You Found Me Page 2

  “Hey, Rob. How are you?” “I'm good. What about you?”

  “Oh, work has been terrible.” She gave a sigh. “People called in sick, the clinic was swamped this morning, and to make it worse my appointment canceled on me. Talk about annoying.” I had to agree with her. I didn't even work with her and I got stressed out just listening to her.

  “So class was canceled?”

  “Yeah. Apparently the teacher is sick or something. There's a good chance class will be canceled tomorrow too.”

  “Don't bet on getting lunch tomorrow too.” We laughed. “Don't worry. I'm not.” I loved my mother, more than most kids I'm sure. But one lunch a week was more than enough for me. “How is school going?” Leave it to Mom to bring up the touchy subjects. When I talked, I always tried to avoid these subjects. With her, with Dad, with ANYBODY! Of course, my mother and I are different in a few areas. This is one of them.

  “It's going pretty well. I'm passing my classes.”

  “Just passing?”

  “No, more than passing. I'm doing well actually.”

  “Right. That's why you were valedictorian of your senior class and aren't even able to make Cs in college. That makes perfect sense if you ask me.”

  “I really don't wanna talk about this again.” Which was the truth. My parents, loving as they can be, were rather judgmental. If I didn't get that PhD, they'd remind me of it for the rest of my life. Which is pretty much what I said to her.

  “Honey, we'll always be proud of you, no matter what.” “Right,” I said. “As long as I do what you guys want me to do and the way you want me to do it.”

  “You really need to rethink your priorities.”

  “Maybe I already have. Maybe I don't wanna go all the way and get a PhD. Maybe I don't wanna get my masters. Maybe I don't even wanna go to college, did you ever think of that?”

  “Yes, we have. You have to have an education if you ever want to go anywhere in life.”

  “How do you know? How does Dad know? I could do a lot even if I didn't go to college.” This wasn't anything new. We really had had this discussion at least a million times. Maybe two million. I've long since stopped counting. The ending was never good. “Why can't I just do what I wanna do?”

  “You can. You just need to graduate first. Have something to fall back on.”

  “So I can't do what I want. I have to do what you want.”

  “As long as you live under our roof.”

  “Well, maybe I don't wanna live under your roof anymore.”

  “Then don't. We'll be glad to help you pack,” she said.

  With that, I stormed off to my truck. “I'm not going to stop you and apologize if that's what you're thinking.” I stopped and turned towards her.

  “What makes you think I'm even thinking about that?”

  “Watch your mouth, young man.”

  “Ya know what? I hate you! I hate you, I hate Dad, I hate everything involving you two. Why can't I just live my life? Huh? Why not? Just go away and leave me alone!” I'd said three words I never thought I would say to anyone, let alone my mother. Three words I regret to this day. I still remember the words. All my anger at her, Dad, and life summed up into three words.

  It had been the only time I'd ever said anything like that. To my mother, friend, complete stranger, mortal enemy, anyone. I wasn't really into all the joking around with it like most people were. But the first and last time I'd ever said them, I'd said to my mother. It stung for a minute, then went away. I had that terrible feeling in my stomach, the kind like you'd been hit really hard. I got on the interstate and just drove. I was glad we lived a good ways from Huntsville. Driving gave me time to think.

  I felt bad about what I'd done to Mom, but it felt worse that they didn't listen to me, whether it was with anger or not. I tried to talk to them, but they never listened to me.

  The music wasn't playing. I wanted silence. Why did we always have to fight? Why couldn't she just see my side and agree with me just once? Why could she at least work with me on this? Why couldn't I be myself and the kind of person I wanted to be? The questions went through my head over and over again, racing against each other. She'd hurt me a lot, but more so today. More than ever. I quit caring whether I'd hurt her or not and thought about how much she'd hurt me.

  I knew that when she got home, I was going to be in for it. It wasn't going to be pretty. I'd probably be kicked out of the house again. Yes, again. I'd been kicked out when I turned seventeen. Almost the same circumstances. We'd talked about college choices and where I was gonna go. I told them I didn't wanna go to college, they didn't approve, we fought, and I slept outside for the night in an uncomfortable porch swing we'd had for years. The cushion was old and moldy.

  Once, I made the mistake of calling 911. They showed up, “put out the fire” and left me, Mom and Dad alone. It didn't end well that night either.

  I was almost home, turning left on the highway that leads there. I'd gone down it many times and usually didn't feel good about it. Something about going home never went over easy for me. Pain is a terrible thing. There was still no music playing.

  I couldn't believe what had happened, but it had. My mother and I both have the problem of saying what we think when we think it. This often gets us into trouble with each other. Most people find it funny and enjoy talking to us. The two of us, however, always took the things we said personally and rarely gave it a second thought.

  I pulled into the driveway and just sat there. I'm an only child, so I wasn't expecting anything when I went inside the house. There really weren't any details when it came to me being an only child. Apparently, my parents tried for several years to have kids and were unable to do so. Mom had always told me the day they found out she was pregnant, they cried and cried.

  There was a message on the phone, no doubt Mom or Dad telling me how much trouble I was in. I didn't touch it. I just went and laid on my bed. I just wanted the whole day to start over. I wanted to forget everything that went on and try to fix everything that happened.

