Long Blue Line: Based on a True Story (6 page)

Over the next few weeks Josh continued to work at the oil change place making minimum wage, and I got myself into a routine with my new school. Now that I was now pregnant, as I had once so desired to be, Josh and I naturally wanted to spend even more time together. I wasn’t babysitting Summer as much and I though Lilah must have been getting worn out from all of her outings with her boyfriend. Babysitting had really been the only time that Josh and I had privacy and the chance to spend our nights together.

Considering the circumstances, a couple of unusually uneventful months went by. I was about four months along. I could still easily hide my condition if I wanted to, but I didn’t need to bother. It was a small town, and everyone talked. I knew that hiding the situation would only prolong my anxiety about people’s reactions to it anyway. Having to tell friends why I suddenly left school was bad enough; I dreaded telling my extended family. Most of them lived a couple hundred miles away, and it was going to have to be a phone call that broke the shocking news. I knew it would be difficult because I loved and respected them so much.

My grandparents on my mothers side spoke with my mom frequently, so I knew that she must have told them already. Any time I heard her talking on the phone, I would intentionally hide. I either went to the back yard where it was easy to hide behind a gigantic pine tree that must have been hundreds of years old, or I would run out the front door and go on an aimless walk down the street. I hated confrontation. On one occasion, I heard my mom coming towards the stairs with her clanking heels tapping against the hardwood floor. I heard her reply “Hang on, let me see if I can find her.”  It was time to move fast. I rolled off my bed in a hurry, almost landing on my face, and somehow performed a stunt-man style leap into my huge closet. I hated my closet. I always had evil spiders creeping in the dark corners. This was a situation where I had to suck it up and hide, as if my sanity depended on it. I was just not ready to talk to my grandparents, for the fear that they would be extremely disappointed in me. I loved them both so much, and became so sad thinking about how I must have let them down. Walking through the door to see an empty bedroom, my mother was in and out. I am never going to be able to handle this, I thought.

Finally, about a week later when my mother was on the phone with my grandparents, I gave up on my fight to hide and I forced myself to become available to talk. Handing me the phone, my mother could see the worry on my face. “Hello?” I nervously said.

Immediately followed by my shaky greeting, their all-too familiar voices were like music to my ears and helped to put me at ease. “Hi honey! How is our girl?” My grandparents always sounded enthusiastic when I spoke with them. They always made me feel very loved. I was thinking that our conversation was off to a good start by the way they were maintaining their normal conversational style. I carried on and spoke as if I wasn’t thinking about the pregnancy, as if nothing had changed. I desperately wanted to keep our relationship as stable and happy as possible and as innocent and loving as it had always been.

There was only one statement that my grandpa made that brought an immediate lump to my throat: “Honey, I am really disappointed -
Really
disappointed.” I had to fight to hold back my tears. I never wanted to disappoint my grandma and grandpa. That was just about the only negative comment I had ever received from either of them and, to this day, this still remains true.

My grandparents always uninhibitedly gave us twins the kind of treatment that only royal princesses receive. This started the day we were born. Not only did they spoil us with presents and chocolate pudding; they offered us their constant attention every minute that we were together. They were much younger than most grandparents that I knew and only in their early 40’s. Our grandpa was technically our step-grandpa. He never had any biological children with our grandma, and I suspect that could partially explain their love and attention to Merri and me. My grandpa even named me when I was born and still in the hospital. When I was little, I would obsessively brag about this. They truly cared as deeply for us as any parent would care for their own children. Out of every member of my extended family, my grandparents have always had the tightest grip on my heart.

I had let them down, and it broke my heart. Getting off the phone and saying our goodbyes, I set the handset on the kitchen table and ran upstairs. I didn’t want my mom to see me crying. I was crying out of guilt for feeling like such a disappointment to two people who always took such good care of me and loved me so very much.

I waited until Thanksgiving to tell my dad. I wanted to wait as long as I possibly could. I knew it wasn’t going to be a pleasant conversation. I really did not want to hear his criticism. Even my mother avoided telling him. We avoided him for about two months, so I was sure that he suspected something strange was going on. When he called on Turkey Day in the morning, my mom answered the phone. It was, at first, a normal ‘Happy Thanksgiving’ conversation. It turned bad the second she told him. “What the HELL Ron! Maybe if you ever showed an interest in her life she wouldn’t be in this situation!” I heard my mom scream. The two of them were like fire and ice. They just did
not
mix. I have no idea how they were ever together long enough to create me. For the record, I really try to avoid thinking about that.

