He smiled and held me more secure in his arms. “And do you know how much, Son? I love you forever and a day.”
“That’s a long time, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” he replied and changed the subject. “Now, you‘d better get to school. Your Mama‘s waiting for you.”
My father sat me on the floor, took my hand, and walked outside with me. He placed the backpack around my shoulder. Mama and I left, as he waved goodbye. The sight of my father appeared farther away in the side-rearview mirror.
*****
Later that same day, everything changed and my world tore apart. It was the last time I saw my father. Mama received a goodbye letter from him, telling her why he didn’t love her anymore. The letter and her tears explained his abrupt absence, but my heart didn’t care. His love for me was supposed to be forever and a day. He had told me so himself, and he couldn‘t tell a lie.
I refused to believe he had left us and sat vigilant in front of the living room window, waiting for his return home.
Days eventually turned into months, and months into years. I sat in front of that same window everyday after school and waited for my father to come home, but he never did. His absence felt like death, and I never stopped grieving.
Summer days filled with father and son fishing trips, and evenings filled with bedtime stories were no more. Birthdays and Christmases were difficult times of the year, and every Father‘s Day was especially hellish and unbearable for me.
Children my age were only concerned with trivial things like baseball games and learning to ride their bicycles. My worries ran deeper. I understood the pain of loss before I could read my first words.
Then again, how was I supposed to know about such things? According to everyone else, I was just a kid.
*****
A few years later, I became a teenager and somehow still believed my father would come back. It was a naïve thought but I had to believe in such things as hope in hopeless situations and lights at the end of tunnels. He had to come back, because I strived to be a good kid. I wasn’t athletic, but I took part in school newspapers and even entered regional writing contest. It was a way to lure him back into my life but he never came.
One day, I finally stopped being naïve. My father left for good and was never coming back. The unwavering love I had for him was replaced with a deep-seated hate I never knew existed.
He also became my convenient crutch. At first, he was to blame for a few things that went wrong in my life. Time passed, and he was eventually blamed for every wrong. Every bad relationship, every ounce of temporary happiness, and every damnthing became his fault.
My father’s absence also affected my adulthood. Half my paychecks went to psychiatrists who were unable to break through my emotional barriers. The other half went toward drinking the pain away.
Being in love also never filled the void of his absence. Such a thing was foolish. Everyone knew real love was only found in places like fairy tales and romance novels.
People told me to keep praying, and I’d eventually be fine. That was easy for them to say. I prayed hard each night until my words did nothing more than bore jagged holes into the floors of Heaven.
I finally stopped missing my father altogether. My last tear was shed for him, but I was still mad as hell. It seemed conclusive I reached the pinnacle of heartbreak and loss in my life. Then came my twentieth birthday.
CHAPTER 5: A TIME TO LAUGH, AND A TIME TO WEEP
August 24, 1995
Fourteen years passed since my father left. I turned twenty years old. New beginnings emerged within those fourteen years. Mama finished nursing school and graduated at the top of her class. She sold the house we lived in, and bought a new house on the other side of town.
The feelings I felt toward my father didn’t change. He never tried to contact me and eventually became a distant memory in the dark recesses of my heart. I loathed him, but a part of me missed the father he was for the first few years of my life.
My twentieth birthday was also the beginning of a whole new life. It was my last week in town before I began my new job in Chicago. Everything good awaited me there, and I felt on top of the world.
Mama took me to my favorite restaurant every year for my birthday. We sat at the same table. The restaurant staff sang HAPPY BIRTHDAY to me in off-key unison, and my cake was carried to our table, followed by mixed applause of surrounding patrons.
Mama‘s smile beamed. “Happy birthday, my little man,” she said.
I chuckled. “I’m not exactly little anymore. I‘m twenty years old and on my way to Chicago.”
Mama’s eyes filled with bittersweet tears. “To me, you’ll always be my little boy, like it or not.”
“Well, at least one of us thinks I‘m still a boy.”
She quickly changed the subject. “Are you ready to move to Chicago? Do you have everything you need?”
I sipped my glass and shook my head. “I sent the first month’s rent check for my new place. The only thing missing is me.”
She pointed her fork at me between bites. “You have to promise me one thing, son.”
My eyes sarcastically rolled at her serious use of the word, “son.” “Anything, Mother,” I joked.
She smirked annoyed. “Promise me you’ll cook at least three hot meals a week. I don’t want to visit you one weekend and discover all you’re eating are frozen dinners.”
I placed my hand over my chest. “I promise there will be a cooked dinner almost every night, just as long as there’s possums in Chicago.”
We laughed, and Mama‘s concerns dwindled. Chicago held promise for me, but it didn’t have Mama. All we had was one another. Most people would’ve been offended to be called a mama‘s boy. I, on the other hand, wore the title like a badge of honor.
“Are you nervous about leaving, son?”
