Decision Friday, July 17.
Beatrice,
I know you are struggling with your dad s remarriage. I guess I haven t ever really met Debbie, I m sure she s nice, but I ve heard some rotten things about her from a very reliable source. Even though we haven t seen each other in a while I know that no one would want to be in your situation. You can come to Oregon anytime, to stay, and I mean anytime. I have the tickets on speed dial! Please consider coming to Oregon. If you changed your mind after you flew over you could always go back to Georgia. Let me know as soon as you make some sort of a decision. Love you, Jennie
I stared at the words my mother had hand written and sent to me by hand. It was a touching gesture. She didn t sign her name Mom because she thought our relationship was too strained to use that word. This made me sad. I wish it wasn t like that.
I was tempted to wave the letter in Debbie s face, I m sure she would love to try to convince me with her sneering voice to go. Move because it would make everything easier for Calvin. Of course, it would be blackmail by playing the Calvin card but she is evil. With Debbie, the possibilities are endless. I thought better of letting someone see the letter so soon, let alone Debbie. She was enough to handle without having ammo to launch at me. This would defiantly send a new shower of annoying comments my way. I m sure she s nice , I really do hope my mother gets to meet Debbie one day.
She s defiantly an eyeful, all five foot eleven inches of Debbie. Her favorite brand is Prada. I m not even sure if I can say it right. Every few weeks Debbie goes to some high-end beauty salon and has some kind of facial-manicure-pedicure trio crap done to her appendages. She gets every kind of make-up and I wouldn t be surprised if she wore every bottle and tube she owned. She is the very type of woman I hate. Sure, it s harsh, but Debbie is a self-absorbed walking Barbie doll. The connection I have to this woman? After two months of ignoring the goo-goo eyes my dad made at her I thought it would be over. No. Five months later, a lot of patience and hopeful wishing on my part, and Debbie and my father are married. Hurray.
As of late, it s been a cat fight. Debbie throws an insulting comment my way. I throw one back. Why don t you wear the pink shirt I got you for your birthday? She asks me one morning. Instead I had chosen a baggy red t-shirt that had bugs bunny on it, one of my favorites. It wasn t her favorite; she eyed my choice of wardrobe with disapproval. The one she would have chosen was pink and frilly. Because, I said slowly. I don t like anything you buy me. I said in a tone with an air of I Don t Care . I added a lot of emphasis when I said you.
Despite Debbie I had to debate this in my head. If I did move to Oregon with my mom Oregon, I said, a little disbelieving. I tested out how the words felt in my mouth. It felt kind of nice, but at the same time nerve-racking. I haven t seen my mom in seven years. It would be scary to see her now but interesting.
That sent off a whole new set of emotions, most of them confused and lonely. When I was five my mother and father got a divorce. They had been married for only a year before they decided to bring little me into the world. I can never understand why Calvin got me. I suppose he must have wanted me more. Maybe my mother wasn t exactly ready to have daily rendezvous avec moi, five years old, and my father was. I don t know. I don t ask my father or my mother, when I do call. It s a very sensitive subject and I sense that there must have been a lot of tears shed over the issue.
The story I have put together over the years of scrupulous gathering of tiny pieces of information is this: Mother was acting distant. She was wrapped up in work and she wasn t spending much time with me. I don t know what happened then but they had some sort of argument. Words were said. Divorce was mentioned, and they decided to split up for a while than later get back together and see if they could make the marriage work again. They knew their parents would be devastated. Well, my dad s mom and my mom s mom would be devastated. Both grandpas were gone at that time. Eventually they found out that it wouldn t work and filed for divorce soon after.
Grandma Lola died, sending my dad into spiraling depression. He put on a strong face for me but even when I was little I could see through his masks. Than comes the part I m most ill informed on. They had another argument over who should get me. Mom had to work a lot but she still loved me. Dad s job had less time on the field and he made more money. He was equipped to raise a child, Mom wasn t. She didn t throw a fit. At least that I know of. This is why I have such troubled thoughts over my Mother. Neither she, nor my father has ever spoken about that day when they fought over me, five year old me. I have no idea what was said. It probably sounds stupid but it feels like I should know. It feels like I should know what my mother and father were thinking and feeling that day. This has bugged me my whole life, plagued my thoughts. Does mom still care? Is asking stupid questions going to help anything?
