Learning to Cry (29 page)

That was when Scott, the bad Scott, interrupted her. Again, he had been quietly listening in the background. He screamed at her. He called her names.

“You stupid little bitch, are you a 5-year-old child? Who do you think you are? I made you, and I can break you. You’ll do what I tell you to or I’ll kill you tonight, and I won’t give it a second thought. ”

She felt the pressure erupting inside, and Sarah stirred next to her. She screamed out loud for Scott to please quit. It just didn’t seem like she could continue.

Then, she heard a knocking on her window. Scott had followed her. She rolled the window down this time and sobbed. He held her head and told her it was ok. He offered to drive her home. She needed to let him in the car. His friend had a car and would follow them. He just wanted to help. How could this boy, this incredibly nice boy be named Scott? It was too scary. It didn’t make sense. Yet nothing made sense. Life was too screwed up.

Melissa crawled into the backseat, and Scott drove them home. They dropped Sarah off first, sneaking her into her bedroom. Maybe she wouldn’t remember the dreadful night. Melissa had several nights she wished she could forget. After they got Sarah settled, they drove to Melissa’s house. They parked her car, and Scott asked if she was OK. Melissa said yes and thanked him. She gave Scott her phone number when he asked, and he promised he would call. The hope in life can be found in the strangest places, she thought.

Melissa made it through the door and to her bedroom without notice. As usual, her mom was probably not home or had a date upstairs. She wondered which guy was that night’s flavor. Maybe it was somebody new. Maybe it was somebody completely different than the men that so often paraded about their home as if they belonged there. God, was Melissa no better than her mother? Maybe it was the other way around. Maybe her mother was no better than Melissa. They were both hurting so badly. How does the dissolving of a marriage tear apart the lives of so many people? Can a single act change the course of everyone it touches?

Right before she closed her eyes she got a text from Scott, asking her if she was ok. Was everything fine when she got home? She replied yes, told him thanks, and said she was going to bed. She was so tired. She wanted to sleep and dream. She could only hope that the Scott who infiltrated her nighttime thoughts was not the evil Scott she knew so well. This new Scott seemed so nice. As her eyes closed and she cried as she heard the voice appeared in her nightmares. He was still there, and he was angry. He wasn’t about to leave so easily, and he would punish her for trying to keep him at bay.

He knew her too well and had invested too much time. He was going to have fun tonight.

As I lay me down to sleep

I pray the Lord my soul to keep

When this fails, I dare not weep

As Scott can hear my every peep

I wish I may, I wish I might

Find some rest on this here night

With nothing left, no will to fight

Scott scoffs at me, then dims my light.

The Family

They lived next door to our little two-bedroom house in Burlingame. There was the father Melvin, the mother Sandra, and the two little girls Marcia and Rachel. Marcia was 6 years old, and Rachel was 2. I, admittedly, was slightly partial to Rachel. She was so damn cute when she said hello, and I loved her little accent. They were of Cuban and Mexican descent. Not really sure which side was what, but whatever combination it was, they had produced the most adorable little kids you could imagine.

The four of them lived with Sandra’s parents and have lived there since we moved in. My youngest daughter, Cassandra, played with them almost every single day. She would always rush to get her homework done and, then, run next door to see what they were doing. As a kid, having somebody in the neighborhood to hang out with is one of the best feelings in the world. It gives you such a sense of independence to be in charge of your own destiny, as you race to their back yard and play a simple game of kickball.

Both little girls had jet black hair and olive-colored skin. Rachel’s little dimples on her plump cheeks made me smile every time I saw her face. I loved it when they ate dinner with us. They were the pickiest little kids I had ever seen. At only 2 years old, she would sort through her fruit looking for anything with the slightest imperfection. She would examine each grape meticulously, ensuring not a single brown spot blemished the outer layer of skin. I used to crack up as they sat at our table, picking and prodding, eating very little but laughing the whole way. I guess other people might have found it rude, but I just thought they were both adorable.

I took my girls to the San Francisco Zoo one afternoon when we had a holiday and had managed to talk Sandra into letting Marcia come with us. She felt Rachel was too young, and it was even hard for her to let Marcia go with us. I later found out that was the first trip out of the house Marcia had taken with somebody other than family. Luckily, there were no mishaps and she made it back in one piece.

It had been a fantastic day. Granted, the San Francisco Zoo is now a little dilapidated and in great need of repair, but we had a wonderful time nonetheless. I packed some snacks, fruit, crackers, cheese, etc. OK, I admit it, Karen packed the snacks for me. But I was the one who remembered to bring them. We bought season passes, thinking we’d go a few more times. But that didn’t work out. How can one ever predict the future? Our day, filled with such happiness and fun, was nothing but a prelude to death and sadness.

