My Father's Fall
My stepmother was dead for only three months, before we all heard about the new woman in my father's life. We had gathered for a family Easter dinner; my father sat at the head of the table, the grand patriarch, with his children, step-children and grand-children gathered around. As the meal came to a close and the grandchildren went off to lay, he reached for a cigarette. " So, let me tell you about Susan. I met her while in line at the Super G. I noticed her melons (not the fruit we all decided) and commented on her groceries. We got to talking, and then I invited her to go for a cup of coffee. She said yes, and we went. She told me all about her life; she's divorced and is trying to raise two kids all by herself" Not at all unlike his daughter, me, I noticed, but he didn't. He looked over at me, "her son is about Ben's age, but he gets in trouble all the time, maybe you could talk to her." I didn't think I wanted to. Her story was a hard luck-let me cry on your shoulder mister sugar daddy-story. She'd been abused, her ex-husband beat her, and she was working real hard at beating a cocaine habit. She went daily to the methadone clinic in Willimantic. Oh boy, we all thought, she sure had our father raked in. How could we get him to realize that she was not the kind of woman that had love on her mind, but rather, "what can I get out of this man?"
It was another three months before any of us met her. I had brought my children down fro a long weekend. On Sunday morning my father said "Let's have breakfast with Susan and her kids." I tried backing out, but he said he had already told her we were coming. I should have known he would choose me as the envoy into the family. After all, I was the youngest, had been the one to do the token Father weekends after my parents divorced and the first to meet his ex-secretary in her new role as wide, and stepmother to us.
We drove to Susan's trailer park home. She had us wait on the deck; when they came out, I was taken aback. Her children were the same age as mine, but they were city tough. The boy had dark hair, a pierced ear and wore those baggy pants that had just become the rage; the ones where you could hide a shotgun if you needed to. The girl had lusterless black hair, and wore gothic attire with some chains for added effect. I don't think either one spoke the entire time. My blond country bumpkin children were no match for those two, and I certainly wasn't going to encourage any conversation. Susan had hair the texture of an unkempt horse mane, stiff and bristly from too many dyings and permings. Though my father said she was ten years younger than me she looked older and hard. I immediately saw my father's attraction; her bust was at least a quadruple D. I wished I had brought my own car, I would not have continued with the charade if I had been able to run. Off to the restaurant, in silence. Well, my father did try to keep a conversation going.
We arrived just as the after church rush was on, and there were no tables available for seven, so we waited. Susan grew impatient, thrust her chest out and demanded that the hostess push tow tables together. The hostess did, begrudgingly. I flashed a humble apology and the hostess registered a smile. While we were eating, my father elaborated on all the wonderful plans he had for his "new family". "I bought a house on Coventry Lake, that I am fixing up for Susan and the kids. I'm going to get another sailboat too and teach Brian to sail. Every boy should learn how to sail." At that I ranted, "Oh really Dad. When are you going to teach your grandson how to sail? You could come up and teach him anytime." He didn't notice the incongruity, was I totally off the mark?
During the conversation, I couldn't help noticing Brian bending the silverware in two. He eventually made a holder out of the spoon, poured packets of sugar into it and began to stick his finger into the sugar to eat it. I wondered if he had watched some drug use at home. The girl just sulked. My children talked between themselves and snuck some apprehensive glances at the scene ate the table. Breakfast wasn't over fast enough for me.
That night, after my children went to bed, I attempted to talk to my father. "Dad, that woman is using you. She probably has a boyfriend somewhere that you don't know about. She's getting whatever she wants from you." Since when did a daughter have to tell her father who to date?
During the course of the summer, she crashed and wrecked two cars. He bought her new ones. Her children were always needing to go to the doctor or needing prescriptions filled an midnight, and she always got money out of him. We kept trying to tell him he was being used, but he was too bewitched.
Less than a year later, my sister got a call from our father. He was crying; Susan had left him. My sister and I arranged to go see him that weekend. We found him in that beautiful home he bought all alone. Somehow, Susan had gotten an antique dealer to come buy some of his antiques. All he had left was one broken dresser, a few paintings, and the broken rocker that he was sitting in. The worst of it was he was so immobilized: while she had sun off with his savings, he was unable to look beyond the humiliation of losing his girlfriend.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Monday, February 15, 2010
journal entry #7
I said I might do some more journal entries along the line, and here one is.
