The Boots My Mother Gave Me (28 page)

As she walked in the front door, he sat in his chair, a king on his throne, with a beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other, just like the good old days. Mom sat on the couch, quietly removing her shoes.

“Where’ve you been?” he asked accusingly.

“At work, where else would I be?”

“Who do you think you are, talking to me like that? I ought to come over there and knock your goddamn head right off your shoulders.” He stood, his posture meant to intimidate.

Mom rubbed her hands together, contemplating keeping her mouth shut as usual, but something clicked inside. She didn’t know how or why, but she was done, refusing to go back to that lifestyle. “Go right ahead. But if you’re coming, you better make it good, because I’m going to find the first thing I can get my hands on, and I’m coming back swinging.”

His response, predictable at best, “You’re not worth it. I’m going to bed.”

Mom packed a suitcase the next day before she left for work and never returned. She got a room at the motel about thirty minutes away, but he found her, making all kinds of threats like he used to. “I’ll kill you, and bury your body with the pigs so there will be nothing left to identify you. You’ll never be happy without me. I’ll be over your shoulder, every time you turn around. I know people. I have ways of making things happen. Accidents happen to good people all the time,” he warned.

She had no idea what my father was truly capable of, none of us did. Her only option, as she saw it, was to leave town. I didn’t know how long it would take to clear things up at home, but I knew she needed me, and I didn’t want to disappoint, always her
go-to.
What would happen if she didn’t have anyone to go to? Would she go back to my father? Mom fought for her life, which made my quest for an indie record deal seem a bit trivial.

I confided in Adam as he had me about his mother. Understandably they had to find another songwriter / vocalist for the band, as they couldn’t stand by on hold, waiting for my return.
If it’s meant to be, it will be,
I consoled, as I left for Georgia.

“Next time, I’m not answering the phone,” I spoke aloud, tapping Charlene’s dash, referring to the bi-annual crisis phone calls I had grown accustomed to receiving from Kat, asking me to return home. I felt like the clean-up crew at the Derby.

F
riday, May 5, 2006, I made it to Gram’s house, Kat’s now. Late in the evening, I had picked up Mom from work at the restaurant, in full planning mode. Where could we send or take her, and what would she do there?

“Is there someplace you want to go?” I asked.

“Anywhere but here,” Mom said.

“You sound like me.” I giggled. How quickly the tide does turn. Mom coaxed me to settle, to play it safe, and now she was on the run. I loved it! “What about out west? You talked about how you’d like to go there on vacation.”

“Probably because I romanticized it in my mind, based on all those western romance novels I used to read.” She grinned. “But that might be okay. I just have to get out of here.”

“Well let’s check it out.” I sat down at Kat’s computer, searching the Internet. “How about a dude ranch or something. Some kind of resort, ranch type place?” I suggested, waiting for the page to load.

“And what would I do there?”

“Surely they feed people,” I said. “You could wait tables. You’ve done it here for years. I bet they don’t serve food out west any different than they do around here.”

“Well, I guess I could do that,” Mom agreed. Kat remained quiet. I could tell she did not want Mom to leave. She wanted her to leave because it was best for Mom, but it wouldn’t be best for her, or Megan. She said nothing though. She would sacrifice her own wants and needs to see that Mom was okay, as she had always done.

“Here we go. Don’s Dude Ranch and Wildlife Resort in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. They need waiters, housekeepers, tour guides and wranglers as soon as possible. Says they’re training people now. Do you have a resume, Ma?”

She chuckled. “Harley, I haven’t had a resume in, well, ever.”

“It’s time you had one, then. What’s your job title?” I busied myself creating a resume for her.

“Chief cook and bottle washer, maid, folder of the drawers.” Kat and I giggled. “Hired-hand, servant, blind-eye, doormat.” We immediately quit laughing, as her tone changed. It wasn’t funny anymore. She reflected on her life, seeing it for what it was. Imagine her disappointment. Thirty-two years tied up in one man, one selfish, chauvinistic, abusive man.

Kat put her hand over Mom’s. “It’s going to be okay, Ma. Harley’s going to get you out of here. He can’t touch you...like a bird.” She stood, moving to the stove to make some hot tea.

“Oh, my gosh! I think I know this guy.” I looked closer at the screen, a picture of the personnel at Don’s Dude Ranch and Wildlife Resort. “That’s Casey Timmons! He’s the head wrangler. Mom, you are so in. We’re sending your resume tonight, and we’re calling Casey tomorrow for backup. You’ll be in Wyoming sooner than you think.” I looked at her there at the table, nervous and unsure. “I’m so proud of you. It takes a lot of guts, Ma, what you’re doing.”

“I don’t feel very brave. I don’t have any other option,” she said, wringing her hands.

“It’s hard enough for people to make a change in their life when they have all the opportunity in the world, when they’re just starting out. But to change after thirty-two years, that’s monumental,” Kat encouraged, setting the teakettle to boil on the stove. She jumped as the phone rang beside her. Viewing the caller identification, her facial expression darkened. “It’s Dad.”

“Just let it ring,” Mom dismissed. Getting up from the table, she walked into the living room, pacing.

I moved from the computer to the phone. “Hello.”

“Harley?” Dad’s voice questioned from the other end. “You’re home?”

“Yeah, I just got here today. Thought maybe I’d come by and see you tomorrow.” I thought it possible he would lean on me, confide in me, as he and I actually established some semblance of a relationship over the past five years. I don’t know what the hell gave me that idea.