Our parents split when Merri and I were just babies. When we were little, our dad would come and pick us up on the weekends. We were only about three years old, and he had a small apartment across town. I remember that I would always get excited when I saw him pull up. I loved it when he picked me up and gave me attention. He was tall, and I thought it was so cool to be so high up in the air in his arms. My twin was the opposite. She was never very thrilled about leaving our mother for the weekend. The story we were told is that he threw a sandal at her forehead and she, being angry as hell, locked him out of the house.

Our mother is not a person who you want to make angry. She can definitely hold her own and is not afraid to show it. Apparently our dad came back to the house a few hours later begging for the can of soup he had left. To this day, Lilah still talks about how bad she felt for him that night. I’m guessing that he didn’t really return for just a can of soup. He probably wanted to resume his normal family life and seek forgiveness for that sandal shot. Needless to say, their relationship was over.

Lilah has a different father. She didn’t get to meet her father until she was seven. Gabe was with my mother from the age of thirteen. He later joined a church that was strong in his beliefs. For some reason, Gabe disappeared and decided to marry another woman from the church. I could never understand why any man would ever do that to a woman as beautiful and loveable as my mother.

As I grew older and met my older sister’s father and his family, I realized that everyone involved really seemed to have good intentions, and things just turned out the way they did because they were probably supposed to be that way. Every person lives through a unique experience and through a totally different reality. I try not to draw conclusions about other people or situations unless I’m directly involved.

After Gabe left, my mom was on her own at 20 with a small baby and not enough help. At that time, she was living in a mid-sized California city that was pretty much a ghetto. She was only there because of our great-grandmother, whom we called grams, as she was one of the only family members able to help her at that time. After living in a pretty disgusting city for a few months, she just couldn’t handle it any longer. She hopped on a bus with her last twenty dollars. The one-way ticket took her on a 4-hour ride to Lake Tahoe.

My mother went straight to a casino to see if she could find a job.  She was hired on the spot. It was going to work out for her after all. My mother took a huge leap into the unknown to offer her baby girl, Lilah, a better life. In turn, she offered all of her daughter’s a better life.

Even after living in Tahoe for 21 years, I could easily still sit and stare at the lake and admire the beauty that the deep blue, sparkling water permanently imprinted in my memory. That sparkling imprint would soon transform into a deep, black, suffocating scar that would follow me around for the next 6 years.

On the phone with my dad, the criticism started. “What the hell have you been doing, young lady?” my dad questioned in a deep, matter-of-fact tone. I was silent for a few seconds. I had predetermined that if my father was not going to offer me any comfort, love, or support, I was simply going to hang up on him.

“Elizabeth, are you there?” he growled. “Yes, I am here. It is what it is, dad… I can’t go back, so I am going to work on finishing school early,” I attempted to confidently say. “The only thing I can say that you’re doing right is not getting an abortion. God doesn’t approve of that,” he reminded. I explained to him that an abortion would never be an option for me. “So, what the hell do you think is going to happen? How are you going to support this kid? Do you really think that this Josh guy is going to give you what you need? You have really screwed up big time.” I was done with his negative scolding. It was Thanksgiving, and he was ruining it. “You know what?” I finally screamed. “I’m not going to put up with your shit! If you can’t be supportive then I’m just not going to speak to you anymore!” Tears began to roll down my face. I pushed the red button on the phone and it was over. I attempted to hold back my tears as my mom and sisters came into the hallway to see why I had been yelling. They all comforted me and gave me hugs to try to calm me down.

I didn’t know if I was crying because my dad was a jerk or if I was crying because I was a jerk for hanging up on him. Regardless of the reason, my heart was aching. This particular incident did prove one positive thing - it showed me that my mother and sisters really did care. They were there to support me for the long haul. Once I dried my tears, I stuffed my face with my mother’s amazing Thanksgiving dinner. For the moment, all was well. Except that Josh was nowhere to be found.

My mother and sisters were lifelessly lounging on the couch with me – we were totally satisfied after stuffing ourselves to no end with turkey. Suddenly I heard the squeaky front door of the house open.
Joy. Josh must have decided to finally join the family
I thought. Sure enough, he stumbled in with that all too familiar, glossy look of disorientation on his face.

He was drunk…again. I was definitely upset. I could not figure out why, of all days, he decided to get trashed on this day. He’d been drinking at his mother’s house, or his second-house, I should say. He went back and forth from my home to his mother’s in a bit of a lost, transitional limbo for quite a while. I knew that at any given time he was with his mother for longer than an hour, he was drinking.