I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head in agreement. “Somewhat. Chicago’s a great city, but it won‘t be home.”
“It will be one day. I moved here to marry your father. At first, it felt like a strange place, and then something special came along that made Weatherton home for me.”
“What was it?”
She reached across the table and gently squeezed my hand. “I had a beautiful baby boy named Jacob.”
We spent the remainder of the evening reminiscing past birthdays and how far we’d come. Everything seemed to finally fall into place. For once, the unfinished story of my life was about to be written and end with happily ever after.
*****
Mama and I left the restaurant in separate vehicles. She had a few errands to run, and I went on home. I anticipated her being gone no longer than thirty minutes, but not that night.
Three hours passed, and I paced the floor worried. It wasn’t like her to stay gone longer than expected. I grabbed my car keys frantic, as worry got the best of me, and hurried out the front door.
A vivid spectrum of red and blue lights illuminated the front yard. A police officer got out of the car and met me on the front porch. Fear shot through me. I hoped it had nothing to do with Mama.
“Hello, officer. What brings you here?” I asked nervous.
The officer appeared solemn. “I’m sorry to bother you so late, son. Do you know a lady by the name of Anna Grayson?”
Oh, dear God, no. My knees buckled and slightly quivered. My throat felt dry and tight. “She’s my mother,” I almost whispered.
He placed his hand on my shoulder. “Your mother was hit by a drunk driver.”
Numbness overcame me, and my knees buckled worse. No matter how I tried to hope for the best, I knew his report was going to be bad. “How bad is she, Officer?”
The officer shook his head. His eyes started tearing up and appeared slightly bloodshot. “She didn‘t survive. I‘m very sorry for your loss.”
My mind raced like mad: She’s didn‘t survive. I‘m sorry for your loss. Dear God. Mama??
?s dead.
His words repeated themselves in my mind. Nothing he said made sense. I was certain he had the wrong person. He reached into a plastic bag filled with her belongings and showed me her drivers license.
My mouth gaped shocked, as nothing more needed to be said. I stood motionless on the front porch, as the reality of the situation ran down my spine like freezing water. The officer left and I stood alone in the darkness.
I finally worked up the nerve and went back inside the house. It didn’t feel the same after that night. Our little home that once represented life and new beginnings became nothing more than a cold and barren mausoleum.
Memories of her were everywhere. The coffee cup she drank earlier that morning sat idle in the kitchen sink. Her favorite novel sat open, face-down to hold the next page she‘d read. I left everything the way it was, as though she’d return home.
I laid on the couch among the dimly-lit silence. Morning was a few hours away. It would be the first of many days I’d spend without my best friend.
*****
Three days passed like a blur. I selected a few of Mama’s personal belongings and sealed them inside a shoebox. The rest I gave to Granny Grayson. Some people thought I was being inconsiderate of her memory. They didn’t know my life was filled with people close to me who had always left sooner than expected. Besides, I grew tired of mourning for both the living and the dead.
Everyone left Mama’s graveside service except me. The gravediggers lowered her casket into the ground. I looked away. None of it seemed real, and I still foolishly waited to wake up from this painful nightmare.
The police department released the name of the drunk driver. I was asked to prepare myself, because the name alone would shock me. The drunk driver’s name was Ronnie Grayson, my father’s brother.
I saw Ronnie’s lonely grave in the distance. It was nothing but a pile of dirt void of condolence and without flowers. The local media and idle whispers of the townspeople made Ronnie out to be monster, and it was understood.
Two items were found next to Ronnie’s body at the scene of the accident. One was a shattered bottle of vodka, and the other was a picture of Mattie clutched tightly in his hand, and there was a reason. Mattie was Ronnie Grayson’s daughter.
His wife, Vickie, left Ronnie to be with my father. In the process, she took baby Mattie away while he was gone to work. She and my father moved to Chattanooga with Mattie, and Ronnie never saw them again.
Mama’s death also made me more bitter toward my father than ever before. Ronnie’s careless, drunken rage should’ve killed my father. The grave that held Mama’s casket should have contained his soulless shell.
There was nothing left for me in Weatherton. It didn’t feel like home anymore. Everything about home that once made me happy became nothing more than a memory that loosely scattered in the wind.
I hurried to my vehicle and left for Chicago. The dirt was fresh on Mama’s grave. It started to rain, and I was glad. At least no one could see my tears.
CHAPTER 6: A TIME TO PLANT, AND A TIME TO PLUCK UP THAT WHICH IS PLANTED
Three months passed since Granny Grayson died. Some days I didn’t mourn, but other days felt like her death just happened. Her absence forced me to throw myself into my work.
The unpleasant reunion with my father ran through my mind everyday since she died as well. I hated him, but there wasn’t a day that went by he wasn’t running ramped in my subconscious. I doubt I ever stopped thinking about him. But what did I care? With Granny Grayson gone, I’d never have to see him again.
