Authors Note: Before I ramble back into the weary swing of things (yes I
know it's slow but it'll get faster soon, o.k?) a big shout out to my main
people SpookyMulder and TrickHayden, you guys rock, and keep winging those
reviews in, please- I'm stumbling a bit blind here, so a seeing eye would
go down a treat right now.
"Yet you'll fail for wishing untwitching limbs with no fire in them, For convincing yourself you stand a chance of navigating the stolid night, Perhaps then you would not be slouching, crawling toward Bethlehem, Without a prayer for a pillow and without a single, silhouetted inn in sight"
Slouching Toward Bethlehem Missy MacAdem
By the next morning, still holed down in the confines of Bakersfield, my mother's delusional state had dissolved as quickly and obscurely as it had come into being. I evaluated this new mood while I fetched the morning paper and a couple of groceries from an overly air-conditioned store on the main drag. The most disturbing thing, I concluded, was not that she was having mood swings that were mood orbits, but that I was getting to be accustomed to this sort of thing.
Let me tell you a bit about Lisa Keyes, if you will. She's not your average mother, not by a lengthy shot. She's got this itch for the open road; my dad couldn't scratch it, and neither could I, which is why we only see her for two weeks at any given time. She tried, god knows she did, but eventually we all faced up to the fact that she would never be able to stay in one place, not while she was still, as dad put it; "searching for something you or me can't see. Something she can feel." So she glides all over, and in summer, I go with, but for the most, it's just me and my dad- my dad and me. It's really kind of sad when you get right into it- but surprisingly for the best.
Don't get me wrong, I'd love to be in a regular family set-up, but when the maternal unit insists on telling night time stories that feature aliens and UFOs, things I don't even believe in, you just know regular is the farthest thing from what you've really got. So we give her her "lights" and her "abductees", and she gives us herself for as long as she can.
The smell of eggs pervaded the van when I returned and I somehow managed to quit thinking about our predicament long enough to put away four eggs and half a loaf of bread. Mom looked quite put off by my display of stomach capacity, so left. When I found her, one intestinal adventure later, she was once again at that greasy row of payphones, clutching her head and I rolled my eyes inwardly at the drastic change in disposition that was undoubtedly to follow. I was about to walk right out the way I came in when I noticed a new addition to the diner, there was now a guy behind the counter who I would distinctly remember seeing before, family crisis or no. Thinking about it seriously, I was in need a hot cup o' java.
My caffeine arrived carried by a forty-year-old, hairnet-toting woman, whom I'll swear snarled at me before spilling half the damn cup. A couple of minutes and a few swift counter glimpses after, mom strolled over to the corner booth I was occupying and smiled warmly at me across the cracked green Formica. I practically spat out the wad of gum I was busily sculpting with my molars but didn't, thankfully, saving face in front of the cute counter boy.
"You seem- better. Dad?"
"Yeah. I've got some good news, too. You're dad's coming up to join us."
Now I do lose my gum, it flies across the tabletop and my mom stares at it for a few seconds before deciding it's not toxic or dangerous and then looks back up at me. Its strange how moments of clarity hit you at the oddest times, like right there, in a smelly, cute counter boy inhabited, but otherwise crappy diner. I gazed at my mother and realised, though she wasn't usually old in appearance, quite good for a woman of forty odd, she suddenly had the air of someone seven years younger. Her eyes were shockingly blue and they sparkled with an intensity that made my own fall away in confusion.
"He's coming with us. We're going to Texas, sweetie, to see your grandfather's house. You've never seen it before, have you? It's beautiful down there."
The minute the word Texas comes up I tilt my head and fix her my most suspicious eyebrow posture. Maybe it'll prompt her to tell me just what in the Hell is going on. Instead, she finds her shoes alarmingly interesting and babbles on.
"We can.uh.catch up on things-family things, you know? And your aunt Nina may swing by."
"What the HELL mom? You and dad have been separated, for THREE years now! We do not go to Texas on family outings, aunt Nina does not just swing by and I am not a child, mom, not anymore- so just, just tell me, ok! What is going on?"
I didn't mean to explode so messily, but the debris seems to have blown as far as cute counter boy, who, having not noticed me at all thus far, has just looked up in a "what a freak" gesture that ruins our correspondence before it begins. My mother is suitably shocked too, though more in a motherly annoyed sort of way than an entranced zombie way, further proof that she has kicked out of the slump. What can I say, at sixteen, I take my victories where I can get 'em.
"Reagan! Keep your voice down, please. Listen- I can't- It's better if you hear this from the both of us, ok? We'll sort this out, sweetie. Your dad'll be here tomorrow and we'll sort this all out."
