LB |
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Chapter 19 |
| By the time we reached 1988, my dad was seriously ill. I'd only just left him... now I wondered if I'd ever see
him again. My dad, who used to carry me around on his shoulders and dump me, both of us laughing uncontrollably
from something, anything, onto the couch. Who made that horrible Swiss steak for dinner every night for
a year. Who bought little gifts from Woolworth's after getting paid on Friday, wrapped them up and put them on
our beds while we slept, causing us indescribable delight upon discovering them. Who decided the very first time
he saw me that no matter what they named me, he would always call me "Chubby" and I'd always be his baby. I returned to California for a visit in 1989. It was a surprise for my parents. (We pulled it off, too. Theresa had gotten them out of the house, taken them out for breakfast since it was Mother's Day, then to the grocery store. We were waiting inside the house when they returned. My mom opened the front door, took one look at me and cried out, "Oh, Lisa!" at the same moment the full bag of groceries she was carrying hit the floor at her feet. Success!) My family finally got to meet Taunia and I got to see my father again. Since he'd fallen ill, he hadn't been able to do all the junk around the house that he normally would have. I spent the next two weeks doing everything from painting the bathrooms to climbing on the roof to trim overgrown tree branches. The trip allowed me to see my father again, but afterwards, I was more concerned than ever. Who was going to take care of him if things got worse? I decided that my parents needed to move to Ohio. I didn't want them to, but it was something that needed to happen. It's much less expensive to live in Ohio. And this way, I could keep an eye on Dad. Then that crappy Pretenders album came out - Packed! Yeah, Packed! with crappy songs. Ok, that's mean and it's not true. Once in awhile, I actually listen to something off that album. "How Do I Miss You?" is soul wrenching in a beautifully twisted sort of way. I can relate to it, no matter how much I don't want to. "Sense Of Purpose" -- "Give me a sense of purpose, a real sense of purpose now..." -- everyone just loves it. That song makes me think of someone begging. I don't want to hear Chrissie beg. I don't want to hear anyone beg. It doesn't make her seem "more human", as I've heard it described, it makes her seem pathetic. Weakness I can handle. Weakness I don't mind. We know each other very well, Weakness and I. But begging is intensely private. I don't want to know about it. "Never Do That", a fool's anthem, firmly dug its hook into me and will never be removed. By the sound of it, Chrissie wasn't having a load of fun either. I didn't need this shit. If there was one thing I didn't need, it was for her to also be miserable. It's a thought that's unthinkable. She has changed my life in unbelievable ways. The water of her life's pool spilling over into mine brought with it great happiness. That's all I want for her. If I could somehow harvest Bliss, I would do so and lay it at her feet. To give something in return... I'd have to do that, sometime. Every time I spoke to Theresa from 1987, after I moved from California, to 1993, I'd ask, "Have you heard anything about Chrissie? What's she doing?" Theresa would reply the same thing every time, "I don't know, quit asking me." Theresa works for Tower Records and I don't think even she knew Packed! had come out, not until she was handed a promo copy of it. But what was she doing? I'd read interviews with her after Packed! came out. I think the actual number of interviews I read was two. Chrissie said in both interviews that she wanted to tour. Then she was gone again. We moved from an apartment in Akron to a little house in Cuyahoga Falls. Out for a walk one day, I saw a ridiculous-looking dog standing near a group of men working on the road. She was obviously part Lab, but with only half the height. The body was right, but the legs were awfully short. One of the guys, whose mother must surely be proud of her fine son, kicked the dog and yelled something at her. That's it, buddy. I crossed the street calling him every foul word I'd ever heard in any language I could think of. He was shocked and lucky I didn't shove his shovel up his ass. We don't hurt animals. We are the keepers of this planet and are not here to harm, but to help. The little dog had run off, afraid. On my return trip, the dog spotted me and ran over, following me. Dammit. No collar either. I'd never not had a dog until I moved to Ohio. I'd left four dogs behind at my parents' house when I left California. But I couldn't feed my small family as it was. I tried to ditch her by walking past some kids who were out playing -- she joined them briefly, but came running down the street to me again. My heart jumped with joy. I'd love to have a dog again. My heart sank -- Taunia would kill me. We weren't exactly rolling in cash, and the dog should have a good home. I tried explaining this to her -- any of the people who lived in any of the houses around there would be a much better bet. Dogs don't listen. Taunia would have to kill me. She just about did, too. She hated me almost as much as the dog for awhile. But then, she named the dog - Chopper. Dog ate my good food, I ate plain rice. Our house was around the corner from a mental hospital. The guards went home at 5:00 in the evening and, since their budget didn't include money to hire security for the night shift, it was sort of a free-for-all until morning. There was also a bakery down the street, and railroad tracks. Every night we listened to trains rumbling by, growling on their tracks, and in the morning we'd wake up to the smell of fresh bread. We'd go for walks at 2:00 in the morning. Sometimes we'd run into someone else walking their dog or just out for a late night stroll. Or maybe it was a local from around the corner... My parents moved to Akron in 1991. We thought that would solve a lot of problems, but everything was about to get so much worse before it would start to heal over again. Parents -- no matter how far you go, there they are. I watched as my dad got sicker and weaker. He couldn't even cross a room without having to stop and rest. The only way for him to live was if someone else died. He need a heart transplant. Soon. Both parents were making life a nightmare, only it wasn't anyone's fault. There's no one to blame. Diseases don't care what harm they inflict. I rarely slept. My father spent most of his time just trying to breathe, and since he couldn't lie down flat, he'd sit up and watch TV, fall asleep, wake up and watch TV, fall asleep -- like the dying often do. He was dying. There wasn't much left for the doctors to do. You either hold on or you don't. Medicine had brought him this far, now it was all chance. He could and often did need to be rushed to the hospital at any given moment. It usually happened during the night. I'd sit up reading, dressed and ready, just in case. I can't read at night anymore. Any time I attempt it my heart pounds and I become painfully tense. We'd wait at the hospital for hours until they'd finally say they were going to admit him. Dammit, I could have told you that the second we walked in the fucking door. Around 3:00 in the morning Taunia would finally fall asleep in a chair, and I'd just sit there, waiting. Seems like it was always around 7:00 AM when we left Emergency. We'd stay with my dad until they had a room to put him in. I'd do stupid stuff like put on his baseball cap. Talk about queen of the trailer park, sheesh... but it never failed to get a laugh. I'd just goof around and make him laugh all night if he didn't fall asleep. Then I'd come home and pass out. The only time I was able to sleep was when he was in the hospital, when I knew someone was watching him. My mother was diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic when I was about five years old. Apparently it's a dominant trait on her side of the family. On Theresa's 30th birthday, she told me, "I always figured 30 was safe. I'm OK, now we just have to worry about you!" I made her promise to shoot me if I became that way and she made me promise the same. Part of this disorder makes people believe they don't need medication. No matter how much you tell them that, yeah, they really do, they don't believe you. My mom had sometimes gotten violent, but had always only ever gone after my father. She wouldn't have touched us when we were little. She was spooky to be around, for sure, but we'd go to see her in the hospital every evening and I had never been afraid of her. This time it was different. This time she pretty much wanted all of us to die. I felt really horrible to have put Taunia through such trauma, but I think that through this, she was able to see directly into the makeup of my soul. One time after yet another disastrous event that had several police cars piled up in our front yard, Dad and I sat around making jokes and laughing about what had just happened. Taunia turned to me and said, "How can you stand to make jokes right now?" Suddenly embarrassed, I shrugged. She continued, "God, I've never seen anyone like you... you can always pull everyone through anything." I had to. It was pure hell, but I lived through that, too. Eventually my dad got a heart transplant and a divorce from my mother. She moved back to Alabama. Sweet Home Alabama. Where the skies are so blue. And the flag is white with a red X... I guess she's still there. I haven't spoken to her in years. |
