kept me grounded.
The security guards knew me well and were always happy to see me. The woman guard would greet me with a smile. “Ah, back again today?”
I would force a half-smile while scanning the lobby area. She would read my face. “He’s not here yet, honey.”
I relaxed and focused on getting into the District Attorney’s office. The faster the better.
We parked behind the building and came through the less utilized handicapped entrance. Mom had rods and screws molded to her spine from a work injury years prior. She was a walking tin man, awkward gait included, guaranteed to set off the annoying alarm on the metal detectors. They waved a wand over her instead. She would nod and apologize for the inconvenience to the guards, but the smirk on her face absorbed all the pitied glances thrown her way.
Stroudsburg was a crumb-sized speck of a town in nowhere Pennsylvania. Coming into the building through the back threw off any news reporters trying to overhear conversations between everyone that walked in with me.
“Well then,” the guard would say, lowering her voice. “Let’s hope I don’t have to see you anymore after today.” She would wink as I crossed the lobby to Heather’s office.
“Doesn’t my lawyer look like David Caruso? You know, the guy on CSI Miami? He’s got reddish hair,” I said to Heather, moving a hand over my own unruly mob of wavy hair. She checked him out and raised an approving eyebrow.
Even though he was my lawyer, I only exchanged a few words with him throughout our time together. Heather was the one to keep me updated on the important things and she would relay any information back to him that I needed him to know. Whenever I would enter his office his eyes would say, “I’m sorry you’re here again”.
I sometimes imagined him making those slam dunk speeches I saw on CSI. Secretly I wanted to witness the kind of closing statement that would leave the courtroom gasping, I knew it! Case solved! He remained quiet and collected though, boring even. I grimaced. I never wanted my life to end up like a TV show anyway. This was real life, my life.
The majority of my extended family showed up on the last day of court. I understood the drive from Long Island, New York to Pennsylvania was a long one. I didn’t expect the support every time we had a hearing. That last day was important, though.
There was comfort in the waiting room, a sense of familiarity. Family stared at me and waited for me to cry, to think, to breathe.
Secretaries and lawyers, rushing in late to meet their first clients of the day, analyzed all of the people around me as they passed through. They only acknowledged the older adults, as if I were a commonplace child. I ignored them and studied my note cards, their eyes skimming over me as they wrongfully assessed my age and the reason I was there. They tightened their lips in pity.
Must be a custody hearing. Poor kid.
Chapter One
Wow, he can hold his breath for a long time.
My brother’s head bobbed halfway under the surface of the kiddie pool. I traced the outline of Barbie’s face on my bathing suit and waited for him to come up. Adam could hold his breath longer since he was seven, a whole year older than me. His mouth must have been bigger and could hold more air.
Oh well, I won the first two times we played who-can-hold-their-breath-the-longest. I guess he can win this one.
I poked his back between the shoulder blades to signal that I had come up for air and his head sank toward the bottom, rising again like a lazy balloon. He didn’t budge.
“Come on Adam, you win. You can come up now.”
The way his body drifted made the hairs on my neck feel funny. I stiffened a little.
Where’s Dad? Does he see this?
Oh, there he is talking to the neighbor, probably about boring things. It’s funny our neighbor’s name is Cornelia. Good thing she’s old, it sounds like an old name. I wouldn’t even play with someone with a name like that, it sounds like the name of a vegetable or a disease. They’re nice neighbors, I guess, but their dogs are mean. Maybe ‘cause we tease them through the fence. I should tell Dad about Adam. If he yells at Adam to get up he definitely will. How is he holding his breath that long?
I climbed over the side of the pool and avoided dog poop as I crossed the lawn.
“Dad?”
I knew I shouldn’t interrupt his adult conversation. This was important though; Adam couldn’t stay underwater all day since we still had a fort to build. It was his turn to steal food from the pantry so we could hide and eat it. Sneaky older brother, I wasn’t stupid. He always backed out of stealing food and then I would be forced to do it.
Not this time.
My dad kept talking to Cornelia about how Long Island wasn’t what it used to be and how much he hated bills. “New York is an expensive place to live, I know, but how am I supposed to raise these kids and eventually send them to private school on one paycheck? Not to mention Molly didn’t plan on breaking her back and disability only pays so much.
“Dad, I have to tell you something.”
Cornelia looked down at me and smiled. She’s a pretty lady to have a disease for a name.
Dad gave me the stare, the one that said “go away”. I don’t think I’d ever really seen his eyes because his glasses were so thick but I knew they were blue, like mine. My mom’s were blue and all of us kids had blue eyes, so his had to be too. His were different though. His eyes never laughed.
