Their parent’s had been a match made in heaven. They screamed and ranted at each other every day, but by nightfall all would be forgotten. Evie and Eddie would have a candle lit dinner together every night at the small kitchen table. This was something they started doing after the girls moved out because they were all that was left and her mother wanted to make sure that they spent time, quality time, together. They would ramble on about what they’d seen on the news, what deals were to be had at the grocery store. It didn’t matter what they talked about so long as they talked. It kept them close.
Later, they would take a walk around the neighborhood, holding hands like young lovers, as though no rash words had ever come between them. If it were windy, Eddie would stop and brush the hair from Evie’s cheek then land a kiss on the now barren spot. Her mother would always beam when he did that. She would always joke with her friends that that husband of hers wouldn’t keep his hands to himself. He was always trying to cop a feel when she least expected it. And although she would protest loudly when he did that, she actually prided herself on knowing that she could still turn his head.
Cassie had always thought their argumentative side was odd, that she would never ever be with someone who had the balls to yell at her and then expect her to perform in bed later as though nothing had happened, but this daily banter seemed to be the ticket for them. That never changed with them, not until the very end when her mother would not even recognize the man she had spent sixty-two years with.
When her father could no longer reach her, reach the girl that had completely stolen his heart all those years ago, he seemed to give up. He pulled back. He was now as lost as her because there was nothing he could do to help, to salvage her, to make her remember who she was, who he was. It was devastating.
Cassie remembered sitting in their living room watching her father as he tried to concentrate on whatever was on television or whatever book was lying in his lap. Whenever she visited, which was quite often after her mom went sour, she would try to engage him in conversation, try to get him reactivated, but he rarely spoke these days. Instead he would just stare off into space, stare at the ground, lost in his own way like a little boy whose mom had gone away never to return. His sadness he wore on his sleeve for all to see. As strong as she’d thought her father was, she could see this was killing him. That he too was giving up because he could not exist in a world without his beloved Evie.
Eventually he’d just close the book, turn off the television, and tell Cassie that he was pretty tired. Then, without another word, he’d get up and trudge slowly up the stairs to their bedroom.
She remembered one time when this happened not so long ago. She had gone out to her car and looked up at her parent’s bedroom window. Even though the curtains were drawn, she could see the shadow of her father pacing back and forth. She could see him run his hands through what was left of his silvery hair. He would turn his back to the window and she knew he was just staring at what was left of the love of his life.
She had been frozen in time there that night. She could not look away. She could not imagine the pain her father was feeling as he tried to will his wife, her mom back to normal.
She had a vague recollection of the things she’d ranted and raved about with God that night. She hated the cruel punishments he would hand down to those who she didn’t think deserved it, especially to her mother. She’d been the kindest, most generous person Stef had ever known.
When she and her sister were growing up, their mom was always the one that would be in the kitchen baking up a storm all the while surrounded by a group of Stef’s girlfriends. They were loud and rambunctious but she never reprimanded them. She reveled in their company because it made her feel young.
There would be flour flying everywhere, and chocolate chips strewn about the countertop as the cookie fiesta got underway, but her mother would just join in their joyous laughter as the mess grew. Her father, not so much. He would walk in, give everyone that look, and then he’d leave just as quickly as he entered.
After all was said and done during those slumber party baking days, the kitchen would be in shambles. At that point her mother would abandon the room leaving the chore of cleaning up to all the girls as they giggled and ate the fruits of their labor.
She was always the first one to encourage sleep over’s or camp outs in the back yard. On several occasions they would build a little campfire in the middle of the yard so they could roast marsh mellows and share scary stories. The next-door neighbor, who just happened to be the town’s fire chief, often objected to these random bursts of flames and never missed an opportunity to complain and bitch about the smoke coming in his windows. He’d never take any more action than complaining because he’d always had a secret crush on Evie.
Her mother would occasionally pitch pup tents when the weather was right in case the sisters or their friends felt adventurous enough to sleep outside, and on occasion they did just that. They would roast hot dogs, then finish the night gorging on Smores and soda.
