It's been just a little over 30 years almost to the day since my mother walked away and left my dad (and, consequentially, me and my brother as well). I remember three scenes from that day as vividly as I see what's in front of me now.
I never found out the real reason she left. She and my dad told contradicting stories about "WHY". But they fought like cats and dogs for a long time before it happened. He'd holler at her from one room and she'd fire back from another across the hallway.To this day I have no recollection of what the arguments were about (I was 16 years old at the time.)
Inevitably dad would try to drag me or my brother into the fight to confirm and/or prove some point he was trying to make to her. This made mom even angrier and the row would expand to include how she thought it was so despicable for him to do that (of course, she was right about that)..
All of which leads up to the first solid memory.
I was driving my dad's pick-up truck around town. I don't remember if I'd left as the result of another fight, but it is possible. I did leave sometimes when they got into it.
I came home. When I walked through the door I saw, in the living room, my family huddled up, almost like a football team between plays, on the couch. I had no idea what was going on. But it looked a lot like my dad was on his knees begging for something.
Maybe they were simply hugging each other. I think, now, that was probably the case, because I vaguely remember dad calling for me to join them. And I refused. I had come to the point long before where I felt like the only logical thing for them to do was get a divorce. Of course, I didn't know, at the time, how that would break my dad. I was only thinking it would be best for all if the fighting stopped. It seemed as if a seperation would be the only way.
I turned around, pissed off, got back in the truck, and drove through town again. I was gone for about thirty minutes.
When I finally cooled down enough to come home I saw what became the second indelible memory.
About a hundred yards down the road from our house I saw her. Walking eastbound, down the road. She didn't have any particular expression on her face. It was a cold December afternoon and she was wearing her coat - I only bring that up because I remember exactly what it looked like, but couldn't describe it now, even if I tried.
I knew what she was doing. I even thought I knew where she was going. She was headed to a restaurant where she worked, a couple of miles down the road. She had become friends with the manager, who, I'm sure, played a role in the whole mess.
She was on the left side of the road. I couldn't even tell you the expression on her face because I don't think she looked up at me. She didn't seem to be too tore up about it.
I'm kind of ashamed to say it, but not only did I NOT stop for her, I actually thought "it's about time" when I drove past. You have to understand that I only wanted what I thought was best for BOTH of them. I could have handled an amicable divorce and living in a single parent household. But, then, I had no idea that this afternoon would eventually lead to my father's nervous breakdown. Hell, I didn't even know what a "nervous breakdown" was at the time...no trips to the hospital, we wouldn't have thought it was the thing to do.
I drove right past her. Though I honestly felt it was for the best, I still became intensely angry. Even more so when I got home and walked in the door, only to see my dad on his knees, in the same place I'd left him earlier. He was bawling like a baby. Never - NEVER had I seen my father cry, and this made me even madder that I already was.
I returned to the truck, slamming the door, and drove to the restaurant where I knew she would be.
And this is the third memory - even though some of it is a bit hazy.
The restaurant was called "the 99'er" and the afore mentioned manager was a buxom, unattractive woman everyone called Red Top. Her nickname was derived from her red hair, which was, indeed, as red as a tomato. I worked there for awhile myself and I always HATED having to call her "Red Top". I thought it was one of the stupidest nicknames ever thought of...but I don't think anyone knew what her real name was.
As I mentioned earlier, Red Top had befriended my mother some time prior to all of this. No doubt my mom confided in her and shared a lot of her issues with the obnoxious woman. I'm positive she was the one whose advice was the catalyst for the separation.
Anyway, I broke the speed laws a couple of times getting to the 99'er. I busted through the double-glass doors and demanded to see my mother. Red Top was there, but I guess mom had sequestered herself in another room, not wanting to deal with me just then. I KNEW she was there. I could read it in Red Top's eyes and facial expressions and the way she kind of tried to reason with me (because I was just about as angry then as I ever had been in my life).
I stayed for a couple of minutes, exchanging heated words with the interloper. When I left I slammed the doors so hard I thought they would break from their hinges. But not before yelling, loud enough for anyone who might have been there to hear:
"YOU TELL HER I SAID SHE CAN GO TO HELL!"
