Chapter 9
The leaves crunched beneath my running shoes as a cool breeze swept over me in on the dark trail. It was some time in the night, sometime between eleven at night and three in the morning possibly. I shivered and pulled edges of the long-sleeved sweatshirt down around my fingertips in an attempt to keep warm. I was running quite quickly, past several trees and a large open field to my left. It was all very familiar. I wondered how many times I’d been there. Each time the wind picked up, little swirls of dead leaves would rise, making the faintest, almost inaudible, swishing noise, tangling themselves in my shoestrings and scratching lightly at my ankles. The cool air chilled my bare legs while the swirling wind rustled my light jogging shorts. It was so dark I could hardly tell which trail I was on. I just kept running down the hill, watching my shadow cast from out of the corner of my eye between the breaks in the trees. Every now and then I would do a double take, thinking I’d seen two shadows, each time coming to the conclusion that mine was the only one there. It seemed like I was running forever, like the scenery was never changing.
Then I came to a small uphill grade. All of a sudden it was broad daylight in the park and I knew exactly where I was. I could feel summer all around me as the patches of light between the trees danced across the sidewalk from the soft breeze. The warm sun and the green trees on the park cast an exuberant, picturesque scene of the gazebo at the top of the hill. Yes, I had been here before. There was no doubt in my mind. I took slow deep breaths and I neared the gazebo, taking in the smell of the honeysuckles and a lake that I knew was just farther down the path. I could feel every step as I got closer to the small white gazebo at the top of the hill. I smiled for some reason, a large smile from ear to ear as I neared it, though I had no idea why.
The small white gazebo looked flawless and beautiful with the light that the sun upon and through it, from the opposite direction. It reminded me of a star at the top of the tree at Christmas time. From just a few feet away from it, approaching it still with a quick jog, I could see the yellow and purple Black-Eyed Susan flowers that were planted all the way around it. The smile still had not faded from my face as I neared the doorway of the gazebo, looking upon it like a sacred temple. It wasn’t like me to stop during a run, but on this particular one, I had come to a complete halt at the sight of this simple scene. I bent down low to the ground and gathered a handful of the flawless Black-Eyed Susans. Upon first glance from the front of the small gazebo, no one appeared to be in it. I had carefully walked around to the white wooden steps with my hand-picked bouquet and made my way into the small building.
Somewhat to my surprise and somewhat not, I suddenly realized that I was not alone, after all. There was a small woman on the opposite side of the gazebo, looking out onto the lake, which was further down the trail, just over the hillside and fully visible from the gazebo. She was wearing a long black dress with dark colored sandals. She was quite tan. A mess of long dark curls hung down just below her shoulders. Suddenly I could hear water splashing in the direction she was staring. I walked slowly up behind her to catch a glimpse of the scene. I could see Elizabeth, running along the edge of lake in a bright yellow two-piece swimsuit, attempting to get away from Will who was wearing blue dark colored swim trunks and catching up to her quickly. Both were laughing. They made their way up to the dock, where I noticed my father was letting his feet dangle into the water, watching and laughing at the two. Will ran past the both of them and jumped into the water first, doing a cannon ball dive, splashing the other two on the dock, who were still laughing at him. I watched as he swam back up to the dock and climbed out, attempting to grab Elizabeth and throw her into the water as well. She was putting up quite a struggle as tiny Will tried with all his might to drag her, making little progress as she held onto one of the wooden poles laughing and fussing that he was going to mess up her suntan lotion.
Though I could only see part of her face, I could tell that the woman in the dress, seated in the gazebo, was smiling at the scene going on down below.
At last, and unfortunately for Elizabeth, Will must have recruited dad’s help. He had gotten up from his previous position at the end of the dock where he had been letting his feet soak and now had a hold of Elizabeth around the waist, tickling her, as Will pried her fingers from the dock pole. The two of them, satisfied with their success at prying her free at last, made their way to the end of the dock, Elizabeth high over dad’s shoulder in protest to the whole situation, but still laughing, nonetheless. Her light brown hair hung down over dad’s white t-shirt and Will was just behind her dad messing with her hair and delivering wet willies to her ears, payback no doubt, for all the times she’d gotten him and he’d been too short to get her back.
Dad was just about to toss Elizabeth overboard when Will decided to surprise everyone and push them both over the edge. Much to his surprise, dad had half-turned just in time to grab his son’s elbow with his free arm, and drag him down along with them. It was a funny sight, watching the three of them topple into the water, especially in such strange form. Something right out of the three stooges.
“Those three are ridiculous, aren’t they?” The woman finally spoke, laughing and shaking her head.
Her voice was soft and familiar. I remember thinking how much it sounded like Elizabeth, but older somehow. Each word sounded carefully placed, like glasses in a cupboard, as though each vowel had been carefully spoken and placed. I was enchanted by the voice. The familiarity. The warmness to the tone.