Josh’s mother, Hilda, was an alcoholic. Although a functional drunk, there was no hiding her addiction. It fit her perfectly well. She was loud and obnoxious and overwhelming to be around even when she was not drinking. Her alcoholism, however, can be somewhat sadly justified. When Josh and I first got together, we were spending time together at his mother’s house when she and her new fiancé were on a short vacation.

I noticed that on the floor was a small brown chest with a few toys neatly displayed on the top. Josh noticed me looking at the chest and took this as an opportunity to share with me a very sad piece of his family history.

His name was Beau. It was a bright, sunny Friday, and the boys were all excited and getting ready for their first trip to Disney World. Beau was about three years younger than Josh and Jed was about two years older than Josh. Hilda had three boys, all with the same man, and it sounded as if the family was intact and happy. After a normal six-year-old tantrum, Beau was instructed to spend time in his bedroom to calm down. After getting everything together for the trip, Josh went to get Beau. Opening the bedroom door, he realized that Beau was gone. In a panic, nine-year-old Josh searched the room high and low only to notice that Beau’s fishing pole was missing and the window was wide open. Without thinking twice, Josh leaped out the window and ran down the path that led to the boy’s favorite fishing spot.

When Josh arrived, he discovered his little brother face down in the river. The hills, rocks, and water had been too much for a six-year-old to safely maneuver through. Josh screamed and found someone who called 911. The rescuers were able to transport Beau to the hospital, still breathing, but otherwise lifeless. After spending days on life support, Beau was gone. His brain endured severe and irreversible damage.

I was saddened to hear this story. I wondered how Josh still remained to be such a happy and kind person. I was shown pictures of the sad experience, and one particular picture broke my heart. It was a last goodbye picture of the big brothers by Beau’s bedside, broken and in tears. The wooden chest was all the family had left of their youngest member. It was filled with toys, stuffed animals, and cards from Beau’s classmates. I vividly recall Josh sharing this experience with me. Maybe it was the universe preparing me for the uncertainty to come, or maybe it was a sign for me to hold on, fully and completely, to everything I held dear.

Although Hilda angered and annoyed me, I now had an understanding of what had shaped her into the person she had become. What bothered me most, though, was that she had most likely been a negative example for Josh from the time that Beau had passed away. In Josh’s world, getting wasted on a nightly basis was normal. It was what his mother did, and naturally, he sought her approval.

Rising from the couch where I had been with my mother and sisters, I moved toward Josh who was standing inside the opened front door. Josh looked at me like a deer-in-the-headlights, and I instantly knew what he had been up to. Naturally, I wanted to take care of him and just fix the situation. After closing the front door, I grabbed his hand and attempted to drag him up the stairs and away from my family. He was so incredibly inebriated that he was grabbing onto anything and everything along the way to keep his balance. At the bottom of the staircase he grabbed my mother’s wooden hutch, knocking off every valuable piece of glass with a loud shatter. I heard my mother yell something as I continued to lead him up the stairs. We managed to make it to the top without incident. Before he could make his way into my bedroom, he fell flat on his face in the hallway and broke his nose. Gushing blood and breaking expensive items along the way, he lay in the hallway as my mother raced to see what was going on upstairs. This is where everything took a plunge.

“What the hell is going on, Josh?” My mother yelled. “Shut up you dumb bitch,” he slurred. ”Yer just jealous you can’t have me.” My jaw dropped and I almost burst out laughing. That was very out of character for Josh to say. My mom was so mad that her lips tightened, and the look that I usually ran away from was there instantly. “That’s it. I’m calling the cops,” she stated. She followed through with her threat and called the police. On one hand I couldn’t blame her, but on the other hand, I was extremely afraid and unsure if this was the right thing to do. I tucked my drunken boyfriend into bed. He made a horrible attempt at taking off his pants to sleep in his boxers. His boxers came off with the pants. I hurriedly tried to get his pants back on so the poor cops wouldn’t have to deal with a naked drunk, but I failed. He was nothing but dead weight. This is where my sympathy for Josh ended. He was about to embarrass us, including my family. Accepting our fate, I gave up and walked out of the room.

The police sobered Josh up enough to get him in cuffs and escorted him down the stairs and into the patrol vehicle. Josh went to jail for vandalism.

That night I felt very lonely and let down. I felt betrayed by Josh, and I felt as if my mother simply didn’t understand. I didn’t know why Josh felt it was necessary to ruin Thanksgiving, and I didn’t know why it was necessary for him to be arrested when I depended on him so much. The only thing I could do for comfort was to write in my Journal.