Chapter Eight
Luke
Before Lila, this was my routine. Work throughout the week, sing a little on weekends, and get shitfaced on weeknights with Evan, hoping to get some action. In short, I was a wreck of a man. I was an asshole in many ways. I didn’t know what it meant to actually feel something, to look ahead.
I could blame it on daddy issues. I could blame it on Mom being too busy to keep an eye on me. In truth, though, I think I was born to just be a little free-spirited and a lot anti-authority. In school, I was the kid racking up the detentions and skipping class when I got a clear break to the door. I was the kid who was never going to college—even if I had the grades, we didn’t have the money. The only thing that made me slow down even a little was music. Put that guitar in my self-taught hands, and I was different. I was calmer and more focused. I was a person with feelings instead of just a smoking, curly-haired bastard.
After high school, the roofing job helped give me a steady income. I didn’t use it to get myself on track or to plan ahead. I used it to party a little more, to have a lot more fun. Looking back, I was just meandering through life.
And then she came along. Within a few weeks, I realized life wasn’t about drinking and smoking and just existing.
Life was about her. It was all about her.
Everything changed. I know that sounds cheesy and overdramatic, but it isn’t. Lila helped me become the man I couldn’t. She saw something in me I didn’t even see in myself.
But now she’s gone, and here I am in old habits. Sitting on the edge of my bed, a hangover from hell, I realize I’m getting too old for this shit. I’m not as young as I’d like to think. I’m not as used to this as I’d like to believe. Last night was fun when it was happening, but the aftereffects aren’t so much.
And once you get a glimpse of what a normal life with meaning and love can look like, I suppose the wayward straggler’s life of my past isn’t as attractive.
I stumble over Floyd, who lets out a shrill cry as I step on his tail. “Sorry, buddy,” I mutter, cursing myself for keeping him. I should’ve let Lila take him. I love that cat, I do. But even he’s a painful reminder now.
In the bathroom, I glance at myself in the mirror, the stubble and bloodshot eyes making me look like a disaster. I don’t recognize the man in the mirror, the man who only a few years ago was me.
I grab for the Advil to dull the pain, shaking off the thoughts. I can’t change things now. I’ve got to stop psychoanalyzing everything.
In my boxers, I trudge to the kitchen for some coffee and some food. I’m starving. I’m exhausted. I feel like shit in every way.
In the living room, I find Evan, passed out on the couch with a girl from the bar. I think her name is Sheila. I reach for a bottle of soda from the fridge and head back to my room to rustle up some clothes. This is a scene I don’t want to be a part of.
I feed Floyd his gloppy cat food before heading out, needing to get some air, needing to walk this off and feel a little bit alive again.
I head for the park, my favorite place to think ever since I was a middle schooler. I walk past the tiny excuse for a lake, hands in my pockets, thinking about things way too much.
What am I doing?
It’s the question that never plagued me before, but now seems to be the number-one thing on my mind.
What the hell am I doing?
Staring at the lake, a bird cawing annoyingly in the tree beside me, I realize what I need to do. I need to call the only other person in the world who always tried to warn me to get my shit together, the only person in the world who 100 percent understands. I call the woman who’s been there for me even when Lila wasn’t. I call the woman who knows what a fuckup I am but loves me anyway.
Standing by the lake, hungover and lost, I call her, asking her to meet me.
I know without a doubt she’ll come. She always does.
***
“What is your sorry ass doing here?” Scarlet asks me, not pulling any punches as usual.
I turn to look at her as she meets me at the bench.
“Thanks for coming,” I say.
“Well, I figured it must be bad if you were here.”
She pats the bench, the one that has come to symbolize so much over the years.
“Yeah, things are messed up.”
“I gather that. So what do you want me to do?” she asks, smiling. That’s Scarlet for you, though. Always jumping right in.
“Tell me I’m not an absolute disaster, I guess.”
“Too late for that.”
“Okay, then,” I say, smiling in spite of the situation.
“Luke, listen. I know you’re beating yourself up over this and you’re trying to psychoanalyze the shit out of it. Lila knew what she was getting into with you. And I don’t always agree with your way of thinking, but I also can’t judge. I wasn’t hit by what Dad did like you were. I wasn’t you. I didn’t have the same experience. So I can’t understand completely how you feel. I get it, to an extent. I understand how he left a mark on you, and I get how that carried over into your relationship with Lila. But you’ve got to stop trying to mold yourself into what you think you should be. You did your best with Lila, and it wasn’t enough. Do I think you could’ve been good together? You bet. But it isn’t about me or anyone else. It’s about you and what you want. I know you love her. If you think that love is enough to change, then do it. If you think that maybe you aren’t willing to bend on certain issues, then move on. You’ve got to man up, though, and own it. It’s your life. You’ve got to start living it.”
I sigh, staring at my feet kicking up the dirt. “Why do you always make so much sense?”
“Because I’m brilliant. Now come on. You owe me ice cream for dragging my ass the whole way out here.”