I didn’t say anything at first, still entranced by the scene taking place on the lake. Will was attempting to get away from dad and Elizabeth now, who were hot on his tail, as he scrambled toward the dock. All three, sharing the same goofy laugh, as they got closer and closer to him.
“Did you enjoy your run, sweetheart?” The woman had now turned her attention to me, where I was standing behind her in the gazebo, holding the flowers down at my sides.
“I did. The trails are looking great today.” I told her, as she smiled sweetly back at me.
It was like looking in a mirror, slightly distorted by time and age, but a future replica of my own face nonetheless. The woman touched my arm and shifted her gaze back out to the three stooges on the dock.
“I’m so glad we all got to come out here again today,” she said in her soft tone, running her hand along the upper part of my arm and sighing. Her same hand ran all the way down to my wrist, whereupon she realized I was holding something. She turned her head back towards me and fixed her gaze upon the still flawless, bouquet I had been holding onto all this time.
I held them up for her to better see.
“Oh, sweetheart, they’re beautiful!” She smiled enthusiastically, as she motioned for me to sit down beside her.
I handed her the bouquet as she beamed at the beautiful, brilliant yellow and purple shades of the blooms.
“I picked them just for you, mom.” I told her.
She reached for a box just beneath her seat, behind her legs, that I hadn’t previously noticed. She pulled out a long, tall drinking glass.
“They’re perfect.” She smiled at me, with my own smile, Elizabeth’s smile, I remember thinking to myself. “I’m going to get them some water so I can take them home to put into the kitchen, she stood up. The sunlight, which filled the gazebo, made her hair and skin glow. She didn’t look real. I turned my head one more time out to the dock to see what the stooges were into now and realized they had left their posts, down in the water, probably to come up and get snacks, I had reasoned with myself.
“They’re probably on their way up to scare you!” I warned my mother laughing, as I turned my gaze back around to meet hers. But she was gone.
It was dark outside again and I realized suddenly that I was sitting in the gazebo all alone now. An icy breeze brushed my cheek and bare legs, causing me to shiver at the chilly night. I could hear no splashing or laughter, as I had just moments before. I turned my head back in the direction of the lake, bu
t it was so dark now that I could barely see it, other than the reflection that the moon cast out upon the wind-rippled surface of the water. Once again, I could hear the swishing of the leaves and the whistling of the wind, and not another sound. I was alone. Just like before.
I woke up from the dream with a start. I shivered for a moment as I sat up in bed, as though I had truly been out in the cold air, goose bumps raised across my arms. The dream always ended that way, all alone in the dark gazebo. I peered down at the clock on my cell phone, which read 5:08 a.m. I sat there, straight up in bed, for the longest time, just hoping to God I wouldn’t fall back asleep. My hands were so cold and clammy. Tiny droplets of sweat above my brow seemed to be following the creases and squints of my eyes, stinging every few seconds or so. I was so thirsty. I sat there for several minutes, focusing on the pitch black walls of my room. I was like a small child after a nightmare; scared to get up and scared not to. It wasn’t like most nightmares, where you wake up safe in your room and the terror is gone. No. I could wake up from a from a bad Freddy Krueger nightmare and see very clearly that Freddy wasn’t actually there…and on a good night I could even possibly convince myself for the eighteen billionth time that Freddy wasn’t even real. On a good night, that is. But not this nightmare. This nightmare was different. No matter how many times I had this nightmare and no matter how many times I woke up from it, I would always wake up alone in the dark gazebo. I would always wake up completely alone. Alone in my room, alone in this world, and alone would always be real.
Finally, when my throat could stand it no longer, I convinced myself to make the trek to the kitchen for something to drink. I reached around the foot of the bed in the dark, running hands over the sheets to find the socks I had pulled off earlier in the night. Once I found them, I put them both on before placing my feet on the cold basement floor and made my way out of the bedroom and through the rest of the cold, dark house.
When I got to the top of the carpeted stairs that led straight into the living room, I could hear the sound of someone snoring from what seemed like just a few feet away. I squinted into the dark, trying to figure out who had died on the couch. Probably dad, I figured. A fight with Kathleen or staying up late to look after one of her full-time children, I wasn’t sure which, but sure enough there was dad passed out on the couch with his back facing the doorway to the basement stairs. I tiptoed past him around the couch, into the kitchen, being careful not to wake him. I crept around the kitchen with the same carefulness as I slipped a glass mug from the cupboard. A cold glass of water sounded amazing to my throat, but I knew that something that refreshing would probably keep me from getting back to sleep. I probably wouldn’t be getting back to sleep anyway, I reasoned with myself, but a hot glass of tea would probably ease some of my clamminess. So I pulled a teabag out of the drawer and went through quietly opening and closing a few drawers for a pot and sugar. I thought I could hear dad shifting in his sleep here and there as the water for the tea boiled, almost inaudibly. I crept over to the kitchen table and moved a chair over closer to the stove, right up against the window.