  Chapter Two

  Robert was nervous. This was his first day of school. The first day he would be without his parents for more than an hour. He'd been to his grandparent's house lots of times, staying for a night or two (maybe even a week), but this was different. He didn't know these kids. They might hurt him.

  He had trouble eating his breakfast of Fruit Loops and chocolate milk. It was his favorite. His stomach was all up in knots and he just couldn't eat. He was worried about today. He and his mother had spent time playing and doing different things together. He finally told her he “was bored” and started at a local daycare. Now, he was moving on to preschool.

  “Come on, Robbie,” his mother said, “we gotta get going.”

  She laid his clothes out for him the night before. Denim shorts, a yellow smiley-face shirt, and a power rangers backpack. He also had a small lunch with him. He was ready to face the world (though he was still a bit nervous).

  The school was in Rosetta Falls. Their house was right on the edge of the small Alabama town, leaving them with a decent drive to the school. They took the back roads, which often proved faster than traveling down the main highway.

  Lush countrysides filled Robert's eyes as they made their way to the school. Along the right side (where he predominately sat), he watched all the beauty within his sight. Bright green pastures. Beautiful forestry with trees towering above him, pointing proudly towards the crispy blue sky.

  Robert's favorite part was the most beautiful of all. It was a large house with four small lakes to its side. The lakes cascaded into each other. The grass around them was bright, full and green. Robert would look at the place and dream of living there. Today, more than ever, he dreamed of living there as a full grown man, living away from crowded areas with many people all around.

  They pulled into the parking lot of the church that ran a school the rest of the week. They sat there, waiting.

  “It'll be okay, honey,”
his mom said. “Don't worry about it. You go right in and make a friend.” Robert was shy. He didn't like talking to people, especially ones he'd never met before.

  What if they hurt me? he thought. What if they make fun of me because I'm so small? He was smaller than all his friends at church. The doctors said he probably wouldn't make it passed 5'5” or 5'6”, and that was pushing it.

  “I don't wanna go, Mommy. What if they don't like me?”

  “Oh, honey,” she said in her comforting voice. Robert liked that voice. “They won't make fun of you. They're all new here too. This is their first day. You'll make plenty of friends.”

  “You won't forget me will you?” She smiled at how cute he looked, all worried about what will happen while he's gone.

  “Of course not. I'll be back at lunch to pick you up.” Robert wiped his eyes.

  “Okay. I love you.”

  “I'll miss you.” He was treating this as if he was being sent off to war. That's exactly what it felt like to him. He was being sent away from his parents, the only people he really knew and really loved.

  “Don't worry.” She placed her hand on his heart. “I'll be right here.”

  Chapter Three

  The phone woke me. I don't think I dreamed anything, and I probably didn't. I never dreamed. It got really depressing for a while, especially when you and your friends compare your strangest dreams (I never won). I looked around for my cellphone. It might have been Jake calling to play games or something. He was bad about that. I finally found it.

  “Yeah?” I didn't feel like being nice. It was Dad.

  “Rob. It's Dad.” He didn't sound good. I was expecting a lecture.

  “Yeah. What’s up?”

  “It’s Mom.” I was about to defend myself when he hit me with two words. Two words I will never forget and forever hate. “She’s dead.”

  I felt a strange emptiness inside me, the same I'd had earlier after the park. I'd heard wrong, I KNEW I had.

  “She's what?” I heard him sniff. He'd been crying. “She's...dead. Apparently she was driving home early, probably because she didn't have anything else to do in town, I'm not sure. Something...” He didn't know what she was going home for, but knew there had to be a reason. I could barely breathe. I knew the reason. I was the reason. She was gone. I was the reason she was gone. In one day, three words had started something and two ended that same thing. They were different words, but gave me the same feeling. A feeling of desperation.

  “Rob?”

  “Huh? Yeah, I'm here.”

  “I asked where you were?”

  “I'm at home.”

  “You are? Why are you at home?”

  “Classes were canceled.” (It wasn't really the truth since I still had one more class. It wasn't really a lie because a class was canceled. This was my thinking.) Dad asked me to stay at home while he called friends and family.

  Yeah, I thought. What else am I gonna do? I said okay and hung up.

  Dead.

  It was so scary. So...permanent. She was really gone. It was my fault too. It'd been my idea to meet up and I'd been the one to say what I'd said. Why'd I do that? I didn't have to. But I did. Man oh man, I did.

  No, I told myself. This wasn't my fault. She shouldn't have made me mad like she did. This is her fault, not mine. I just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. It was her fault. All her fault.

  I got on my laptop. It was roughly 2:45pm, so no one would be online. I logged onto AIM and was greeted with nothing (which didn't surprise me). People were probably at school, work, or just bored.

  I checked my email then Facebook. My status had been erased. I only updated it once a week, if that much. Now, it needed updated. I stared at it for a few minutes. I didn't know what to write, or what I needed to make known to the world. I began typing, watching the words form. Slowly. Painfully.

  Mom is dead.