I roll my eyes but haul myself off the bench. Scarlet puts a hand on my arm as we stroll down to the sad excuse for an ice cream cart at the edge of the park. We spend the next half hour eating huge sundaes and talking about Scarlet’s work, about Mom’s boyfriend, and about everything except Lila.
When Scarlet decides she needs to get going, I give her a hug. “Thanks for always being there for me,” I say.
“Chin up, big brother. You’ve got this.”
Not believing her, I give her the fake Luke smile as she walks to her car. I head back to the bench, deciding to sit for a while and think about where it all went so wrong so many years ago.
***
“He’s gone. He’s fucking gone,” Mom shrieked as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes.
It was Thanksgiving morning, and I had expected to get my twelve-year-old body out of bed and smell Mom’s turkey and stuffing in the oven. Dad would be sitting quietly in front of the television, probably nursing a beer since he was off from the factory. Scarlet and I would go and play in the crisp autumn leaves out front until Mom would make us come in for dinner. It would be a perfectly ordinary day.
But it wasn’t. Because when I woke to Mom’s stupefied look, I was just confused.
“Where did he go?” I asked stupidly, expecting Mom to say he went out to the grocery store or got called into work.
“Don’t you understand, Luke? He’s gone forever. Gone for good. We weren’t enough anymore.”
I stared, my prepubescent brain not quite understanding it.
Dad had certainly been a little different these past few months. He was always the silent, serious type. I couldn’t remember receiving a hug or a kiss or an I love you from the man. Still, he was here. He was always here. The last few months, though, he’d been quieter than usual, more distant. He’d been working a lot of overtime lately, gone from our family dinners. My sister, only eight, didn’t understand why Daddy wasn’t there to say good night to her anymore.
But now he was gone? Gone where? How could he be gone? Where did he go? Why would he want to leave?
Mom sat on my bed, sobbing, as I stared, having no idea what to do.
“Maybe he’ll be back,” I offered weakly.
“He’s not coming back, you idiot,” Mom shrieked wildly. “He left a goddamn note. I knew he was running around with that slut Monica.”
I squinted at Mom now. How could she talk about Monica that way? She was Mom’s best friend. What the hell was happening? I was certain I was just dreaming. I actually scratched my arm, hoping to wake myself up. I didn’t.
“What’s wrong, Luke?” a sleepy voice asked as Scarlet wandered into my room in her pink pajamas. Staring at Mom in confusion and horror, she turned to me. “Is Mommy hurt?”
“No, she’s fine. Come on. Let’s go get breakfast,” I said, ushering Scarlet out to the kitchen, already knowing my role as protector was necessary.
I got Scarlet some cereal, still confused.
That’s when I saw it. The note, crinkled and crumpled in the corner of the counter.
Cindy,
I’m done with this shit. I can’t take it anymore. I thought I could hang in there for the kids, could keep up the façade, but I can’t. I love her too much. We’re taking off for Florida. I’ll call sometime to check on the kids.
Dan
It was like reading a note in hieroglyphics.
What the hell happened? What possibly could’ve made Dad do this to her?
Sure, my parents weren’t like some of my friends’ parents. They weren’t going away for gag-worthy romantic weekends or making out on the sofa like teenagers. But they were married. They loved each other… didn’t they?
But as the weeks went on, I didn’t know anymore. At twelve, I realized something apparently my parents hadn’t figured: love screws you over. Big-time.
***
Thanksgiving ruined love for me.
But a few months later, my dad ruined everything.
He’d called, told me all sorts of things about Mom, blaming her for the relationship falling apart. Then he’d asked me to move in with him in Florida.
I was twelve, I was stupid, and I was tired of feeling like the adult in the house—Mom was still going on regular crying stints.
At twelve, I wasn’t thinking about the right thing to do. I was thinking I needed my dad, asshole or not. So I moved out, abandoned Mom and Scarlet, and moved in with Dad and Monica.
It would be only one month until I figured out what a joke my dad was. I would end up right here on this bench, waiting for Mom to come pick me up after the bus dropped me off. I wouldn’t look back at Florida or at Dad and, when I did, it was with guilt.
I vowed a few things that day while sitting on this same bench.
One, I would never abandon Scarlet and Mom like that again. I would man up. I would be the man Dad couldn’t.
Two, I would never let marriage screw me over like it did Mom. I would never be blindsided.
And three, most importantly, I would never put myself in the position to do what Dad did. I would never vow to love someone for a lifetime only to pull the rug out from under them. Marriage, in my opinion, was a joke. It was just a tool to hurt each other. It couldn’t possibly be forever.
So, sitting here, I realize that even though I miss the hell out of Lila, I can’t possibly change enough to make her happy—my dad ruined any prospect of that. In truth, though, maybe my dad being an asshole did me a favor, because he taught me early on that you truly can’t rely on romance, love, marriage, or anything of the sort.
Because even though he gave it all up for Monica, she would leave him a year later for a newer model… and he would die from a heart attack, alone, all alone, never even bothering to look back at the family he left behind wondering why.