CHAPTER 2: October—Kristy

It was the first Friday in October. Charlotte, Bebe, and I were sitting in a booth at the Rosebud Café, watching one of the busboys, who was on his break, play pinball. "Ever since I was a young boy, I've played the silver ball..." he sang. That would've been fairly enjoyable to watch if it weren't for the fact that he not only SUCKED at pinball, but he also couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. If there was ever a bad-singing contest with him, Claud, Mal, and Abby, I don't know who'd win.

The entire time, we were forcing ourselves not to laugh, so much so that our heads looked like they were about to explode any second. Finally, we couldn't keep it in any longer, and we rushed out the nearest exit. As soon as we were safely next to my ar, we let loose with the loudest, shrillest laughter that only happens when you've been holding it in as long as we have.

"Oh, man, that was so hilarious!" Charlotte howled. "I'd never heard such bad singing in my life!"

"Oh, you want to talk about bad singing?" I asked. "Just be glad you've never heard Watson in the shower." Then, in the most off-key Neil Diamond voice I could muster, I sang, "Love on the rocks...is no big surprise...pour me a dri-ink, and I'll tell you some lies..."

By then, we'd already pulled up in front of the Johanssens', and after we'd finally managed to calm down, Charlotte got out of the car and called over her shoulder, "Thanks for the smoothie, Kristy!"

"No problem. See you at the meeting," I called back, then drove to the apartment complex at the end of Mom and Watson's block. The first thing I saw as I let Bebe out was Nannie coming out of her apartment and heading to the Pink Clinker. I honked and waved at her and Bebe as I pulled away from the curb. They waved back.

When I got home, I saw the Junk Bucket parked in the driveway. I didn't think anything of it, because it looked worse than ever. If that car could talk, it would've been begging to be hauled to the junkyard.

In retrospect, I should've known that something wasn't quite right, because when I came into the kitchen, I saw Mom and my brothers sitting at the kitchen table. Sam had his chin in his hands, Mom had her head in hers, and Charlie had his arm across Mom's shoulders. I hadn't seen my brothers with those looks on their faces since Watson told us that Boo-Boo had died.

"Hi," I said, trying to get their attention.

"Oh, hi, Sis," Sam said.

Mom and Charlie looked up, and Mom very quickly started wiping her face with her hands. She had obviously been crying.

"Hi, Kristy," Charlie said. "How are you?"

"Fine," I answered. "I've got a BSC meeting today."

"Kristy, could you sit down for a minute, please?" Mom asked. I sat down beside her. Sam was across the table from me.

"What is it, Mom?" I asked uneasily as Sam took my hand in his.

"Kristy," Mom began, "while you were at school today, I got a call from United Airlines."

Immediately, panic rushed through me. You see, a couple of days ago, Watson left to go on a business trip to Memphis, because Unity Insurance, the company he works for, had sent him to open a branch of their office, and he was called to oversee the construction and bring some job applications.

Anyway, my first thought was that something had happened to Watson. "What happened?" I demanded in alarm. "Is it Watson?"

"Watson's fine, honey," Mom reassured me. "I was told that there was a crash somewhere in the Rocky Mountains. We don't know the whole story yet, but the airline told us that there were no survivors."

My throat swelled up to the point where it felt as big as an orange. "Is Dad...?" I started to ask, but couldn't even finish my sentence. I was asking my mother about the same man who had walked out on us ten years ago, the same man who never even bothered to send child support money, remembered our birthdays, watch David Michael grow up, or even see and my older brothers graduate from SMS or SHS. Furthermore, he'd come by to see me only once, but never had the cojones to let Mom know that he was in town, thus forcing me to lie to Mom and Watson about where I was going and what I was doing. And what does he do to thank me? Skip town, of course. And he never took two minutes to tell me good-bye.

And it's so ironic that he was coming to Connecticut—at least I think he was—and this happened.

Anyway, Mom and my brothers nodded. Sam squeezed my hand and released it. That's when it finally sank in: Dad was dead. We would never see him again.

I couldn't bear to stay in that kitchen for another minute, so I got out of my chair and hurried to the half-bathroom downstairs, where I immediately parked myself in front of the toilet and started puking. I puked loud, long, and hard. And you know what? If it wasn't for the news about my so-called father's death, I would've started quoting the drinking story from Bill Cosby, Himself.

After I finished, I slumped to the floor and sobbed. For the third time, Dad had left me. This time, it was forever. The worst part was that I'd never get the chance to tell him how I felt, how much heartache and pain he'd caused for our family, and how much I resented him for leaving us.

When we were younger, Mom would tell us that you're accountable for what you do, and the choices you make. In that moment of clarity, I took to heart what she'd said. I knew my father needed to own his actions, and as much as I resented him, as cheated as I'd felt until Watson came into my life, and as worried as I was about my family, part of me was also worried about Dad, because deep down, even though he was such a selfish, inconsiderate jerk, I still loved him I don't know why, but I did.

I finally managed to pull myself together after a few minutes, checked my watch, and saw that it was 4:45. After I flushed the toilet, I washed my face and hands, rinsed my mouth out, and hurried outside to my car. Regardless of the news about Dad, I still had a club to run.