There are too many questions to have answered and the answers are impossible to acquire. Maybe one day the answers will come to me but for now I wash myself over with a false sense of security at the thought of the things that remained unspoken. My father encourages my relationship with her to an extent. He doesn t want me to get to close most likely because I might get hurt. But then again, he wants me to get to know her better because after all, she is my mother. And Calvin isn t very good at the girly stuff. There s still Debbie, my dad would say. She is really good at girl stuff! He would exclaim after a long winded talk about how I don t have the right kind of woman figure in my life. Which he thinks will help what; my inability to find a boy friend; my sense of style over the top ordinary; maybe my lack of make-up? None of these things matter and the replacement, Debbie, is a witch. I won t let her magic spells and potions be forced upon me.
I sighed and got up from my bed to head to the kitchen. Lunchtime. As I ate my peanut butter and jelly sandwich I thought about Oregon. I ve been there a few times. Every time I went there I went to Grandma s house and ate popsicles. We would explore the woods behind her house and find little hidden treasures buried deep in the pines and ferns. I remember it all too clearly. It would be fun to go there again even though Grandma Ursula died when I was nine. That s why I stopped visiting. Plus, the cost of plane tickets would have caused us all to go broke. I m just not sure. Moving there would defiantly make Debbie happy, but wouldn t it make my dad feel worthless?
Speak, or think, of the devil; here comes dad in his supped up Dodge Ram. It wouldn t be complete without cab extension, the largest wheels possible, removable hard top bed cover and all the other flashy add-ons. He loves his truck, Debbie doesn t, which makes me love the truck all that much more.
I could hear the big tires crunching on the long gravel driveway that led to our little green-painted home and I smiled. Calvin was home early. I heard the truck door slam, but I wasn t expecting a second truck door to slam. The smile was off my face in an instant; Debbie usually didn t ride in dad s truck. She has a canary yellow convertible that she drives while wearing her expensive clothes and wearing her expensive make-up. It wasn t at home. Maybe she crashed it!
A little exited, I got up and went to the front door to let them in. Hey, Dad, The smile came back as realized it wasn t Debbie who was riding in dad s truck. It was Gary Watson.
Gary Watson is my dad s long time best friend, strait out of college. He did a little wave and said, Hey, Triss. Only my closest friends could call me by my nickname, Triss. It could be spelled T-R-I-C-E but people would read it and It would sound like rice with a T in front.
I waved back and my dad smiled at me. Gary and I are gunna go paintballing for a few hours, my dad hinted. Oh, I realized who would be coming home in a few more short hours. Debbie gunna be home soon? I asked, trying to hide my crestfallen attitude. Yup, he looked apologetic.
I tried not to think about Debbie and shook my head to clear the way for more important matters. I got a letter from mom. Oh, really? We weren t expecting anything from my mom. Yea, but we ll talk about it later. Go have a good time. I told him and waved my hand as if to push that topic to the corner where we would later grab it back out. He told me they were going to leave in a few minutes; he said he needed to get some things.
I went down the narrow hall to my room to brood over spending the night with Debbie. My dad must have been let off work early so he could go with Gary. Gary would have to have time off, too. Gary and Calvin had the same job at the construction building company called Terry and Sons. They went to collage to be contractors and they ended up together in the same company, with the same job. My dad was extremely lucky to have his job with his best friend.
Sitting on the twin bed I picked up the letter mom sent. Right then and there I decided that I would make up my mind whether or not to move before I told Calvin what the letter said. This gives me till tomorrow morning to make my decision, and a few hours without Debbie before that. Back to brooding Moving to Oregon would make two and a half people happy, Debbie, my mom, and half of me. One half of me would be happy to be out of Debbie s vicinity. The other half, however, would not be happy because my dad wouldn t be happy. I could visit dad! A tiny voice said in my head. He wouldn t be happy when you were gone for those long periods of time in between visits, the other voice said just a little more sternly. No. He would be fine without you. He could actually live his life without worrying about Debbie and me getting along. The first voice was just as stern as the second.
I was feeling pathetic with all my broody thoughts so I put that thought away to ponder later; I started to pick up my room. I put all the clothes in the hamper and took that to the washing machine. I made my bed then moved to the small bathroom connected to my room. I put my hairbrush and all my other hair accessories in the correct places. I hung up the towel and straightened out the bath rug. I decided to do some dishes.