The girls’ highlight of the day was the playground which seemed to be a focal point for several kids. It was, by far, the most packed area of the zoo. I still find it interesting that you go to a zoo to play on playground equipment even though it can be found almost anywhere. I would have preferred to see additional animals, but most of the exhibits left me feeling sad for the creatures, than in awe of their natural majesty. The African exhibit might have been the lone exception. It was relatively new and was in good condition.

We were out a few hours, headed home and found our way back to our respective houses right next door to each other. I never spent much time with Melvin and Sandra, but I’d spent enough to feel comfortable sending Cassandra their way and them vice versa. How well do you really know neighbors, I guess? A barbecue on occasion, a wave hello, and a wave goodbye as you pass each other on the front lawn.

A couple of weeks after I moved in they had Marcia’s 5th birthday. They were nice enough to invite us over. Actually, I was holed up in the house, but Cassandra was in our back yard playing. She saw all of the party favors, the balloons, and cake, and she probably invited herself. She ran inside so happy and full of life that day. Jumping up and down, asking if she could go over, telling me she was invited. I went, knocked on the door and introduced myself. Then, I had a couple of beers. It was still too soon after the divorce for me to be up for socializing, but I was ecstatic to have a place for Cassandra to hang out.

They don’t really tell you about that during the divorce proceedings, you lose your social life. The ex-wife usually gets the house and all the neighborhood benefits. The men are stuck rebuilding not only their lives but their children’s lives, as well. It is all about starting over. I’ve come to realize that has many more positives than negatives, but it is still a difficult endeavor.

I sometimes reflect back on the times when those two little girls played in my house. They ran up the stairs, chased the dogs or harassed Karen’s cat. Rachel loved grabbing our little Chihuahua, throwing him up in the air like a stuffed animal. I was lucky enough to have two dogs that any little girl could easily play with. The animals were both so gentle and tolerated so much. The ear-pulling and tail-grabbing was relentless.

My black lab’s only problem was getting a little too excited. She loved it immeasurably when the kids would play with her. So much that she almost jumped out of her skin with unleashed exuberance. That was always her problem, really. She had such a good heart. She wouldn’t hurt anyone intentionally. Still she was so big that it was always inevitable somebody would get stepped on or knocked over by her 80-pound frame. She just couldn’t stop herself once she got going.

I try to remember things like this. The happy times. I still find myself wondering what my dog is doing right now. Is she lying in the backyard, all stretched out as the sun reflects off her shiny black coat? Is the little Chihuahua biting her ears as she bats him away over and over again with her oversized paws. Damn, that dog had some huge feet.

I guess in the end is there anything more to life than sitting around and playing a board game with your children and the neighbors? The most enjoyable memories I have are of flopping down on the floor next to the coffee table with my daughters, my girlfriend, and the neighbor kids playing games. I even loved the state game, though it showed me how little I actually knew and how my children knew even less about our country. It makes you wonder what we learn in schools when most of us know so few details about where we live and call home. It borders on embarrassing to forget where Idaho is located on a map. God forbid I should know what the capital is.

I wonder if I should spend all of my newfound time learning the states. Maybe I could memorize them, along with their capitals, their state birds, and whatever else might be pertinent to a good game of trivia. I know of other guys who are getting high school diplomas and college degrees. I guess I should start to figure out something to fill my time. I am not sure how much more energy I can continue to invest in crying every single day. Crying might be cleansing, but at some point I will have to move on, right? I mean, everyone does.

I wonder if Melvin and Sandra are moving on. I will never forget when I last saw them. I think their images are burned inside my memory bank, like a branding iron forms its mark on a cow. My mind and body are nothing more than a vessel to carry their images around for the rest of my span on earth. They are a part of me now. They will always be a part of me. Not like a neighbor in passing who I once knew, but one who is really a part of who I am. Sadly, I guess they feel the same of me. Not in a good way, but more with thoughts of hatred and resentment. How do you know when you first meet somebody to whom you will one day wish you had never actually been introduced?

I wonder if Melvin thinks of his daughter’s 5th birthday with sadness and resentment? Contemplating how life would be different if he would have not invited Cassandra over to his house? How might Melissa’s life be different if our families had not become connected? How can you ever understand the significance of an event and what role relationships will play years down the road?