This is an update on my owl story, from prompt #15. The owl hung around for about a week and then was gone. I continue to wake up every morning and look out my bedroom window to see if he has returned. This morning he was out there again, I was excited to see him. Yesterday, my partner finally put out the rat traps in the chicken coop. I did not relish that idea, but knew I needed to get rid of the rat (or 2). Upon feeding the chickens and checking the traps I saw that one held a dead rat. Argh, ugh, gross! Sooooo...I gathered what guts I had, poked it four or five times to be sure it was dead, then found a garden tool to open the trap up. I was not about to put my fingers anywhere near that rat head, who knows it still could have tried to bite me--one last impulse from the dead! I lifted the spring off the rat and grabbed it by the tail, with a paper towel, and tossed it out to the garden saying "here, take that please." The owl swooped down onto my offering and carried it away. So, I am relieved that a rat is gone, and the owl is pleased to have some food. Let's hope that I don't have to add another update like this one. I so hope there was only one rat.
This is an update on my owl story, from prompt #15. The owl hung around for about a week and then was gone. I continue to wake up every morning and look out my bedroom window to see if he has returned. This morning he was out there again, I was excited to see him. Yesterday, my partner finally put out the rat traps in the chicken coop. I did not relish that idea, but knew I needed to get rid of the rat (or 2). Upon feeding the chickens and checking the traps I saw that one held a dead rat. Argh, ugh, gross! Sooooo...I gathered what guts I had, poked it four or five times to be sure it was dead, then found a garden tool to open the trap up. I was not about to put my fingers anywhere near that rat head, who knows it still could have tried to bite me--one last impulse from the dead! I lifted the spring off the rat and grabbed it by the tail, with a paper towel, and tossed it out to the garden saying "here, take that please." The owl swooped down onto my offering and carried it away. So, I am relieved that a rat is gone, and the owl is pleased to have some food. Let's hope that I don't have to add another update like this one. I so hope there was only one rat.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Theme week #4: Truth…or not.
1. Truth
We were salvaging old boards from a chicken barn to use them to build a shed. The boards had old chicken poop on them and were full of rusty nails. I was scraping them clean with a wire brush, and then I leaned them against the floor joists of the shed, with the nail side down.
My four year old daughter was playing in the yard nearby. She came over toward me. I told her to be careful. She sat on the end of one of the boards, as if it was a see-saw. The weight of her body took her down and drove one of the nails into the back of her ankle. She screamed. Ed, my husband, came running and got the nail out. I took Rachel inside to clean up the wound. It looked bad to me, so we drove to the ER.
There wasn’t a long wait, and soon the Doctor on duty was taking care of us. She looked at us and at Rachel’s ankle and asked us what happened.
I explained that we were taking the nails out of old lumber. I’d been careful to keep all the nails pointing down, but Rachel sat on the boards and drove the nail in through the top of her ankle.
The Doctor furrowed her eyebrows and looked at us for a second. She cleaned and bandaged the wound and sent us home.
2. Gussied up
It was a hot summer day. We were cleaning up some salvaged lumber from an old chicken barn. The boards were covered with chicken poop and were full of rusty nails. It was my job to clean them. After scraped them off, I leaned them against the floor joists to the shed with the nail side down. The stench was bad and the dust was clinging to my sweaty body “Why did we want to use these boards, anyway?” I thought, “Oh yeah, we needed a shed, and we had no extra money and they were free. It was just our time that we were wasting.”
My four year old daughter was playing in the grass nearby. She was getting hot and bored and came over to me. “Mommy, can I have a drink?”
“In a minute honey, let me finish this. Be careful there are nails in these boards.”
Rachel watched for awhile, and then she climbed up onto the floor joist of the shed and sat on the top end of one of the boards. Suddenly she was screaming. I looked up, when she sat down the board fell to her leg just like a seesaw and pushed one of those dirty rusty nails into the back of her heel. Ed came running and got her off the board and the nail out. I took Rachel inside to clean the wound and all I could think of was that chicken poop inside her body. The wound looked gross, and I decided I wanted to take her to the ER. We piled into the car and drove as fast as we could.
There was no wait and soon the Doctor on duty was taking care of us. She looked at Rachel’s foot and at us “What happened here?”