The day I left Weatherton for good, I uprooted everything familiar to me when I moved to Chicago. My intentions were to escape all the pain of my past, but there were other reasons for my departure from Weatherton.
Every young person dreams of trading his or her sleepy little hometown for the bright lights of a bigger city. It was nothing personal against Weatherton. I had dreams bigger than it could contain.
I was a data entry clerk with a corner cubicle for a Corporate American-based company. It wasn’t a job I planned doing the rest of my life. The reward of staying with a corporate company was the opportunity to advance. A better job title also meant more money.
That never happened. Naïve ambitions blinded me, as I failed to realize every dream has two sides. One side’s happy and comes true. The other’s nothing more than a bumpy, dead-end road merely paved with good intentions.
Ten devoted years with the same company, and they gave me a pink slip. The worst part was the same person I trained replaced me. Go figure.
Weeks after my lay-off, I was still jobless. Unemployment checks only paid so much, and no one would hire me. Those checks barely kept my bills paid, while the rest of my money went to the local liquor store.
*****
It was a Sunday in June. To make matters worse, It was also Father‘s day weekend. God, I loathed that day. Other than Mama’s tragic death, it was the only other event that made me wilt like a ten year old child.
Of course, I had my own means of celebrating my one day of personal hell. It would consist of me sitting in a dark corner sipping gulps of a cranberry juice and Vodka concoction, more Vodka and a lot less cranberry juice.
Then, the phone rang. At first, I refused the answer it but did anyway before the machine answered for me. I cleared my throat and picked up the phone.
“Hello?” I answered, trying to sound sober.
A voice paused for a moment. “Hi, Jacob. It’s Mattie. How are you? It was good seeing you again.”
What the hell does she want? “I‘ve been better, and yourself?” I asked without any care or couth.
Her voice trembled, as though she more ill-at-ease. “I’m good. The reason I’m calling is because you know today’s Father’s Day, right?”
It started. “I know. And your point?”
“I was wondering if you’d be interested in coming back home to surprise Uncle Robert later today? I know it‘s very short notice.”
I sighed aggravated by the seemingly pointless phone call. “Chicago’s a far distance from Weatherton,” I argued. “I can’t just pick up and drive there. Besides, I’m really not interested in celebrating him.”
Mattie sounded persistent in her crusade to bring peace to the Grayson clan. “In lieu of recent events, I thought it would be a good idea to bring the family together.”
“You mean, Granny Grayson’s death. You can say it. I’m a big boy, for God’s sake,” I said sarcastically, as the alcohol began to have its incoherent effect on me.
Mattie seemed persistent and ignored my response. “Who knows, Jacob? Maybe starting from scratch can be a good thing.”
“I went to Tennessee due to unforeseen circumstances. In fact, I reallyhave no desire to ever step one foot inside Weatherton again. And to celebrate our supposed father-son relationship is just plain bullshit. So, I decline your offer.”
“Jacob, please do this. If not for me or Robert, then for Granny Grayson. She would be pleased to know her family‘s getting along.”
“Well, she’s dead now, isn’t she? Besides. You’re his stepdaughter, or daughter, I should say. He chose you over me, didn‘t he?”
Mattie sighed, as though my rebuttal deeply offended her. “I’m sorry. Call me when you’re sober.”
I rolled my eyes and chuckled. “Yeah. That’ll happen,” I said sarcastic and slammed the phone down.
Mattie’s innocent invitation to celebrate my father’s special day infuriated me. I didn’t want to celebrate this man. Besides, he was the least of my worries. There were bigger things in my life. I had no job, my unemployment checks would running out shortly, and Granny Grayson was no longer just a phone call away.
Each little sip of my drink turned into huge gulps, then another and another. Instead of my feelings going away, they did nothing more than intensify to a dangerous level. I staggered to my bedroom window and stared outside.
The rage came back, and I turned t
o the familiar. My father again, as always. I staggered clumsy and took another big gulp. “Damn Robert Grayson to hell! I wish he was dead.”
This wasn’t a lie. The plan I concocted for my father’s death was simple. I had no intentions of killing the man. My ideas were quite different.
He’d be ninety years old in some God-forsaken nursing home. The nurses would tell me it would only be a matter of time before he’d die. I’d cuss angry at him and walk away. His body would give out, his heart monitor would flat line, and he’d instantly die of shock.
I took more swigs of the Vodka concoction and stared out the window. All the passersby in my front window, those happy people made me sick. The world needed to feel my pain or something worse would happen.
Each day was the same ridiculous rut. I woke up, drank myself blind, became reclusive, and hated my father. God, I needed a miracle soon before I died under the weight of everything.
*****
December finally came, and it was two weeks before Christmas. Nothing in my life prospered. My unemployment benefits finally ran out and several overdue and eviction notices slid under my door daily. I kept my vehicle but sold everything else I owned that wasn’t nailed to the floor and walls.