Читать книгу The Blurry Years - Eleanor Kriseman - Страница 12

05

The gas station bathrooms were always open, but if it wasn’t the middle of the night and we had a choice, I liked Dunkin’ Donuts better. The bathrooms there were cleaner and, if I crossed my legs and sort of hopped around, the people behind the counter would usually let me use it even if we didn’t buy anything. If we stopped for the night, we looked for a 7-Eleven, or someplace else that was always open, because it was safer to park there. My mom would only sleep at night if she thought it was safe. Sometimes we drove all night and parked during the day. She’d sleep then, but I never could, even with a blanket over my face to block out the light.

If my mom was in a good mood when we passed a Welcome sign, she’d pull over so I could stand beneath it. The signs were always much bigger than I expected them to be when I got up close. Welcome to Ocala. Welcome to Gainesville. Welcome—’We’re Glad Georgia’s On Your Mind, with a giant peach in the corner. That was the first state line. Back in Florida, she pulled over at the sign for the Suwannee River so I could look over the railing at the water. It made me dizzy; the river was a long way down.

We were headed to Oregon to stay with my grandma June for a little while. That was all I knew.

I kept asking questions at first. “Why do we have to pack so quickly?” “Why aren’t we saying goodbye to anyone?” “What about school?” I stopped asking when she wouldn’t answer. We were both quiet for a long time.

The only time I complained was on that stretch of highway after Nashville when we’d just passed the rest stop and the AC had switched off again and wouldn’t turn back on even when I hit the dashboard and I kept asking her to turn around so I could use the bathroom but she wouldn’t turn around and instead she pulled over and made me pee in the sawgrass on the side of I-24. When I got back in the car, still damp between my legs because we didn’t have any toilet paper, I said, “I wish we’d never left home.”

“Me too,” she said, and turned up the radio.

It was weird how looking out the window of a moving car made me forget about a lot of things. I barely thought about my friends. I’d had plans to walk to Falk’s with Shauna later that week to buy a new pair of sandals. I barely thought about starting seventh grade, even though that was all that me and Shauna could talk about before we left. Every time something like that popped into my head all I had to do was stare out the window for a little bit and it would just float out again. The only thoughts that stuck were the ones of home. My mom and Daryl at the kitchen counter, a bottle of anything between them, hysterical with laughter over something I pretended to understand. The frayed, pilling fabric of the couch that I picked at absentmindedly while watching television. The ceilings that looked like popcorn somebody had painted over. No matter how fast everything was going by outside the window, those thoughts didn’t go away.

She’d switched on my light, grabbed my suitcase from under the bed, and started pulling clothes from my dresser before I’d even sat up. “What’s going on?” I asked, narrowing my eyes against the sudden brightness. She was drunk. Ever since the Fourth of July when she’d drifted off at the wheel, she hadn’t been drinking, at least not around me. But that night she was drunk.

“Take your favorite things,” she said, tugging hard on the bottom drawer of the dresser, the one that always stuck. “We’ll come back for the rest later. Just take what you want. Quick.” The drawer came unstuck, sending her stumbling backward. I was half-asleep and obedient, and filled the suitcase easily. Tank tops. My white denim shorts. A soft, old shirt of Daryl’s that my mom used to sleep in. Underwear. Flip-flops. My copy of Bridge to Terabithia, page folded down to mark my place, which was chapters ahead of where I was supposed to be for summer reading. It was funny, the things I chose to bring, the things I forgot. I brought my toothbrush, as if that were something expensive and irreplaceable. I forgot my friendship necklace—the golden ‘BEST’ to Shauna’s ‘FRIENDS,’ with the chain that turned my neck green if I wore it for too long.

My mom stabbed at the ignition with the key until she finally managed to get it in. I almost asked her if she needed help but she drove carefully and we didn’t go far, just to the IHOP near the interstate. I ate French toast like a robot while she drank a whole pot of coffee and ordered a refill. We stayed until the waitress started wiping the table to move us along, and by then my mom had pretty much sobered up because she didn’t ask me to do the tip.

When we walked back out to the car, I noticed the bumper was slightly askew. The glass casing around the right headlight had been shattered.

“What happened?” I asked, pointing.

“Nothing,” she said, staring at the car, tilting her head the same way as the bumper. “Nothing happened. Try to sleep in the car. It’s late.”

Daryl wasn’t with us, which was weird. My mom was always with him. But she always spent the night at home, even if she got back really late. We had barbecues a lot at Daryl’s place. I would sit on Daryl’s bench press machine, part of the outdoor gym he’d put together by scouting out the alleys of the rich neighborhoods on trash nights. He told that story a lot. I’d lean against the metal bar that rose from the bench and fiddle with the screws that held it together while I watched the men light the grill and the women unfold card tables on the patchy grass, setting out sliced watermelon and pasta salad and pitchers of sweet tea.