Actually I don't remember the EXACT words I used.There may have been a few more. But I'm pretty sure I did say that.
I tore out of that parking lot, wheels kicking up gravel, and everything was a blur untli later that evening at church youth choir rehearsal. I won't go into what happened there...not that it's anything to be secretive about. I just want to wrap up this part of my story).
So...this bit of reminiscing is brought on by a dream I had last night. It was a VERY vivid dream and the emotions I felt within it were palpable.
My dad was not in the dream, although he must have been alive. I didn't know where he was, though.
It was just me and my brother, and somehow we found out that mom was leaving again. Apparently my parents had reconciled at some point since all the bad stuff went down. Now, for whatever reason, she was going away, just like she'd done 3 decades ago.
I was livid...even madder than when left, in the real world, when I was just a kid . I was pissed off at her because her leaving meant that I would have to go through the same hell I went through with my father in the months after she moved on the first time.
I suppose I should say something about that.
My dad, rest his soul, was totally wrecked. He would cry and wail. He would beg for me to go to OKC to try and talk her into coming back. For some reason he was convinced that I could persuade her to return. Most of the time I tried to get him to see how futile that would be. I tried to tell him it could not be done. Not by me or anyone else. So I had to say "no". Inevitably a fight would break out and he would come to the conclusion that, since I refused to talk to her, I must not love him, or care about him. Or that I just didn't want her to came back. Truth be told, I wasn't sure WHAT I wanted by this time.
He would keep saying, "My nerves are shot - my nerves are shot" - and at the time, as young as I was, I had no idea what he meant. Once he got so frustrated that he punched a hole in the wall with his bare fist.
It was one of, if not THE worst stretch of time in my life. I'm not looking for sympathy, though. I'm ashamed to say that I exploited the situation a time or two for my own gain.
At some point he pulled back together. I think he always loved my mother, evem till the day he died, with an ex and another wife in the picture between '77 and '99 (both of whom would be entertaining fodder for a novel, though for different reasons). I really think he would have given it all up if only she were to come back to him. But I don't know...Hard to say. People do change.
At any rate...let us return to the dream.
We had just found out mom was leaving dad for the second time. I'm incensed at the thought of this happening. Mixed with the anger are other emotions equally as strong. Sadness for what my dad would go through again. Fear of how I'd have to babysit him one more time. Resentment that she would put me in that position. Hatred for her and sympathy for my father. What would this do to him? Would he be able to make it through this time?
After a little while a pick-up truck pulled up with my mother and three black guys in the cab. I'm not sure what the significance of her companions' race could be.
I don't remember what led up to it, but at some point I wound up standing in the bed of the truck, looking through the window at the back of her head, and I screamed at her, with all the force and conviction of truth:
"I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU!"
I raised the middle finger of my right hand and pointed it at her. I don't know why...her back was still turned away from me. If she had turned around she would have been terrified by the look of sheer loathing on my face.
But then, instantaneously we were standing, facing each other in the bed of the truck. For some reason I still couldn't see her face. In fact, I don't think I actually saw it at all during the course of the entire dream.
We hugged.
It was so strange... the only thing I noticed was the skin on her shoulder, with it's tiny birthmarks scattered about like stars in the sky.
And finally, just as suddenly, everything switched and I was standing in a dark room full of producers and engineers sitting in front of sound boards and video monitors. It dawned on me that everything that had come before in this dream was "only" a movie in the process of being made.
I didn't want to believe it. I COULDN'T believe it. But the next thing I knew I was watching another film they had made. A space shuttle launch is all I remember of it, and that was when I woke up.
I know this dream "means" something. I'm not one who puts a lot of stock in stuff like "dream interpretation" - so much of it is obviously bogus...but this one seemed to be a harbinger. Of good or bad, I don't know. Likely the latter, I'm afraid.
Still, I don't want to contemplate it or try to suss it out. I'm afraid of what I might find. I only wrote it down because it seemed like the kind of dream I'd need to remember someday. If I hadn't written it out it would be gone by this afternoon. I don't want to forget it. You know how it is..."write 'em down as soon as you wake up"...I never do that, even though I have some awesome dreams.
But this time...
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