“Yeah, what?”
Better make this fast. “I have to tell you something.”
He blinked at me.
I pointed toward the pool. “Adam won’t get up. And he already won the contest so…”
My dad was halfway across the yard befor
e I even put my hand down. By the time I started running after him he already had Adam scooped up in his arms, face up on the ground beside the pool, and his beard pressed against his lips. They were the color of blueberries. Cornelia started screaming about an ambulance but I didn’t see one. All I saw was Adam lying on the ground in his Ninja Turtles bathing suit.
What a faker. He doesn’t have to fake to get attention, I already know he won.
Adam started coughing and water came out of his mouth at the same time he started crying. “Daddy!” he gasped. His white knuckles grabbed at Dad’s shirt. I started crying too because it seemed like the right thing to do and I didn’t realize that Adam was really in trouble until just then.
My dad helped Adam to his feet. “That’s all I need, another bill for an ambulance. It’s not like I have insurance or anything. Brooke, get next door and tell Cornelia she better not call an ambulance. He’s fine.”
Cornelia didn’t look happy but I did as I was told and ran back home. Adam was still sucking in deep swallows of air as tears slid down his cheek and a Popsicle stood hostage in his left hand. My dad sat at the kitchen table, his hands shaking as he sipped his water.
Look at him, my dad. He just saved Adam’s life. I bet he would save mine too if I needed it. I bet he would do anything for us.
My feet stuck to the grimy kitchen floor as I crossed the room and grabbed my dad’s arms to open them so I could crawl into his lap. I wrapped my arms around his neck and put my cheek against his scruffy face. He always smelled like machines. Mom said it was because he worked hard all day, putting them together and fixing the broken ones.
“Let’s not tell Mom about this, snuggle bug.” He pulled me into his chest with one arm and took another sip of his water.
Adam’s near drowning would be the first of many secrets I would keep for my dad. “I won’t, Daddy.”
I put my head on his chest. I knew why he didn’t want me to tell. Mom would be upset that she missed Dad saving Adam’s life. She would have wanted to see it happen too, like I did, so she could remember all her of life how great he is, like I will.
Chapter Two
I was seven.
All I knew about a CB radio was that Mom and Dad met on one and after a week of talking they decided to meet up at Jones Beach. It took them over an hour to find each other since New York’s beaches that stretched the length of Long Island were often packed on the blazing summer weekends.
My aunt had already landed her beau-to-be and had a wedding planned for that October. Not wanting to be outdone, Mom moved in with David after a few short weeks of dating. They wed in September and planned the house, the two kids, and the white picket fence. Three kids, two bug infested apartments and a cramped unkempt ranch on a desolate dead-end street later, I finished a glass of milk and readied my next question.
“So, what’s a CB?” I asked.
After I watched a cartoon about two giraffes in love, I realized I didn’t even know how my parents met. The giraffes flirted through a lyrical orchestra of words and sing-alongs. I imagined that’s what my mom felt like when she fell in love.
Mom looked up from the tea bag she had fished out of her mug, trying not to burn her fingers. “Uh, it’s a way people used to meet each other. You would talk over the radio and get to know people you wouldn’t normally meet. It was a new kind of technology then. Everyone was doing it,” she assured me. “I wasn’t the only one.”
I remained motionless. Keep going.
She took a sip of her tea. I stared at her.
“Why? You doing a book report or something?”
“No.”
I watched the ash dangling from her cigarette threaten to drop onto the table before turning away. It was always the same. Unless there was a reason, questions were to be kept to a minimum. She went back to her tea, ending the conversation. I left to find Adam.
He was cross-legged on the floor playing with his K’Nex set when I walked into the living room. I leaned against the neglected grand piano and cleared my throat. “You’ll never guess how Mom and Dad met.” My arms folded across my chest and I shifted my weight. “Mom just told me.”
“Through a CB,” he said, without looking up.
“Not-uh.” Why does he always know everything?
He stared at me.
“How do you know?” I said.
We were fifteen months apart in age which meant everything was a competition; who could read all the Disney books the fastest, ride their bike further or know all answers to the universe both large and small. I studied Adam as he focused on jamming a long yellow connector into a blue corner piece.
Ha, that’s not gonna fit. He needs the green connector. Stupid.
He would sit there for hours in his solitude and craft the most magnificent things: ferris wheels, cars, and the Empire State Building. Sometimes I would play with him, but building houses and cars that were destroyed by Dad’s work boots got boring.
