CHAPTER 6

Mom

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TODAY I’M DETERMINED. Determined to do what, I don’t know. I just need to do something, anything to get me out of my parents’ trailer. After almost a month here, what used to feel cozy and comforting is starting to suffocate me.

The girls are supposed to start school in six weeks, and I have no idea what I want to do or where we’ll be. I don’t want to think about it. I’m not ready to make those kinds of decisions.

I pull on some sweats and tennis shoes and decide today will be the day I start my new exercise program. I grab my portable CD player and head out my parents’ sliding glass door to the busy San Jose street. The freeway nearby is a loud freight train of possibility. Being here, away from the isolation of small-town Massack, California, I feel like I can go anywhere, do anything, be anyone.

It’s a poor part of the city. The cars that drive by as I walk down the littered sidewalk are dated and faded. I pass barbed wire fences and barred windows, but none of it scares me. My parents have lived here long enough that I’m desensitized to the shock of urban poverty. Instead, I feel a sort of kinship with the people here. Life is rough, but we’re in it together.

As I walk, I listen to one of my favorite songs ask me questions like, when did I get so tired and how did my life end up without meaning?

“Yeah,” I say to myself as I begin to sweat. “When did I get so tired?” I’m only thirty-seven, and I feel ancient.

It’s hot outside, and my legs are starting to prickle and itch. Sweatpants were the wrong choice, but I don’t have the confidence for shorts. Despite the mid-July heat, the song urges me on, begging me to find my second wind. That’s exactly what I need, a second wind. When did I get so insecure? I used to feel capable, beautiful even.

It’s still in me somewhere. I can be strong. I can stand up for myself. I left, didn’t I? Surely that sent a message. Maybe if I rediscover myself, Steve will really see me again. Despite his flaws, I do love him. We just have to get back to ourselves. He was drunk. He’s not perfect. I’ve made mistakes too. I’ve let myself go, gotten submissive and fat. Part of this is my fault. How can I expect him to love and respect me when I don’t love and respect myself?

Maybe we can quit smoking together and he’ll cut the booze. It seems crazy to walk away from almost twenty years together. It’s so much loss. It means I failed. I’ll never get those years back.

I smile as I fantasize about a new marriage where we can support each other’s dreams and rebuild. I’m going to call Steve, tell him I’m moving forward and getting on with the life I left behind. I’ll be the confident young woman he fell for.

When we met, I was in college at San Francisco State. At nineteen, I was full of promise as a theatre major and loving life. He was a student at the Music Academy and it was love at first sight, two artists, young and vibrant. Before I knew it, my dream of heading to Broadway was pushed aside in favor of marriage and a family. It had been a long road that had landed us from the bustling city to that desolate town in the middle of nowhere, and my dreams had stayed on the shelf until this day.

As I take them down and dust them off, I realize they have changed, partly because I know now, what I didn’t know then, that a career in theatre is pretty far-fetched, but as a teacher! I can do theatre and teach children to discover their passions and dreams. I am so excited by my decision that I practically run back to the house while my lumbering body protests. I have to call him.

I enter the trailer, which is cool in comparison to the merciless heat outside. I’m drenched in sweat that chills my skin into goose bumps. My lungs are still working hard, and I take a minute to catch my breath. I don’t want to sound fat over the phone.

With my mom and Ruth at the thrift store and Lucy at a friend’s, I have the trailer to myself. Even Dad is off playing poker at the Elks’ Club, so I’m able to sit and go over my practiced speech until I’m ready.

The phone rings.

“Yeeeello,” he answers cheerfully. I guess he’s enjoying this time without his family.

I try not to be resentful. “Hey! It’s me.”

“Look, Rachel. I said I was sorry. I meant it, too, okay? Either you’re coming home or you’re not.”

I pause for a moment, recalling the last time we spoke and his so-called apology the day after we left. We agreed to take some time apart over the summer. It doesn’t seem to be helping. I can hear the loathing in his voice.

“No, no, I just need to talk to you, to tell you something,” I say, ignoring the tension between us.

“Can it wait? I was just about to jump in the shower.”

My confidence begins to waver. I might not have the courage to say these things again.

“No,” I answer. My heart flutters with a mix of fear and hope as I wait for him to say something. I pace back and forth going over in my head all the things I need to get out.

“Fine. Hang on. Let me turn the water off.”

He sighs heavily into the phone, clearly annoyed, but I hear the familiar squeak of the shower knob. At least he’s willing to listen.

“I’m going back to school,” I blurt out.

“You’re what?” He laughs so loud, I almost start to cry. “That’s the big news? And how exactly are you planning to do that?”

“I’m....I’m quitting my job as a teacher’s aide so I can go to college full time and get my teaching credentials. I know it sounds crazy, but once school starts, the girls will be gone all day and I can get student loans and grants and scholarships, and—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down. We can’t afford for you to quit your job. It’s hard enough to get by with you taking summers off. And if you think I’m paying your way through school, you’re crazy. You think you’re the only one who gave things up for this family? Maybe I want to go back to school.”

“Look, I haven’t got it all figured out yet, but I will figure it out, and when I do, I’ll make sure that I’m pulling my weight. I don’t want to take a few classes here and there and have this take forever. If I’m going to do it, I’m going to do it. The money I borrow will be worth it once I’m getting a teacher’s salary instead of the measly $10,000 I’m bringing in a year. Think about it. It makes sense.”

“You’ll bring in at least $10,000 a year and go to school, or you won’t go. I’m not putting you through school. What has gotten into you, anyway? You wanted children, remember? Oh, I’ll do all of the work. It won’t change me,” he mocks.

“Honey, I’ve lost myself. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

“You’re their mother! And you won’t put that on me. You want to go to school, go ahead, but don’t ask for my help. I won’t babysit or help you, but you go ahead. You’re going to do whatever you want anyway. Why do you need my permission?”

“I want you to be excited for me. This is a big step. I’ve put my dream of graduating from college off for a long time.”

“Yeah, and why aren’t we living on our boat anymore? Huh? You got pregnant, remember? You wanted this. This is what YOU wanted. Well you got it and the hell with what it cost anyone else.”

“I know, I know. You had to give things up too, and you can pursue your dreams if you want. That’s what I’m trying to say. We need to stop just living and move forward. The girls are at the point where they don’t even need a babysitter. Let’s not get in a big fight over something that won’t even be an issue. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, okay? I’m sure I can pull in the money, and I won’t ask you for anything.”

Once again I’m begging for my life and letting him off the hook at the same time, something I always do. I can’t bring myself to stand up to him, to point out the fact that he’s their father. That “helping me” or “babysitting” would be considered normal parenting to anyone else. I will do this alone because I’m afraid of him. I’m always afraid. Afraid he’ll be mad. Afraid he’ll leave me. Afraid I’ll muster the guts to stay gone. Afraid to be alone.

My mantra: keep everyone happy, all the time. Everyone, except me.

“We’ll see,” he says.

I hang up and lean back in my father’s beat up recliner, feeling myself sink into the imprinted groove he’s formed by watching countless hours of golf and nature shows. It cradles me.

The conversation was defeating, but also eye-opening. I’m not the only one who has lost me. I don’t want to do this anymore, fight for every inch of my happiness. No matter how hard I try he’s never happy. I swallow down my fear, afraid to admit the truth, but knowing it like a kept secret. My marriage is over.