Every once in a while, one of the friend’s parents would have to be called in the middle of the night because their daughter had gotten sick from all the frivolity. It would always be later than anyone would appreciate being called, and they would always complain, but it never stopped them from allowing their daughter’s from returning for the next adventure. They all loved being at Stef and Emily’s house because it was always fun.
Later, they would take a walk around the neighborhood, holding hands like young lovers, as though no rash words had ever come between them. If it were windy, Eddie would stop and brush the hair from Evie’s cheek then land a kiss on the now barren spot. Her mother would always beam when he did that. She would always joke with her friends that that husband of hers wouldn’t keep his hands to himself. He was always trying to cop a feel when she least expected it. And although she would protest loudly when he did that, she actually prided herself on knowing that she could still turn his head.
Cassie had always thought their argumentative side was odd, that she would never ever be with someone who had the balls to yell at her and then expect her to perform in bed later as though nothing had happened, but this daily banter seemed to be the ticket for them. That never changed with them, not until the very end when her mother would not even recognize the man she had spent sixty-two years with.
When her father could no longer reach her, reach the girl that had completely stolen his heart all those years ago, he seemed to give up. He pulled back. He was now as lost as her because there was nothing he could do to help, to salvage her, to make her remember who she was, who he was. It was devastating.
Cassie remembered sitting in their living room watching her father as he tried to concentrate on whatever was on television or whatever book was lying in his lap. Whenever she visited, which was quite often after her mom went sour, she would try to engage him in conversation, try to get him reactivated, but he rarely spoke these days. Instead he would just stare off into space, stare at the ground, lost in his own way like a little boy whose mom had gone away never to return. His sadness he wore on his sleeve for all to see. As strong as she’d thought her father was, she could see this was killing him. That he too was giving up because he could not exist in a world without his beloved Evie.
Eventually he’d just close the book, turn off the television, and tell Cassie that he was pretty tired. Then, without another word, he’d get up and trudge slowly up the stairs to their bedroom.
She remembered one time when this happened not so long ago. She had gone out to her car and looked up at her parent’s bedroom window. Even though the curtains were drawn, she could see the shadow of her father pacing back and forth. She could see him run his hands through what was left of his silvery hair. He would turn his back to the window and she knew he was just staring at what was left of the love of his life.
She had been frozen in time there that night. She could not look away. She could not imagine the pain her father was feeling as he tried to will his wife, her mom back to normal.
She had a vague recollection of the things she’d ranted and raved about with God that night. She hated the cruel punishments he would hand down to those who she didn’t think deserved it, especially to her mother. She’d been the kindest, most generous person Stef had ever known.
When she and her sister were growing up, their mom was always the one that would be in the kitchen baking up a storm all the while surrounded by a group of Stef’s girlfriends. They were loud and rambunctious but she never reprimanded them. She reveled in their company because it made her feel young.
There would be flour flying everywhere, and chocolate chips strewn about the countertop as the cookie fiesta got underway, but her mother would just join in their joyous laughter as the mess grew. Her father, not so much. He would walk in, give everyone that look, and then he’d leave just as quickly as he entered.
After all was said and done during those slumber party baking days, the kitchen would be in shambles. At that point her mother would abandon the room leaving the chore of cleaning up to all the girls as they giggled and ate the fruits of their labor.
She was always the first one to encourage sleep over’s or camp outs in the back yard. On several occasions they would build a little campfire in the middle of the yard so they could roast marsh mellows and share scary stories. The next-door neighbor, who just happened to be the town’s fire chief, often objected to these random bursts of flames and never missed an opportunity to complain and bitch about the smoke coming in his windows. He’d never take any more action than complaining because he’d always had a secret crush on Evie.
Her mother would occasionally pitch pup tents when the weather was right in case the sisters or their friends felt adventurous enough to sleep outside, and on occasion they did just that. They would roast hot dogs, then finish the night gorging on Smores and soda.
Every once in a while, one of the friend’s parents would have to be called in the middle of the night because their daughter had gotten sick from all the frivolity. It would always be later than anyone would appreciate being called, and they would always complain, but it never stopped them from allowing their daughter’s from returning for the next adventure. They all loved being at Stef and Emily’s house because it was always fun.
No comments:
Post a Comment