Drastic Times Call for Drastic Measures
JAKE ~ SIXTEEN YEARS EARLIER
IT WAS TUESDAY.
I hated Tuesdays.
Hated them ever since my father moved out three years ago and used his day off as his visitation day.
Rory was too young to know the difference. She thought it was fun when Dad came over and took us to school and then picked us up and brought us out to dinner.
I hated it.
Hated him.
For leaving us.
For leaving us with her.
Monica Alexander Kissinger.
Our mother, and completely incompetent.
My father worked at New York Presbyterian Hospital in the city and recently moved from Connecticut to the city to be closer to work. He also refused to let us come live with him. Well, he hadn’t exactly refused. He was working on that, but the laws regarding custody weren’t that easy, or so he’d said.
And then there was the fact that Monica was a well-known socialite with connections and was fighting him tooth and nail.
Whatever.
All I knew was that Monica was passed out in her bedroom, and I was the one getting Rory ready for school.
So he could fuck himself!
Pissed off that Monica wouldn’t even get out of bed and I had to deal with all the shit that was his responsibility, I texted him a message and told him not to come. That Monica had insisted on taking us early to meet the teachers since school had just started back up and didn’t want to have to see him.
That was a big, fat lie. Not the not wanting to see him part. Monica loathed him. But the part about school. I didn’t even think she’d ever set foot in either of our schools or knew what grade we were in, or even where our schools were for that matter.
I looked around at the mess in the kitchen and heard the stumbling on the stairs. Monica had come down looking peaked and a mess. She rushed to the sink where she vomited. Looking over at me, she said something I couldn’t understand.
I didn’t care enough to ask her to repeat it. “I can get us both to school,” I barked, and walked away, assuming she was apologizing again for her bad behavior.
The thing was I’d been covering up for Monica my whole life, and I was tired of it. I’d been filling in, doing what she was supposed to do, and keeping it to myself. Which was why I was in the place I was.
I got Rory on the bus, and then walked to school. I was early and hit the basketball court for a not so friendly game of pick up.
When the bell rang, we all hustled inside.
I glared at the teacher when she returned my paper with an F. “See me after school, Jake. I want to discuss this with you.”
I flung the paper onto the floor. “Don’t bother. I really don’t give a shit.”
She stood with her mouth opened and pointed to the door. “Principal’s office, now!”
Whatever.
I took my time walking to the office and realized what a dumbass thing that was to do. She would just call my mother, who wouldn’t answer, and then she’d call my father, who would. He’d be pissed off, disappointed in me, and give me the lecture about how if I wanted to be a doctor like him, I had to do better in school.
I
Did.
Not.
Want.
To.
Be.
Like.
Him.
“Wait outside,” I was told when I arrived.
I sat on the bench with my head down and pondered what to say.
I could come clean and tell her I was drowning.
That I couldn’t take care of my sister and my mother and do my homework and come to school and lie to my father and get good grades.
It was all too much.
That my mother had now started bringing strangers home at all hours of the night and waking me up with the noises she made while banging them.
That in order to make sure Rory didn’t wake up and hear her, I’d carry my sister out to the car until the dude or dudes would leave.
The door opened, and when I looked up, I saw the horror on Principal Mears face. “Jake, go back to class.”
I blinked. “But I was sent down here.”
“I know.” She was crying. “Please go back to class.”
Okay, I thought. That was easy, but why was she crying?
I didn’t have to wonder for long.
Her voice came over the PA. “Students, there has been a great tragedy. A plane has flown into the World Trade Center. The reason is unclear, but we are canceling school for the day.”
Unclear?
What did that mean?
Canceling school had to mean it meant something bad.
My blood went cold.
I had to get to Rory.
I ran as fast as I could out of the main doors and all the way to Rory’s school. Mass chaos was taking place there as the news had broken. I didn’t care about protocol or signing her out or that I was authorized or not.
I went to her class and called her into the hallway through the glass. She came out, and I told her we had to leave. She cried that her favorite pink bracelet was in her desk.
