Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

As it turned out, life without mom seemed just like life. Somehow, all of us started our lives back again. Brad went back to Chicago, Charlie went to work every night to bartend, and Dad went back to work each morning. I was the only person without a job. And they reminded me of that fact every day.

“Hey, bum, can you pick up dad's dry cleaning? I'm busy today.” Charlie banged on my door to wake me up and ask me.

“Hmm?” I rolled over in bed, Carmen dutifully by my head. “What?”

“PICK UP DAD'S DRY CLEANING!” he yelled.

“Don't be a jackass, god. OK, I'll do it.”

“Don't be a brat!”

“Go away!” I threw a pillow at the door, trying to hit his face, but he dodged it just in time. I turned back over to my pillow. “Don't listen to the bad man, Carmen.” I stretched me arm out toward my night table, feeling for my phone. I knocked over my glasses first, then got it. I had to hold it up right next to my face because my glasses were now conveniently out of reach, and I saw that it was 1 pm.

“Holy s**t!” I jumped out of bed and rubbed my eyes. “Carmen, why did you let me sleep in this late? I've got stuff to do!” She yawned, stretched out her feet, and closed her eyes again.

Okay, okay, I thought, putting my thoughts together and grabbing some clothes from a large pile in the center of my room. I examined them for stains, smelled them, and decided they were acceptable. “Come on, Carmie, time to go outside.” She recognized those words and sat up, stretched out like a cat, and jumped off the bed.

That's when the glass cracked.

“No, no, no, no, no!” I said, desperately pleading that the glass that broke was not at all related to something I needed. “Carmen, what did you step on?” She knew my tone meant bad news, so she ran out of the room sheepishly. Then I found them. My only pair of glasses, shattered.

Well, not necessarily my only pair. But the pair I had used for the past year. They were thick black Ray-Bans, and I loved them because they made me look so much smarter than I actually was. And because I loved them so much, I never invested in a back-up pair or new contacts. So as I sat back down on my bed, holding my shattered and (I had just noticed) slightly bent plastic frame, I thought of what I had left.

The old contacts from three years ago. My prescription changed twice for the worse over the past three years, and while the contact would provide some sort of vision, the probability of dying in a car crash because I couldn't see the other cars while picking up the dry cleaning drastically increased.

Or the very old glasses, which were bright pink and had brown paw prints on them. I sighed and reached for the contacts, digging through a couple of boxes until I found them and the old contact solution I had. I walked toward the bathroom, guided by memory, and rushed to throw the contacts in my eye. Slowly, steadily, I balanced the tiny cup on my finger and delicately placed it in my right eye. I blinked, looked in the mirror, and felt the immediate burning.

“F**k! F**k! Mother f****r!” I yelled, pushing on my eye with my palm. “Oh god d****t! What have I done?” I tried desperately to open my eye enough to get the contact out, and by the time I did, the whites of my eyes were entirely red. I put my hands on the sink and rested. Well, I thought, I guess it's the pawprint glasses.

Luckily the drive to the bank was also slightly guided by memory. That, combined with light traffic, made for an easy journey with a subpar prescription. From the bank, to the dry cleaners, and finally to the eye doctor with my busted glasses in tow. With the pink glasses I felt like a child, immediately returned to my 10-year-old self. I had been so excited to wear these glasses, and now I felt embarrassed to have them on for even a few hours. I walked quickly into the office, afraid of being seen by anyone I knew from high school. Or worse, from middle school.

I walked up to the brown desk, surrounded by brown walls and brown chairs. Even without most of my sight I could tell Dr. Movic needed a desperate new interior designer. The receptionist was looking down, writing something onto to a notepad with such concentration that she didn't even hear the door shut four feet away from her. I cleared my throat.

“Oh, goodness, sorry,” she said, jerking her head up and clearing a space on the desk. “How can I help you?”

“Hi, my name is Emma O'Conner, and I need to get my glasses fixed.”

“What's wrong?” she asked, studying my face.

“Oh, no, not these,” I laughed and pulled out the broken pair from my pocket. “This pair.”

“Oh lord, that's not good,” she said, taking the pair gently and slowly opening the sides to take a closer look. She whispered something to her coworker, then looked back at me. “We don't carry these in stock anymore. So we'll have to reorder a completely new pair. Might take 10-14 business days.”

I sighed. “Ok, that's fine, whatever needs to happen. Um, in the meantime, do you by any chance have some sample contacts? Don't get me wrong, this pair of glasses is totally bitchin, but the prescription isn't up to date.”

“Do kids still say bitchin?”

“I don't know.”

“Well, I can get you some samples, sure.” She reached behind her into a card catalog-type file system and dug up several pairs of contacts. “These will last you a couple of months. We'll call you when the glasses come in.”

“Thanks,” I said, grabbing the contacts and heading back to the car. I ran to the bank and the dry cleaners and made it back in time for Charlie to be getting back from the gym.

“Jesus Christ, what happened to your face?”

“Oh shut up,” I said, shoving him out of the doorway. “Carmen jumped on my glasses and these were all I had.”