I had never seen Melvin in a suit before that last day. He had on a shiny dark blue, pin-striped pants and jacket. His tie was black and red striped. I had wondered if he purchased it from that warehouse store I used to see advertised on TV all the time. It looked like one of those suits. Maybe he had a black one, as well, and had gotten them on a buy one-get one free day. I really didn’t even understand how those kinds of things worked. Buy one-get one free. What did that even mean?

Sandra had looked beautiful that day. She was a very pretty woman all of the time, anyway. I had originally thought her slightly overweight when we first met, but now realize it was just the baby fat hanging around from when she had given birth to Rachel. Damn, that little girl was so cute. Both of the daughters had gotten their looks from their mother. Not that Melvin wasn’t a handsome man, but, being a man myself, I can only get so excited about another guy’s looks.

She had been wearing a black dress. It cut off around her knees and was simple yet elegant. Her jet black hair had been hanging down, a few strands hovering over her left cheek. I hadn’t seen her parents and didn’t know them that well. I can only assume they were stoically planted in the back somewhere. I am sure the entire family was out in support that afternoon.

I hadn’t been able to look at Karen, but I knew she would have been there, as well. That would have been the last time I saw her, if I would have had the courage to gaze in her direction. What was the point, there was nothing left to be said? What is that saying, water under the bridge, or something like that? I guess it makes sense. Once the water passes by you can’t really bring it back again. If it were possible, God knows I would be down there slinging my pail like crazy.

It isn’t even so much about me at this point, although I think I shed more than my fair share of tears for myself. It actually shames me that I feel sorry for myself. I wonder if it is a self-preservation instinct that keeps us all thinking about ourselves more than anyone else. God only knows that Melissa thought of nobody else, but that is the truth of most teenagers.

I think I have even found a spot in my heart to forgive my father for what I went through as a teenager. It wasn’t the best experience for either one of us, but in retrospect maybe it wasn’t entirely his fault. He could have handled so many things better than what he did. The beatings with a wire fly swatter being one of them. Talk about something imbedded in my psyche for an eternity. I wonder if he anticipated, at the time, that spankings with the wire fly swatter would be some of my few childhood memories that stayed with me forever?

I now realize I wasn’t that easiest teenager to live with. I was very moody and prone to quickly changing direction at the slightest provocation. Melissa and I shared the same teenage genes. I wish I were smart enough to discover how to help kids in general navigate their lives so they can manage those tumultuous times more pleasantly. It puts such a needless strain on life when you have to deal with family members who are completely out of control.

I wonder if her drinking came from me. I know I used to drink more when she was around that is for sure. There were some nights I don’t think I could have made it without a glass of scotch to help me through. Her attitude alone was enough to kill most average people. It makes me admire Karen more than I would have otherwise.

I can’t help but feel that she is one of the most scarred of all of us by what happened. She chose to enter our lives. She wasn’t born into our family, but she was swayed by my affections. I did love her more than anything in the world. She gave me some of the happiest months I had ever known. Her affectionate touch was electrifying as she brushed her fingers through my hair. Again, it is one of the little things that I think about.

My teen daughter in her moods, so I have a drink. Karen brushing her fingers through my hair as I get slightly distracted with her loving touch. Amelia and Cassandra playing in the background as I take a glance. Hundreds of things coming together to form what? A change in life? A change in death? A change in everyone and anyone who has ever known all of us as a family unit?

Melissa spent so much of her young life in sadness. I guess the appropriate word is depression. I still wonder what was a lie and what was real. Can you ever fully trust somebody who has spent so much energy and focus on ensuring everything they ever told you was false? How does trust every get rebuilt? Is there any wonder that Elin was finally going to file for divorce from Tiger Woods? How do you ever get that comfort back once it has been blatantly smashed into pieces, hundreds of times?

I seem to have all the questions, but none of the answers. Maybe none of us really have any answers. We all seem to be full of one thing, ourselves. We look to religion or God to fill this void, but if there were a God would he not protect the innocent? Why would he not wrap his arms around a little girl and make sure that nothing bad ever happened to her. Is it really God’s will that a small child get molested, beaten and killed? I don’t claim to be an atheist, I actually believe in God, but it clouds the validity if he would allow the death of a little girl.

Is there anyone who will ever forget the tragedy of 9-11 and how many of our religious leaders claimed it was the fault of the devil? How many said it was our punishment for being a nation that openly accepted homosexuals. How many of these fanatics claim that AIDS is nothing more than God inflicting punishment on individuals for openly being gay.

It makes me sick what people are capable of and yet are my actions any better?

I can do nothing now. There is no hope for me. I sit in a corner and cry myself to sleep. I stand in line and do nothing but weep. You get what you deserve in the end I guess. You plant your seed and sew what you reap.

Is it really like child, like parent?