The last few lines she says to herself because I've already stormed out of the diner and off on a random burst of teenage hormonal self pity, which is, this time, if only in my opinion, altogether justified.
"Yet you'll fail for wishing untwitching limbs with no fire in them, For convincing yourself you stand a chance of navigating the stolid night, Perhaps then you would not be slouching, crawling toward Bethlehem, Without a prayer for a pillow and without a single, silhouetted inn in sight"
Slouching Toward Bethlehem Missy MacAdem
By the next morning, still holed down in the confines of Bakersfield, my mother's delusional state had dissolved as quickly and obscurely as it had come into being. I evaluated this new mood while I fetched the morning paper and a couple of groceries from an overly air-conditioned store on the main drag. The most disturbing thing, I concluded, was not that she was having mood swings that were mood orbits, but that I was getting to be accustomed to this sort of thing.
Let me tell you a bit about Lisa Keyes, if you will. She's not your average mother, not by a lengthy shot. She's got this itch for the open road; my dad couldn't scratch it, and neither could I, which is why we only see her for two weeks at any given time. She tried, god knows she did, but eventually we all faced up to the fact that she would never be able to stay in one place, not while she was still, as dad put it; "searching for something you or me can't see. Something she can feel." So she glides all over, and in summer, I go with, but for the most, it's just me and my dad- my dad and me. It's really kind of sad when you get right into it- but surprisingly for the best.
Don't get me wrong, I'd love to be in a regular family set-up, but when the maternal unit insists on telling night time stories that feature aliens and UFOs, things I don't even believe in, you just know regular is the farthest thing from what you've really got. So we give her her "lights" and her "abductees", and she gives us herself for as long as she can.
The smell of eggs pervaded the van when I returned and I somehow managed to quit thinking about our predicament long enough to put away four eggs and half a loaf of bread. Mom looked quite put off by my display of stomach capacity, so left. When I found her, one intestinal adventure later, she was once again at that greasy row of payphones, clutching her head and I rolled my eyes inwardly at the drastic change in disposition that was undoubtedly to follow. I was about to walk right out the way I came in when I noticed a new addition to the diner, there was now a guy behind the counter who I would distinctly remember seeing before, family crisis or no. Thinking about it seriously, I was in need a hot cup o' java.
My caffeine arrived carried by a forty-year-old, hairnet-toting woman, whom I'll swear snarled at me before spilling half the damn cup. A couple of minutes and a few swift counter glimpses after, mom strolled over to the corner booth I was occupying and smiled warmly at me across the cracked green Formica. I practically spat out the wad of gum I was busily sculpting with my molars but didn't, thankfully, saving face in front of the cute counter boy.
"You seem- better. Dad?"
"Yeah. I've got some good news, too. You're dad's coming up to join us."
Now I do lose my gum, it flies across the tabletop and my mom stares at it for a few seconds before deciding it's not toxic or dangerous and then looks back up at me. Its strange how moments of clarity hit you at the oddest times, like right there, in a smelly, cute counter boy inhabited, but otherwise crappy diner. I gazed at my mother and realised, though she wasn't usually old in appearance, quite good for a woman of forty odd, she suddenly had the air of someone seven years younger. Her eyes were shockingly blue and they sparkled with an intensity that made my own fall away in confusion.
"He's coming with us. We're going to Texas, sweetie, to see your grandfather's house. You've never seen it before, have you? It's beautiful down there."
The minute the word Texas comes up I tilt my head and fix her my most suspicious eyebrow posture. Maybe it'll prompt her to tell me just what in the Hell is going on. Instead, she finds her shoes alarmingly interesting and babbles on.
"We can.uh.catch up on things-family things, you know? And your aunt Nina may swing by."
"What the HELL mom? You and dad have been separated, for THREE years now! We do not go to Texas on family outings, aunt Nina does not just swing by and I am not a child, mom, not anymore- so just, just tell me, ok! What is going on?"
I didn't mean to explode so messily, but the debris seems to have blown as far as cute counter boy, who, having not noticed me at all thus far, has just looked up in a "what a freak" gesture that ruins our correspondence before it begins. My mother is suitably shocked too, though more in a motherly annoyed sort of way than an entranced zombie way, further proof that she has kicked out of the slump. What can I say, at sixteen, I take my victories where I can get 'em.
"Reagan! Keep your voice down, please. Listen- I can't- It's better if you hear this from the both of us, ok? We'll sort this out, sweetie. Your dad'll be here tomorrow and we'll sort this all out."
The last few lines she says to herself because I've already stormed out of the diner and off on a random burst of teenage hormonal self pity, which is, this time, if only in my opinion, altogether justified.