“I found an old box in the garage a few months ago. It looked like a radio so I took it apart because it looked broken,” he said. He shifted onto his knees to search for another piece.
“So how’d you know that’s how Mom and Dad met then?” My eyes glanced over the holes in his sneakers. His t-shirt swam around arms no thicker than sticks.
Adam had a way of making me feel like I should always know his exact thoughts, and that it was some great inconvenience for him to have to explain anything. I shifted from one foot to another, raised my eyebrows, and sighed loud enough to wake a sleeping baby. He fished around for a random piece, skipping over the green one I knew he needed.
Over the years I learned that as long as I was quiet and let him think I was seriously concerned about not having a clue to what he was talking about, he’d save me and let me in on the thoughts running through his head.
After a minute Adam pushed one of his sleeves up above his shoulder blade. There was a white scar the size of a grain of rice on the back of his shoulder. He rubbed it thoughtfully before his eyes met mine. “I showed Dad how cool the inside of the box was, there were all these wires and stuff. He told me I broke the CB him and Mom met on. She was keeping it, I guess. He pushed me into the wall. Mom’s garden scissors cut me.”
“Oh.”
Mom tripped over a toy fire truck as she entered the room. “Hey— Adam,” she said, looking at all the scattered pieces on the floor. You could barely see the spinach colored carpet beneath the toys, random pieces of clothing, and clutter everywhere. The cramped room could barely hold the piano, sofa, and TV. “I thought I told you to put this away? Now let’s go. Put this away, now.” She picked up a toy, decided she didn’t know where she could relocate it to, and put it back down again. “We’re not going anywhere unless this room is spotless. You have five minutes.”
Adam practiced his lawyer skills. “Mom, I only have to finish this one piece.”
“Where we goin’ Mom?” I asked.
“Grandma’s. Grandpa’s making dinner so once Thomas wakes up from his nap and after Kat eats—Adam I said now.” She shoved a pile of plastic pieces into a heap with her foot.
“But Moooom,” Adam said. “It’s not fair. All I need to do is this one piece.”
The thought of going to Grandma’s was exhilarating. My knees hit the floor beside Adam and I searched for the part he needed. His eyes widened. “Hey! Hey Mom she’s messing up my stuff!”
“I’m helping.”
“No you’re not. You don’t even know what I’m looking for!”
Mom is going to yell in two seconds. Where IS it?
I locked eyes with the green connector and reached for it. The structure now complete, I looked toward Adam. His head dropped and he turned on his heel. “I knew I needed that piece. I didn’t need your help to find it.”
“Can we go now?” I asked.
Mom hustled Adam, Thomas, Kat and me into the minivan. We spent ten minutes driving down Southern State Highway before we pulled up in front of my grandparents�
� impressive, white Victorian home. Engraved columns hovered around the garden on the side of the house and the lawn was zebra striped from a fresh cut; it meant Grandpa was expecting us. He was nowhere to be seen, but if I had to guess he was probably in the backyard skimming the swimming pool. Oak trees that lined the property kept him busy during the fall and summer months between his weekly pool and grass preservations.
My seat belt was unbuckled and I jumped over the seat in front of me before Mom put the van in park. The metal door handle fumbled in my hands before I rushed it open and jumped off the platform of the van onto the grass.
Grandma came to the front door before I could call out to see if Grandpa was still lingering in the garden. “Grandma!” I said, and ran full speed to the front porch.
“Hey, sugar!” she said as I tackled her waist. She wrapped me in a soft hug and pulled me closer. Her perfume danced around my face and she tightened her grip.
“How’s my girl?” she asked. Grandma’s hugs were always so genuine, so warm.
Before I could answer, Mom was walking up the porch steps and handing Kat over. “Careful, she’s doing the projectile spit up thing again,” she warned. Grandma held outstretched arms and took the baby while Adam zigzagged around her. Thomas waddled behind him, stopping to put a dandelion in his mouth.
“Hi Grandma!” Adam called out. He dashed into the house and I heard the wooden toy chest creak open in the front room. My grandpa had built him a custom toy box when he was just two years old, but my mom said the stain he had used on the cedar wood gave Adam an allergic reaction. Grandpa had spent weeks building it, even detailing the top in bright white letters that spelled out his name. Now it was tucked under the window of their front room, waiting for us whenever we came over.
My grandma moved us into the living room. “I just had the carpet shampooed, sorry if it’s still damp. Just put the diaper bag on one of the flowered couches, Molly.”