The water finally seemed hot enough and I dipped the bags in and stirred it. I always used several bags and little sugar to make the tea taste stronger, a habit from childhood and one of the few memories I could or would let myself remember from that long ago. I finally emptied it into the mug and stirred the sugar in, plopping down into the wooden chair and staring into the darkness again. From where I was sitting, I could now see dad through the doorway of the kitchen dead to the world on the couch. I stared at the gray-haired stranger lying there, wondering how exactly he’d wound up on the couch on this particular night, just before realizing that I really didn’t care. He’d wound up there thousands of times and he’d wind up there again. I just stared at my dad, almost in a trance, sipping on my tea as I listened to the sound of each deep breath he took when his chest rose and fell rhythmically.
The stranger there on the couch looked nothing like the dark-haired, youthful dad in the dream. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d even been to the park with my dad. It had been years at least. I could barely remember the last time I’d gone anywhere with dad, or even wanted to, other than an adoption agency o be dropped off my last two years of high school. When dad made the decision to remarry, everything had changed. I, for the life of me, could not figure out why he’d stayed with her for so long. Sitting there in the dark, I supposed that Einstein must have been right. Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results really was insane. I wondered if my dad was expecting different results. Maybe he was just stuck, I thought silently to myself. Stuck like me, unable to move forwards or backwards. Or maybe, just possibly, despite everything I’d witnessed as well as what my own common sense told me, my dad had found some form of happiness. Maybe the arguing, the chaos, the fighting, all gave my dad and Kathleen some sort of rush, or reminded him that he was still alive. I didn’t know. Or perhaps, my dad had found himself wound up in a trap he would never free himself from and it was just something he had come to accept.
All I really knew was that I had done my best to fake it for my dad and pretend to be one big happy family at first, as long as my gag reflex could take it, anyway. I’d done my best to grin and bear it when Kathleen belittled me, and as she and her children ripped away at every bit of then notion of family that I had left. I’d been the shoulder for my younger brother and sister to cry on. I’d been the listener and the one to cheer them up when Kathleen unleashed her wrath upon them, and the one who faked it just well enough for dad to be happy. Then one day I realized it that it was a losing battle. So I pretty much said fuck it all and left my post. If dad wanted so much to maintain this life that was nothing more than a lie, then he could do it himself, I had decided. Then, either gradually or all of a sudden I’m not sure, one day dad had looked up to realize that I had checked out. He struggled to accept it at first, while he still had the window of opportunity, forcing me to go to holiday events I didn’t want to go to, like Thanksgiving and Christmas. By the time our last Easter had rolled around, our tensions had reached boiling point. I remembered that day suddenly, a drizzly evening when I was getting home from work, preparing to make the long drive back to school. Dad, in his at the time, constant efforts to try and get me to interact with his new wife and kids, had asked me to go help Kathleen in the kitchen and tell her “Happy Easter” before I headed back. He’d been at it for the last four weekends with the nagging and the texts, when I’d informed that I was opting out of all of the Easter festivities, going to work and then heading straight back to school. I’d purposely made sure I was scheduled all day on Easter and loaded all my clothes and books back into the car so that the only thing I’d have to swing back by the house for would be my computer.
Looking back on it now, as I sat in the dark kitchen, I supposed I’d just grown fed up with it. Why hadn’t it been enough just to be civil. I had never agreed to go above and beyond, or to even pretend, as I’d done for him the last couple of years. Why I wasn’t that enough? Why was it never enough to just be his daughter? Why didn’t he protect me? Maybe it was that I’d grown fed up with his persistence, or the fact that he was so keen on living a lie.
Dad must have been pretty shocked I guess. Maybe it was a realization for him as well. He no longer had the same control to force me to be a part of his lifestyle, and I think it must have really rattled him. I remember him standing in the yard barefoot as the rain came down in patches, yelling for me to get back in the house as I stormed right for my car with my backpack. I held back the tears. He wasn't concerned about all the hurt he had had caused me, all the pain he had put me through over the years. So, I wasn't about to volunteer any signs of weakness.
I still distinctly remember him shouting after me,
“I don’t know what those friends or that school has done to you, but maybe we need to make some changes, young lady!”
It took everything I had not to gun it th
rough the yard and run him down.
We had shared a few choice words and I’d driven off on that note. What the hell did he know, trying to say my friends had changed me for the worse or even suggesting that I might be on the wrong track because of them? No, I had wanted to tell him. Getting out of that fucking asylum of a house had changed me. Though I’d come back the very next weekend to work one week after our exchange, just as I always did on weekends, nothing was said about it, whatsoever. Dad and I continued to talk now and then, but it was much less than ever before. I still made my sarcastic, joking comments every now and then, and he still pretended to be dad sometimes and weekend after weekend it was exactly the same. It seemed that after the fight, he had given up on trying to force me to do most anything. Little did I know, that when I drove off on that note on that drizzly Sunday evening, that dad and I would never leave it. Besides the quick coming and going conversations we sometimes had as we came and went, conversations that ran as deep as puddles, we truly had become strangers. Day to day, we went about our separate lives, one of us trying to cope with our reality, the other one trying to escape it.