“Is your mother there?” He completely ignored my sentiment. I was a means to an end.

Mom paced the living room floor, waving her hands to me, shaking her head desperately, mouthing, “I’m not here.”

I didn’t want to lie to him. It’s unnatural to lie to your parent, even if they’re not really a parent at all. “No, she’s not here.” My loyalty resided with my mother, as it always had.

“Don’t lie to me, Harley. I know she’s there. Give your mother the goddamn phone,” his voice on the rise.

“I can’t do that, Dad. Just leave her alone. She’s not coming home. She needs to do this for herself. Maybe you should, too, work on yourself.”

“The only thing you better work on is getting the phone to your mother. You never were worth a shit, my goddamn Achilles heel. Always trying to come between your mother and me. I bet you’re happy now. You finally did it. Your Mom left me.”

My own temper kicking in, I replied sarcastically, “And let me guess, you had nothing to do with it?”

“Your mother did this to me. She left me. Now give her the goddamn phone, or else I’m coming over there, and none of you will like it,” he threatened.

“You come right on over,” I dared.

He laughed, the same demented laugh he resorted to for years. “You’d like that, wouldn’t ya? I forgot you like to call cops. This is none of their damn business, Harley. This is between a man and his wife. It’s nobody’s goddamn business but mine, and your mother’s. You got a big mouth, little girl.”

“When a man abuses his wife, it is the cops’ business. It can be everybody’s business as far as I’m concerned. I’ll tell the whole freaking world, if that’s what it takes. You come over here, and you will see the cops.”

“This isn’t over, Harley. She’ll come back. She always does,” he taunted, before hanging up on me.

That evening, Kat, Mom, Megan, and I slept in the same bed, unsure of what Dad might do, especially in the dark of night. Megan slept soundly, completely naive about what went on around her, thankfully. The rest of us laid there, our arms wrapped one around another, wideawake most of the time, thinking, planning, and preparing. When we did fall asleep intermittently, the slightest noise woke us, our senses alert. We had to get Mom out of there.

Two days later, I dropped her at the airport. She headed to Don’s Dude Ranch and Wildlife Resort in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. As I watched her nervously board the plane, looking back to me, her eyes heavy with tears, I felt like a mom sending my daughter off to college for the first time, excited, scared, and relieved for her, all in the same moment. Finally, she would live her life. My memory returned to my childhood and a conversation my mother and I had.

Mom busied herself doing laundry in the washroom, where she wanted me to dust the floorboards and sweep the linoleum. All of five years old at the time, I would much rather have played football with Jeremiah. Instead, I was cooped up in the house, helping Mom clean. Yuck.

“Why do kids have to listen to their mothers?” I asked, looking up at Mom.

“Because that’s the way it’s always been,” she answered shortly, folding the clothes from the dryer.

“Who started it? And who said it always had to be that way? Things change, you know,” I deduced.

“You’re just supposed to respect your elders. I don’t know who started it, but that’s the way it is, and that’s the way it’s going to be in this house. Now get your broom out. If you worked as diligently at chores as you work at getting out of them, you’d be done by now.” Mom smiled at me, shaking her head. “I never saw a kid ask so many questions.”

I started sweeping the floor as instructed. “It’s kind of like when you say, ‘because I said so.’ Who started that? Who said that first? Someone had to say that, and now everybody else says it, too.”

“Mothers started that, Harley. My mother said it to me. I’m sure her mother said it to her. Now, I say it to you. And you’ll say it to your children someday, too.” She put another load of laundry in the washer.

“My children?” I quizzed, unable to fathom such an idea. “Will you be my child someday, Mom? Is that how it works? I’m your kid now, and you boss me around. Then, when I grow up you become the child, and I get to tell you what to do?” My mind swirled with the possibilities. “That would be so cool!” I jumped as high as the top of the broom handle.

“Now be careful. You’re going to end up stepping in that dirt you just swept up,” she warned. “That would be so cool, huh?”

“I can’t wait until that happens. When I’m the momma and I get to tell you,
because I said so.
I think I’m going to say that a lot.” I giggled.

“Don’t hold your breath,” Mom said, looking at me adoringly, while she chuckled at my skewed conclusions.

And now, here I was, feeling like the
momma,
and I certainly didn’t want to boss her around or tell her what to do. I wanted to do it for her. I wanted her to be okay. Would she make it to her connecting flight at the next airport? Would she find her way to the resort? Would the people there treat her kindly? Would she enjoy it? Would she get homesick?

I didn’t want my mom to have to go through all of that. I knew she would ultimately survive. She would find her strength, her own way. I just didn’t want her to have to experience all the ups and downs that go along with that process. She was my mom; I wanted to hold her hand and walk her through every step of the way. But if ever there was a time she needed everyone to let go and let her fly, that moment was now.

I waited there in the terminal, the last to leave, watching her plane take off, vanish into the clouds, as she had done so often with me on my visits home.
Life’s a trip,
I thought, the turnabout of it all. I never understood why Mom always had tears in her eyes every time I left. After all, I would return, sometime. She never got used to it. As I stood there watching her float off into the sky, spreading her wings, tears on hold in my own eyes, I finally understood.

T
he next day found me at Benny’s, turning wrenches, again. Unsure of how long I would stay in town, I needed an income, and Benny needed a vacation. I never imagined myself back in Georgia, Pennsylvania, at Benny’s Automotive, certainly not part of my plan.