“It's a good look, really. You should wear them all the time, Wishbone.”

“Hey! Wishbone was awesome! And you suck,” I yelled, trying to throw another pillow at him but missing again. He stuck his tongue out at me and hopped up the stairs. I heard Carmen's jingle as she ran toward me. “Carmen! Hello darling!” She rubbed her head against my arm, her symbol that she needed to be let out. I opened the door for her and looked around the living room. All of mom's things were still there. Every detail reminded me of her: the red wall she spent forever painting; the coffee table with books about Chicago architecture, one of her favorite subjects; the framed vinyls of The Beatles, Carly Simon, and Fleetwood Mac. Everything was about her, but I couldn't feel her.

Dinner was bland. For some reason, Charlie, my dad and I had come together every night, without any force, to eat dinner together. We didn't really talk, but we sat at the dinner table together, which was something the family hadn't done for years. And when we did talk, it was always about insignificant things like sports. Well, they were significant to Charlie and my dad, but I had no idea what they were saying. Something about the Bears and Cubs always made it into the conversation, and then I completely tuned out once they started mentioning individual players or the words “fantasy football.” Instead I'd pick off bits of corn and hand them off to Carmen, who waited patiently by my feet.

I tuned back in when my father put is fork down, and I knew the dinner was over. I grabbed my plate and Charlie's and started clearing the table. I was listening to the dishes clanking when father said “Emma?”

“Huh?” I asked, turning my head around the island in our kitchen.

“Did you hear Charlie? He said you football team looks good for the next year.” My dad smiled, as if this was supposed to please me.

“Sorry, I never really payed attention to football. I was more into sleeping and reading on the weekends.”

Silence followed. I interrupted it by clanging the plates together while stacking them, unstacking them, and putting them in the dishwasher. The dinner was as hollow as the conversation and I wanted nothing to do with it. I finished the dishes and decided to go for a drive.

“I'm gonna head for a bit,” I said, grabbing my keys and Ipod. “I'll be back in a bit.”

“Where are you going?” my dad asked.

“I'll be back,” I said and shut the door. I ran out to my car and started driving off, headed nowhere exactly. Except I knew exactly where I was going without thinking of it. I pulled slowly up the hill to my favorite childhood park where I would sled down with my parents in the winter and run around with them in the summer. I drove to the top and walked out to the bench on the very top, just before the ground headed downward again. I was completely alone in the park and could barely tell the trees from each other. The leaves blended together and I thought I might stay there forever.

I could hear the crinkling of leaves behind me. I knew who it was, but I didn't want Charlie invading on my moment alone. But it wasn't Charlie, it was Brad. He sat beside me on the wooden bend, bundling up his jacket.

“It's surprisingly cold for June,” he said.

I didn't look at him. I knew he'd find me here because mom took all of us here. But I just didn't know why he wasn't in Chicago. It was almost as though he could here my thoughts because he drew a breath.

“I quit my job,” he said. “I hated it. I knew I would. But mostly mom knew I would. I was just doing nothing and making money, which seemed stupid after mom died. She was this incredibly smart woman who worked for what she believed in, so to keep doing this stupid job seemed like a disservice.” Brad stared at his feet. I looked over to him, still not uttering a word.

“Yeah, so this means I'm back home for a couple of days. I wanted to see everyone.”

I nodded a bit.

“I know you miss mom. That's why you're here. But you need to understand that we all do. And it's more than just missing mom, it's missing a part of our very being. And maybe you just need to get away for a bit.”

“I'm moving to California in a couple of months,” I said, staring straight ahead at the tops of the trees.

“I know. But what if we helped you move?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I'm saying what if we helped you move? We can drive you out there.”

“It's like, at least 30 hours. Or something like that.”

“I know.”

“No. No, thanks, I'm fine. I'll fly out.”

“I'm going to do it anyway,” Brad said, shuffling his hands inside his jacket. I looked over at him even though he was staring at the same tree tops as me.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because I want to. We want to.”

“Who's 'we?'”

“'We' is Charlie and I. We want to take you. I talked to him already.”

“No, he'd never want to. He just got that new job.” I shook my head, knowing this was one of Brad's stupid plans that wouldn't come true.

“Yeah, like he really wants to be bartending for the rest of his life. I think he could do with a vacation too.”

“Dad wouldn't agree to it,” I said, still shaking my head.

“Well, you'll have to ask him. We won't. That's on you. But let me just say it was on offer. We want to be there for you, but you have to let us in. Charlie says you've been quiet, which isn't really like you. So just let us know. I'll be at the house.” Then Brad left as quickly as he had come. I was alone again at the park, staring at the tree tops, unmoving in the dead of the night. I wasn't sure if I expected an answer or guidance from the greenery, but I knew that whatever I was searching for wasn't at the top of the hill. It was missing its magic: the kids, the screaming, the parents, the daylight. At night and alone, it made you feel more lonely than ever. After several minutes of sitting by myself, I took one last look at the hill and said goodbye. For good.