“Leave it,” I told her.
“I can’t. Daddy gave it to me and told me when I wear it to think of him.”
“Why did you take it off?” I gritted through my teeth.
“It’s too big. It keeps falling off.”
I waited for her to go get it, and then I took her by the hand and brought her home.
As soon as I got there, I turned the television on. A plane had flown into one of the towers, and they no longer thought it was an accident.
It was an attack.
We were under attack.
I tried to call my father.
He didn’t answer. He always answered when I called. I left him a message. “Dad, call me please, we need you.”
Monica stumbled down the stairs with a bottle of vodka in one hand and a cigarette in the other. “Aren’t you two supposed to be in school?”
“Mommy,” Rory ran to her. “Look at the television. New York City is under attack.”
She puffed on her cigarette and blew it out. “Oh, good, maybe it will wipe out the whole city and your father, too.”
Rory clung to the silk of Monica’s robe. “Don’t say that, Mommy. It isn’t nice.”
My mother pulled her back and slapped her across the face. “Don’t ever tell me what to do and not to do.”
The hatred I felt for Monica at the moment was unlike anything I’d felt in my life. “Rory, come over here.”
“You’re just like him,” Monica muttered. “Always the do-gooder.”
“I’d rather be like him than you,” I answered.
“Oh yeah, what do you think I am?”
“A drunk.”
Just then news of a second plane flashed across the screen. I held Rory tight and prayed for the first time in a long time that my father was on his way here.
But as the hours passed, I heard nothing from him. I kept trying to reach him. I didn’t understand why he wasn’t answering his phone. It was around nine at night when the phone rang.
“Hello?”
The voice was rough. “Can I talk to Mrs. Kissinger?”
“This is her son, she’s out, can I help you?”
“Yes, Jake, this is Dr. Peter Wright.”
“Dr. Wright, have you heard from my father?” He was my father’s friend and colleague.
“Listen, son, I really need to talk to your mother.”
I looked around the room, and then down at Rory who was asleep next to me. “She isn’t here. Is this about my father? I can’t reach him, and it’s not like him not to call.”
He ignored me. “Can you ask her to call me?”
“She won’t call you, Dr. Wright, come on, you have to know that. Please just tell me where my father is.”
A pained sound emanated from deep in his throat. “Son, your father went to the World Trade Center today to help with the victims, and—”
My world turned black.
I tuned the rest out.
He was dead.
Later that night, when I was beside Rory in her bed, I heard Monica come in the door, and even on a day like this she wasn’t alone. The music turned on and I smelled smoke and heard her drunken voice.
I didn’t have the energy to carry Rory out to the car tonight.
Anger burned through me, and I stormed downstairs. I found my mother and some young guy dancing around the living room. I went over to the stereo and turned it off.
My mother’s head jerked in my direction. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Rory’s sleeping. Do you think you could keep it the fuck down for once?”
Monica was scratching her thin arms, and her pupils looked smaller than I’d ever seen them. I had no idea how drunk or high she was, just that she was out of control. She practically leaped toward me and slapped me so hard, blood leaked from my mouth. “Don’t you ever talk to me like that!”
With a shake of my head, I turned my back on her and walked away. I was so done with her.
Upstairs, I heard Rory sniffling. I rushed toward her, and when I did, she sat up and looked at me. “Jake,” she cried.
“I’m here,” I said.
She took her little fingers and wiped the blood from my lip. Then she lifted her wrist and looked at the sparkly pink bracelet she was still wearing that was way too big for her before slipping it off. “I want you to have this.”
“It’s yours,” I whispered.
“But you need it right now.”
I took it from her. “I’ll keep it safe for you. Now, go back to sleep.”
“I can’t. I’m worried about Daddy. What if he never comes to get us? Who will take care of me?”
“I will,” I told her.
“But you’re not a grown up.”
She was right.
I might have felt like one, but I wasn’t.
That’s when I grabbed my phone. Rory couldn’t grow up like this.
“Hello?”
“Mimi, it’s Jake. You have to come and get us.”
And she did.