Chapter 1

A Rather Good Day

It is autumn and I'm standing at a window in my bedroom looking at the long pasture in front of our house. The sun is rising slowly. The light of the day is getting stronger and brighter. Leaves that have served their purpose during the summer months are now hanging like old, wrinkled ornaments on trees. As I look outside, I soon realize that leaves don't get to determine their final resting place in this world. It's the wind that makes this decision. The wind will sweep dead leaves from tree limbs or gutters and make them move across roads or dance in the air. The wind will then choose where the leaves should be to start the process of turning into soil. The land seems like the wind's canvas and the leaves are its paints.

The year is 1970, and I am an eleven-year-old boy looking forward to the day. My friend John calls my house the night before. He tells me he'd like me to come to his house and play with the new cars and plastic race tracks he has gotten for his birthday. We set a time and I tell him I will be there. During our phone call, John asks if it is okay with my parents. I tell him they said it would be fine.

I didn't dare mention the reality of what is happening. After John hangs up, I go into the kitchen. My mother is there in one of her phases of drinking. She always sits in a chair at the kitchen table with her beer in a small glass and a can of beer next to it. The ashtray on the kitchen table is usually full. Holding her cigarette in one hand, she has her other hand cradled around her glass of beer. I ask if I can go to my friend John's house the next day. She is annoyed with my question and seems to ignore me. After she looks away, I ask a second time. I hear the sigh and the look of anger on her face as she carefully places the ashes from her current cigarette into the ashtray with all the other used ones.

“Whatever. You're just like your father. You're going to do what you want no matter how it affects anyone.”

My half-sister is at the table and motions for me to leave. I take my mother's response as telling me it is okay. My half-sister is five years older than me and knows how to handle my mother's drunken episodes. She's been doing it much longer than me.

********

I get dressed and make myself some toast for breakfast and have a big glass of milk. I go outside and get my orange bike. This is an object of my pride. I love my bike. It is known as a banana bike with its high handlebars and long seat. I ride it daily until the weather stops me.

Using my bike to get to John's house will take me some time. I estimate over an hour or more of riding. I know shortcuts through the woods and I take them all. I then ride on the road for a long time. I can see my breath and the frost on the grass as I ride. The day's temperature is slowly getting warmer. It's early enough in the day that there are very few cars on these rural roads. I'm to be there at 11 a.m., and I should be on time.

I eventually see John's house and I'm tired. He has a steep driveway. It's too much to ride up with a single-gear bike. I walk my bike up the hill. When I get there, it is only a few minutes after 11 a.m. I started at 9:30 and actually enjoyed the ride.

I ring the doorbell and when the door opens, it's John's mother. She has a bright smile.

She says, “You must be Mark. Please come in. Did your parents have any problem finding our house?”

It is happening again. Another situation where I have to hide the truth. I'm holding a bike, but John's mother assumes my parents drove me here. I know if I say my parents were up late last night drinking and are sleeping late today, it would not be received well. I can't tell them my father is going somewhere to be with his buddies today and my mother doesn't get up until around noon after a night like last night. I'd get that shocked and surprised look. I'd then be labeled as someone who is to be avoided. So, I make up a quick lie.

“Well, my dad had to go visit a friend near here. I just rode up from there.”

When she asks where, I tell her another lie. I mention a house where my half-sister's friend lives. John's mother smiles, but I know my story doesn't make any sense to her. I don't care. I'm going to have fun.

I'm instructed to go to the finished basement of their home. It is a fun place filled with toys and games. Plastic tracks are set up and John has his many cars carefully placed beside the plastic tracks. We are having a great time. I hear someone coming down the steps, and it's John's mother. She has brought us a snack of potato chips and Kool-Aid. I am having the best possible time.

I use their downstairs bathroom. When I'm done, I open the bathroom door and see something that always amazes me. John's mother leans down and gently nuzzles her head against his and hugs him. She then tells John she loves him. John smiles and tells his mom he loves her too.

I've seen things like this before. I can't imagine something like this happening to me. I've always been very scared of my mother. When she drinks, she is unpredictable with her anger. When she's sober, I'm not to bother her. For a few seconds, I let my mind think about what John must be feeling. The happiness of not being afraid of your mother. I think it must be pleasant. I feel bad for myself, but I smile. I'm having a good time.

John's mother invites me to stay for lunch, and I eagerly agree. They have chicken noodle soup with sandwiches. John's mother made the bread earlier that morning. Everything is delicious. After lunch, John and I go outside and toss around a football. It is such a nice day. I look to the side and see John's father come up to me.

“Glad to have you here, Mark. We have to do some shopping today. Can I call your parents to come and get you?”

There it is again. That nervous feeling inside my stomach. I can't tell them the truth. We've had such a nice time. I have no idea where my father is and my mother doesn't drive. They'll think bad things of me if I tell them I'm going to ride my bike all the way home.

“I'll probably just ride to the closed golf course. I have a cousin who lives near there.”

I know John's father doesn't believe me. His wife comes out, and they turn away and have a conversation. When they turn back, they are both smiling.

“Hey, how about I load your bike into our station wagon and drive you home? Would that be okay?”

I try to tell them I can ride my bike to my fictitious cousin's home, but they eventually get me to agree to have me and my bike driven home.