“I was trying to make sure that the kids didn’t step on the nails, so I set them against the floor with the nail side down. She sat on the board and the nail went through the back of her foot.” I said in a rather hysterical voice. I did not like seeing my daughter hurt, and I had tried so hard to make sure she wouldn’t be.
The Doctor asked again, not quite believing the story. “Tell me how that happened again.” This time I think she decided it was too strange not to be the truth. She cleaned the wound and wrapped it up. She told Rachel she was a brave little girl and gave her a sticker.
3. Fiction
It was a hot summer day. We were cleaning up old boards from a chicken barn to build a shed. I was so hot that I had had a beer. I was cleaning old chicken shit off the boards and pulling nails. As I finished a board, I put it against the shed floor with the nail side down.
My four year old daughter was playing near by, she was bored and she wandered over. “Mommy, can I have a drink, when will you play with me, I’m hungry.”
“Not now honey, let me finish this last board.” My husband Ed went in for another beer. “I’ll get her a drink.” He offered.
Rachel sat down on the top of one of the boards. Like a see-saw it came down on the back of her foot. A nail went right into her ankle, and she screamed.
Quickly I pulled her up off the board, as I did the nail tore her flesh even more. It looked awful. Ed came out when he heard the scream. We carried her inside and tried to clean the wound. We decided that we should go to the ER. When we got there the Doctor on duty saw us immediately. “Tell me what how this happened!” She looked at us and noted that we had been drinking.
I was so worried and nervous about Rachel that it took me a few tries to get the story out, and even then it didn’t seem to make much sense. I said “we were pulling nails out of boards, and Rachel sat on one. The nail went through her foot.” The Doctor looked at both my husband and I and at Rachel, she wasn’t buying the story. She went to the nurse’s desk and talked to the nurse. The nurse started looking through old ER records. Of course, it was the same Doctor who took care of my son when he was jumping on the couch and fell of breaking his collar-bone. She came back cleaned up the wound and said we would need to wait here for a case-worker from DHHS to come question us. “What!” my husband yelled. He almost went nuts. I wasn’t much better, I was pretty hysterical myself. We were not neglectful of our children, nor were we abusing them. Accidents happen, even ones that seem really far-fetched. By that time a policeman had arrived and escorted us into a small room to wait for the case-worker.
We were salvaging old boards from a chicken barn to use them to build a shed. The boards had old chicken poop on them and were full of rusty nails. I was scraping them clean with a wire brush, and then I leaned them against the floor joists of the shed, with the nail side down.
My four year old daughter was playing in the yard nearby. She came over toward me. I told her to be careful. She sat on the end of one of the boards, as if it was a see-saw. The weight of her body took her down and drove one of the nails into the back of her ankle. She screamed. Ed, my husband, came running and got the nail out. I took Rachel inside to clean up the wound. It looked bad to me, so we drove to the ER.
There wasn’t a long wait, and soon the Doctor on duty was taking care of us. She looked at us and at Rachel’s ankle and asked us what happened.
I explained that we were taking the nails out of old lumber. I’d been careful to keep all the nails pointing down, but Rachel sat on the boards and drove the nail in through the top of her ankle.
The Doctor furrowed her eyebrows and looked at us for a second. She cleaned and bandaged the wound and sent us home.
2. Gussied up
It was a hot summer day. We were cleaning up some salvaged lumber from an old chicken barn. The boards were covered with chicken poop and were full of rusty nails. It was my job to clean them. After scraped them off, I leaned them against the floor joists to the shed with the nail side down. The stench was bad and the dust was clinging to my sweaty body “Why did we want to use these boards, anyway?” I thought, “Oh yeah, we needed a shed, and we had no extra money and they were free. It was just our time that we were wasting.”
My four year old daughter was playing in the grass nearby. She was getting hot and bored and came over to me. “Mommy, can I have a drink?”
“In a minute honey, let me finish this. Be careful there are nails in these boards.”
Rachel watched for awhile, and then she climbed up onto the floor joist of the shed and sat on the top end of one of the boards. Suddenly she was screaming. I looked up, when she sat down the board fell to her leg just like a seesaw and pushed one of those dirty rusty nails into the back of her heel. Ed came running and got her off the board and the nail out. I took Rachel inside to clean the wound and all I could think of was that chicken poop inside her body. The wound looked gross, and I decided I wanted to take her to the ER. We piled into the car and drove as fast as we could.
There was no wait and soon the Doctor on duty was taking care of us. She looked at Rachel’s foot and at us “What happened here?”