As I washed the few dishes I thought about how horrible the night would be with Calvin out. No doubt Debbie would be extra mean because he wouldn t be here. I suppose the reason Debbie doesn t like me so much is because she likes make-up and expensive stuff, and I don t. I like old-fashion, vintage clothing. Nothing those other seventeen year olds are usually wearing. Debbie wants me to be a Barbie like her and sometimes, most of the time, like my fellow seventeen year olds. I refuse. I was defiantly back on the path of broody and pathetic and the distractions had worked up until now but I had to concentrate on what was coming up the walkway.
Think of the devil again, almost literally. I giggled a little. Debbie was walking up the walkway carrying two full-looking shopping bags and some expensive brand of purse. She held out her arms in front of her in a very girly way.
She stood in front of the door for a moment, then, her knees bending in and an awkward position because of the high heels and her elbows turned the wrong way as she tried to turn the doorknob, she tried to open the door. The resulting picture was very comical. I giggled again. I didn t bother to help.
I tried to act indifferent as she came in and put her bags on the dining room table but I was holding in the laughter at her comical entrance and my little inward devil joke.
Where s Cal? she huffed. She ignored my strain to keep the giggles from exploding.
He must not have told you that he was going paintballing with Gary, I said with difficulty.
She glared at me from underneath her coat of mascara. Then swiped her bags off the table and stalked off to grumble in her room. Apparently she was just as miffed to be spending the evening with me as I was with her! I let the giggles explode because I knew she could still hear me.
It was already four. I put the clothes in the dryer and headed back to my room.
I ve spent the evening with Debbie before but this time she was hoping for Calvin to be home. She is just so, so childish. That s the perfect word, childish. The attraction between them is a mystery to me. I wanted a decision, now. I made one at 4:15 pm on a Friday evening in July, to move to Oregon with my mother . . .
I was in grandma s house, with the old curtains and furniture. My mom was there. She looked more beautiful than I had imagined her. Her long brown hair flowing around her like there was a perfect little breeze blowing. Her soft features were disturbed. She looked positively sad. It s a dream! Little Voice piped up. I pushed it away subconsciously. What s the matter? I asked her. Grandma s dead, Triss. She s gone, and she sank to her knees in agony and despair.
But, Mom. She has been dead for eight years. You can t have just found out! I was confused by her actions. Little Voice told me not to worry about her. I ignored the voice, I worried about her anyway. Was either of us going crazy? Were both of us going crazy? I walked forward a few steps and placed a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. She looked up at me suddenly and the expression on her face made me step back. She looked downright furious. She s dead. And the house... She breathed. So I looked around. The house was ransacked!
What the! No! I was so shocked.
Yes. It s entirely your fault Beatrice. She was so angry tears began to spill off her face.
NO! No, no, no! My voice was getting quieter and quieter and she was disappearing. The little voice told me it was okay. It was just a dream. I couldn t listen to it. The house was destroyed, where all my fun and young childhood dreams had come true. I loved the house and now it was gone. I wish I had had a proper goodbye. . . .
Saturday, July 18.
Someone was telling me everything was going to be okay; to wake up. That was silly. I was already awake. The house was destroyed and I was just there. It wouldn t be okay. I realized it was dark.
I said, No, again.
Someone repeated that it would be okay. WAKE UP, BEATRICE! the voice screamed. It was Calvin. Why did he sound so urgent? Dad, I m okay. I said, my voice a little slurred.
I opened my eyes, I guess they were closed. His face was above mine. He was holding my shoulders; he must have been shaking them. He said, You ve been screaming! I have? My voice was shaky and I worked to get it steady.
Yea, Triss. You were saying, no and screaming over and over. I thought someone was murdering you!
It was just a dream, Dad. I said.
What was it about? he asked, he sounded miffed.
Dad, go back to bed. I m fine, I muttered.
I want to know what it was about! He really was angry, no, I misinterpreted it, concerned.
Really, Dad, I can t remember. Go back to bed. That wasn t the truth. It was a nightmare that s all I know, I winced, suddenly the embarrassment hit me. I never had nightmares; my tired voice was hopefully hiding the unsure lie in my voice.
He bought it. All right then. Are you sure? I could tell that he really did want to go back to bed and he was trying to hide this.
Thanks, but no thanks. Go back to bed, I urged.
He sauntered off and I heard the door click. I turned off the bedside table lamp. What was in my dream? I was afraid maybe the thing with mom wasn t such a great idea. I vaguely thought what Debbie would say about this. I argued with the little voice for who knows how long. I drifted off to sleep in the early morning.