When we get to my house, I thank them. John's father gets my bike from the back of his station wagon. He asks if I'm sure someone is home. I tell him my mother is home. I thank them again and walk as fast as I can with my bike to the back porch and carefully put it in its spot. I don't move until I see their car going down the road. I know John's father likes me. He probably wants to meet my parents and get to know them. How do I tell John's father I can't risk him meeting my mother? I don't know if she has been drinking and what phase of drunkenness she is in right now. She may say crazy and embarrassing things. It's better to just wait until they're gone.

As I sit on the back porch, I realize John's parents know things about me without me saying a word. I can sense they have the impression that something is not right with my family. They're new here. They'll eventually hear the stories about my mother and father. The stories about the police being called to our house. My mother drinking too much and being kicked out of bars for fighting. Then they'll avoid me. Everybody eventually does. I'm still happy thinking that at least I had a great day today.

I make it inside and suddenly realize my day is now going to become bad. My mother is sitting at the kitchen table with a can of beer in front of her and holding the glass full of foamy yellow brew with both of her hands. The house has been completely cleaned. My mother seems to believe that everything is okay if you have a clean house. I ask where my father is, and she gives the standard response of not knowing and not caring. I then ask where my half-sister is. My mother informs me she went with some girlfriends to do some shopping. This is bad. It means I must sit at the kitchen table with my mother as she drinks. I've tried to avoid this in the past. If I try to leave and watch television, she'll turn it off and lecture me about being a thankless son. I'll hear how I'm like my father and have no respect for women. If I go anywhere in the house, she'll follow me. If I try to leave, she'll start calling people. Then other kids and parents will come looking for me. It is something that's happened before. I resign myself to the fact that I must sit there and listen to drunken ranting.

When my mother is drinking, she regularly tells me how much she hates my father and dislikes me. I am going to have to listen to how she regrets having me, and I'm the only reason she puts up with my father. Without me, she would be free. I'll also hear that a child as awful as I am should be thankful to have a mother willing to sacrifice herself by putting up with my father. I'm just thankless like my father.

This is easy to hear compared to her advanced stages of drunkenness. That is when she can get angry and, for no reason, will throw things. The night before I had to clean up a wine bottle she had thrown after my father poured the remaining amount of wine down the kitchen sink. The bottle shattered and it took me a while to get all the pieces of glass cleaned up.

I have been listening to my mother's drunken rants for about three hours when my half-sister arrives home. She asks to see me in another room. Like one night watchman talking to the other, I inform her of how much beer our mother has had so far today. I tell her about our mother's mood and what she has been talking about. My half-sister informs me that my father is at his veterans club and drinking with his buddies.

It isn't going to be an easy night. When those two are both drinking, it can become something terrible. Our house has been trashed more than once and the police have been called to break up their fights. It is going to be a stressful evening.

My half-sister takes over my spot sitting at the kitchen table with my mother. I'm now free to leave. Her goal will be to try to talk my mother into getting something to eat and then get her to bed before my father arrives home. If this can happen, chaos can be avoided. My half-sister knows how to make this happen much better than I do.

********

It's dark outside, but I open up the front door and leave. I go to a stone building not far from our house. It was built when the property around the house was a farm. I use the light from the moon to find my way there and get my canvas bag. I open it up and pull out a flashlight. I use this to make my way into the nearby woods.

It's getting cold. The leaves crunch as I carefully move around trees. I hear an owl making his hooting sound as I enter the woods. It's as if the owl is announcing my arrival. I find my usual spot among the trees and get set up. I put a wool blanket down on the ground to lay on and have a down-filled blanket to place around me. I pull books out of my canvas bag. They are about baseball, and I also have magazines about baseball. There are some cans of food. Tonight's dinner will be a can of corn and a can of baked beans. I also have a tin canteen filled with water. My pocketknife has a can opener in it, and I quickly put it to good use. I use the spoon that is also part of the pocketknife. When I'm finished, I put the empty cans next to a tree stump about eight feet away. I eventually hear a rustle of leaves and know he's arrived. It's an opossum. I've named him Larry. He goes and licks out what is left in the cans. We started this ritual of the empty cans next to the tree stump a few months ago. I shine the flashlight on him, and he doesn't run. If he could talk, I believe Larry the opossum would tell me to stop shining the light on him as he's eating.

I turn off the flashlight and look at my house. My parents have never slept in the same bedroom since I've been alive. There is a light on in my father's bedroom. He's home and the rest of the house is quiet. My half-sister must have gotten my mother to eat and go to bed before he got home. She is amazing in that way.

I love the peace and quiet of the woods. I enjoy the freedom of being able to do what I want without the need for approval. I don't feel forced to lie or worry about the judgments of others. I'm free of my mother's drunken rants and my parents’ fighting. The night air is cool and crisp. I'm warm and happy among my blankets and baseball literature.

Since it appears the police won't have to be called and the house isn't going to be trashed, it is finally time to relax. I fall asleep. I wake up when I hear some deer snorting at me. According to my watch, it is 2 a.m. I decide to place my things back into the canvas bag and put it back in the stone house. I gather the cans that the opossum Larry had cleaned out and toss them in the outside trash can when I get to the house.

I check the front door and it's locked. I check the back door and it's locked. I go to the basement door and it's open. I always make sure it is unlocked before I leave to go to the woods.

I'm very quiet as I go through the house to my bedroom. I get my clothes off and climb into bed. I know what's going to happen with John. He'll be told about me and my family by the other kids in school. I'll never be invited to his house again. He'll start to ignore me and then will treat me as if I don't exist like the other kids. It's happened before. When I think about it, for me, it doesn't matter. I've still had a rather good day.