“I was trying to make sure that the kids didn’t step on the nails, so I set them against the floor with the nail side down. She sat on the board and the nail went through the back of her foot.” I said in a rather hysterical voice. I did not like seeing my daughter hurt, and I had tried so hard to make sure she wouldn’t be.
The Doctor asked again, not quite believing the story. “Tell me how that happened again.” This time I think she decided it was too strange not to be the truth. She cleaned the wound and wrapped it up. She told Rachel she was a brave little girl and gave her a sticker.
3. Fiction
It was a hot summer day. We were cleaning up old boards from a chicken barn to build a shed. I was so hot that I had had a beer. I was cleaning old chicken shit off the boards and pulling nails. As I finished a board, I put it against the shed floor with the nail side down.
My four year old daughter was playing near by, she was bored and she wandered over. “Mommy, can I have a drink, when will you play with me, I’m hungry.”
“Not now honey, let me finish this last board.” My husband Ed went in for another beer. “I’ll get her a drink.” He offered.
Rachel sat down on the top of one of the boards. Like a see-saw it came down on the back of her foot. A nail went right into her ankle, and she screamed.
Quickly I pulled her up off the board, as I did the nail tore her flesh even more. It looked awful. Ed came out when he heard the scream. We carried her inside and tried to clean the wound. We decided that we should go to the ER. When we got there the Doctor on duty saw us immediately. “Tell me what how this happened!” She looked at us and noted that we had been drinking.
I was so worried and nervous about Rachel that it took me a few tries to get the story out, and even then it didn’t seem to make much sense. I said “we were pulling nails out of boards, and Rachel sat on one. The nail went through her foot.” The Doctor looked at both my husband and I and at Rachel, she wasn’t buying the story. She went to the nurse’s desk and talked to the nurse. The nurse started looking through old ER records. Of course, it was the same Doctor who took care of my son when he was jumping on the couch and fell of breaking his collar-bone. She came back cleaned up the wound and said we would need to wait here for a case-worker from DHHS to come question us. “What!” my husband yelled. He almost went nuts. I wasn’t much better, I was pretty hysterical myself. We were not neglectful of our children, nor were we abusing them. Accidents happen, even ones that seem really far-fetched. By that time a policeman had arrived and escorted us into a small room to wait for the case-worker.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Theme week #3
Theme Week #3: Set the scene, create dialogue
She climbed aboard the Amtrak train heading north out of Baltimore. It was four in the afternoon, and she wouldn’t be in Hartford until close to midnight. She was burdened with too much luggage, because she was trying to save shipping costs by carrying most of her dorm room belongings home with her. The conductor looked at her with a disgusted look, “You really shouldn’t be trying to bring this much stuff with you.”
“I know,” she said “I’m heading home from college.”
She found a seat, and began to put the bag, box guitar and back-pack in the overhead compartments. She was having trouble with the back-pack; it was just a little too heavy. The man behind her said, “Here let me help.” He gave it a little shove and up it went. “Thank you.” She said as she sat down. She slid into the seat by the window and watched as people wandered around the boarding platform. She saw some lovers hug and kiss. The young man pulled away, picked up his luggage and headed into the train. The man that had helped her with her pack sat across the aisle form her. She looked at him too. He was about her father’s age, and wore a business suit with a red tie. “Ugh, I have Mr. Corporation sitting next to me.” She thought.
The man looked at her and asked. “So where are you going?”
“I’m going to Hartford. I just finished spring semester.” The last thing she wanted to do was have a conversation with this man. She tried to cut the conversation short and looked out the window again. Finally everyone is on board. Neither of their two seats was taken. She pulled out a book and the man across the aisle took out a magazine.
The rails managed to lull everyone into a quiet frame of mind. Wilmington and Philadelphia went by. It was dark, and the little light overhead was making her eyes tired. She put down her book. The man across from her closed his magazine and asked her “What are you studying in school?”
“Anthropology.” She replied, thinking that if she kept her answers short he would give up. But he didn’t.
“Anthropology! What will you do with that?”
“I don’t know; that’s actually why I decided to take some time off. I think I will work for a year or two and maybe then I will know what I want.”
“That sounds like a good idea, but make sure you still finish school. I have a daughter almost your age; she doesn’t know what she wants to do yet either, but she still has time.”