Memorial Day had been the best. I’d seen my mom walk up behind Daryl while he was turning the hotdogs and put her arms around his waist and settle into his body; and instead of getting mad at her for surprising him, Daryl leaned into her and smiled. In the flickering light from the grill, they’d looked like something I wanted to take a picture of.

Fourth of July had been the worst. I’d been excited to wear my new shorts—red and white stripes on one side, blue with white stars on the other—but they were made of that spandex denim that stretched out so much I had to keep hiking up the waistband to keep them in place. Mom had on a black halter top and lipstick the exact color of pink in the Baskin-Robbins logo. I thought she looked good. So did Daryl. When we got there, he looped an arm around her waist and told her so. But Daryl must have thought Charlene, who was a hostess at the Italian place Marcus managed, looked good too, because I saw him walk up next to her, telling her how much he loved her Coca-Cola cake, his flimsy paper plate buckling under the weight of the food he’d piled on, baked beans slipping off the side and onto the dirt. I walked over to Daryl and Charlene and swiveled my foot back and forth in front of them, making an indentation in the ground. Daryl didn’t even notice as I kicked the spilled beans into the hole and covered them with the dirt.

When my mom came back outside with a new coat of lipstick and another red plastic cup full of punch, she saw Daryl leaning into Charlene’s story and she grabbed his arm and dragged him behind the neighbor’s place. Charlene shrugged her shoulders at Desiree, who was unwrapping packets of sparklers for the little kids. “I’m not gettin’ messed up in all that,” she said, hands to her chest, palms facing out.

From next door, my mom’s voice grew louder and louder until I heard the crack of an open palm on skin, then she came running for me. I’d been excited about climbing up to the roof of the trailer to watch the fireworks, but she grabbed my arm just like she’d grabbed his and speed-walked me to the car. It wasn’t even all the way dark yet. On the drive home, I flicked the lock on the passenger-side door up and down until I noticed we were drifting across the centerline.

I grabbed the wheel and jerked the car back into the lane, steering the rest of the way home while my mom worked the gas and brakes. I pinched her arm every once in a while to make sure she didn’t close her eyes again. In bed later, I realized there had been no red mark on my mom’s face, no handprint. She had slapped Daryl.

The next morning, she came into my room and crawled into bed with me just as the sky was getting light. “Do you think I’m a bad mom?” she asked. I was facing the wall; she was spooning me, still wearing last night’s outfit. Her breath was hot on my neck, and I could smell vomit under the minty scent of her mouthwash.

“No,” I said after a minute and I meant it, but I knew I should have said it quicker.

In Missouri, my mom decided we had enough money to spend the night at a motel. Just one night. I was so happy to sleep in a real bed. As soon as we got to the room I flopped onto it, the bedspread rough against my bare legs, and turned on the television. I was desperate for something familiar. My mom switched it off.

“Let’s go swimming,” she said. She tossed a pillow at my face. She got like that sometimes. “We’ve been cooped up in the car all day.” Neither of us had packed a swimsuit. Underwear showed the same amount of body, but it felt different to be in my underwear where anybody could see me. My mom was in her underwear too, but her bra was black and shiny so you couldn’t really tell.

Some nights after my mom came home from Daryl’s, she would bang into the furniture on purpose or clang the pots together in the kitchen until the noise woke me. She’d pretend it had been an accident. “Now that you’re awake, want to walk down to the pool with me?” she’d say. The pool was shaped like a giant kidney bean and sheltered by the different buildings of the apartment complex. It was crowded in the evenings, but when it was really late it would be just the two of us. I would perch on the ladder at the deep end of the bean while my mom swam in restless, sloppy circles in front of me, telling me about Daryl and Marcus and everything I’d missed out on that night.

But at the motel pool in Missouri she was sober and quiet. We were floating in the middle of the pool with our stomachs to the sky, our limbs slowly sinking into the water. “I think you’ll like Oregon,” she said, and backstroked until her head was floating next to mine, our bodies facing in opposite directions. “It’s a good place to grow up. You’ll need a real jacket. We’ll get you one. Grandma June might have some old ones of mine too.” My legs started getting heavy, I kicked a couple times to keep them on the surface of the water. “Does it snow there?” If she answered yes, I would ask more questions.

“Not in Eugene,” she said. “Maybe once or twice when I was growing up.” I closed my eyes and tried to make myself believe that I was back in the kidney bean. The pool water lapped against the filter, flapping it open, then shut, then open again.