As the train was pulling out of Newark and picking up speed, there was a violent lurch. The train came to an abrupt stop. She was a bit frightened, and a child a few seats in front began to cry. She could hear his mom saying “Sshh, its ok.”
The man across the aisle said “It feels like a wheel derailed, I’ve had that happen before. Good thing we were still going slowly, it was probably just one car. Now we will have to wait until they can get the car back on the track.”
Sure enough, soon a conductor came through to explain just that. “We expect about a two hour delay. We are calling the stations ahead to let them know. We will still have a half hour hold-over in New York when we get there, you can get off the train and make any phone calls if you want."
“Is anyone waiting for you in Hartford?” the man asked me.
“Yes, my mom.”
“Well, when we get to New York, I am going to call my wife, and you can use my credit card to call your mother. If you were my daughter I would want to know that you were alright. I doubt the station master will quell her worries.”
“Thanks.”
Finally, the train was repaired, they arrived in New York. The man made his call and she made hers. Her mom didn’t answer though, and she figured she was already at the station waiting. While she had been listening to the phone ring, the man bought them some sandwiches and drinks. It was then that she decided Mr. Corporation wasn’t such a bad guy after all. He was a parent and knew what it was like to worry about family.
She climbed aboard the Amtrak train heading north out of Baltimore. It was four in the afternoon, and she wouldn’t be in Hartford until close to midnight. She was burdened with too much luggage, because she was trying to save shipping costs by carrying most of her dorm room belongings home with her. The conductor looked at her with a disgusted look, “You really shouldn’t be trying to bring this much stuff with you.”
“I know,” she said “I’m heading home from college.”
She found a seat, and began to put the bag, box guitar and back-pack in the overhead compartments. She was having trouble with the back-pack; it was just a little too heavy. The man behind her said, “Here let me help.” He gave it a little shove and up it went. “Thank you.” She said as she sat down. She slid into the seat by the window and watched as people wandered around the boarding platform. She saw some lovers hug and kiss. The young man pulled away, picked up his luggage and headed into the train. The man that had helped her with her pack sat across the aisle form her. She looked at him too. He was about her father’s age, and wore a business suit with a red tie. “Ugh, I have Mr. Corporation sitting next to me.” She thought.
The man looked at her and asked. “So where are you going?”
“I’m going to Hartford. I just finished spring semester.” The last thing she wanted to do was have a conversation with this man. She tried to cut the conversation short and looked out the window again. Finally everyone is on board. Neither of their two seats was taken. She pulled out a book and the man across the aisle took out a magazine.
The rails managed to lull everyone into a quiet frame of mind. Wilmington and Philadelphia went by. It was dark, and the little light overhead was making her eyes tired. She put down her book. The man across from her closed his magazine and asked her “What are you studying in school?”
“Anthropology.” She replied, thinking that if she kept her answers short he would give up. But he didn’t.
“Anthropology! What will you do with that?”
“I don’t know; that’s actually why I decided to take some time off. I think I will work for a year or two and maybe then I will know what I want.”
“That sounds like a good idea, but make sure you still finish school. I have a daughter almost your age; she doesn’t know what she wants to do yet either, but she still has time.”
As the train was pulling out of Newark and picking up speed, there was a violent lurch. The train came to an abrupt stop. She was a bit frightened, and a child a few seats in front began to cry. She could hear his mom saying “Sshh, its ok.”
The man across the aisle said “It feels like a wheel derailed, I’ve had that happen before. Good thing we were still going slowly, it was probably just one car. Now we will have to wait until they can get the car back on the track.”
Sure enough, soon a conductor came through to explain just that. “We expect about a two hour delay. We are calling the stations ahead to let them know. We will still have a half hour hold-over in New York when we get there, you can get off the train and make any phone calls if you want."
“Is anyone waiting for you in Hartford?” the man asked me.
“Yes, my mom.”
“Well, when we get to New York, I am going to call my wife, and you can use my credit card to call your mother. If you were my daughter I would want to know that you were alright. I doubt the station master will quell her worries.”
“Thanks.”
Finally, the train was repaired, they arrived in New York. The man made his call and she made hers. Her mom didn’t answer though, and she figured she was already at the station waiting. While she had been listening to the phone ring, the man bought them some sandwiches and drinks. It was then that she decided Mr. Corporation wasn’t such a bad guy after all. He was a parent and knew what it was like to worry about family.
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