  ------

  She looked horrible. It took a lot of convincing before dad let me see her. I could barely tell it was her. Honestly, I wasn't sure it was. She had been damaged. Her face was almost gone, beyond recognition. Dad was crying uncontrollably. I just stared at her. This was my fault. All of this was my fault.

  Tears were in my eyes. Crying was something that had always come natural to me. I couldn't keep myself from crying. I looked at Mom and just let it all come at once.

  Society has always taught that men, no matter where or when, should never cry. I've no idea when this thinking began. Growing up, my Dad encouraged crying (not the right term. “Allowed it” maybe? Not really sure). And I didn't disappoint. Anything and everything I cried at. Around the 7th grade, I managed to only cry when necessary. Today, I felt it was necessary.

  Why was I crying? I was torn between the many reasons. Guilt. Sorrow. Pain. Depression. Anger. Happiness. Wholeness, or lack thereof. I didn't know which it was. I was thinking it was all of them. All of them at once.

  MY MOTHER WAS DEAD! She wasn't supposed to be but she was! What had gone wrong?! Why had this happened to me?!

  Dad was holding me. Both of us standing there, stunned.

  Why did this happen? Why didn't I just apologize, say this was a bad idea, and leave? Why did I ask her to lunch in the first place? My mind screamed and thoughts racing. The doctor tapped me on the shoulder and I jumped. I was lost in thought and didn't realize he'd come into the room.

  “There's nothing else we can do. We've tried everything possible. I'm sorry for your loss.” I couldn't see because of the tears. He turned to Dad. “If you'll come with me, you can fill out the necessary forms and paperwork.” Dad went with the doctor, leaving me there. I didn't know what to do. There she was, dead. I wanted to say something. But what could I say?

  Mom, I didn't mean to kill you. It was all an accident, honest. It wasn't on purpose. It wasn't on purpose. I...it wasn't on purpose...I promise... Dad came back in and said it was time to go.

  The drive home was slow going. It wasn't any longer than usual, but it felt much longer. Dad and I were quiet most of the way. We talked for a few seconds about where we wanted to eat. I mentioned some of the restaurants near us. He mentioned the rest. At the moment we were stuck between Hardee's and the chicken place they just built. Eating wasn't the intention, but instead sort of a way to get back to the way things were. Make us feel like what was happening, wasn't really happening.

  We could see all the restaurants up ahead, still unsure about what we wanted. It was obvious, though, we were talking just to talk. Neither of us were hungry. We passed Hardee's, then passed the chicken place. We kept heading home, but still talked about what we wanted to eat. Neither of us wanted it to be silent. That was usually when she...when Mom called. When she'd call Dad and say she was on her way home.

  Home looked depressing. Mom's silver van wasn't in the driveway and the porch light wasn't on; everything was dark. Usually, when Dad and I came home late, she could be seen sitting in the living room doing some kind of work, her laptop casting a glow. What she did I never asked or cared to know. My truck was sitting in its usual spot, to the left of the garage. We had an open garage, no doors. If you faced the house from our street, it sat on the left, then came the house (large and white), then the yard. The garage had room for two vehicles, Mom's and Dad's. I parked outside and didn't mind.

  Dad pulled into his usual spot, leaving Mom's open. I didn't want him to park there. That was Mom's spot. It was her spot, not his. Not mine. Sometimes they would spice up their marriage by swapping parking spaces or switching sides of the bed. That rarely held.

  A few years ago, however, they swapped vehicles before work because Mom needed a tire change. She had something important to do, I don't remember what. They swapped back in town and came home. Apparently, neither realized they were driving different vehicles. Dad parked in Mom's space, the space next to my truck and farthest from the house, and Mom in Dad's. It's been that way ever since. We changed subjects and talked about my classes as we walked in.

&n
bsp; “What all do you have tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Nothing too big. I have an English paper that's gotta be reviewed, but we're doing that in class. I already did my homework for history (a lie) and math.” I’d dropped math at the beginning of the semester because I didn't see any point in it. I kept the refund, going to the PO Box every day until I was sure they wouldn't find out about it.

  I took my contacts out and got ready for bed. It wasn't a very long winded process. Contacts, medicine (for high blood pressure) and clothes. I always put my clothes out for the next day. It helps in case I sleep in.

  “Good night, Dad.”

  “Good night, Rob. I love you.” That last part caught me off- guard. Dad and I were good friends, don't get me wrong, but we rarely said “I love you” to each other. We both knew it was true, we just didn't say it all the time.

  “I love you too” I said, half out of obligation and half to get outta the room. I didn't like the lovey-dubby scene. It bothered me, to be honest.

  I went to my room and turned the lights off. I set my phone to silent and set the alarm for six. I always get up early so there's hot water left for Mom and Dad. I didn't know what to set the alarm to since Mom wouldn't be there to complain.

  As I laid there, I couldn't go to sleep. I thought about Mom being dead. She wouldn't be there in the morning to get angry about the hot water being gone or to get on to me about not eating breakfast (which I really did). Usually, I woke up, thought about sleeping in and skipping classes, got up and got my clothes and walked into the bathroom. My bathroom was connected to my room and the adjoining guest room. Across the hall from the guest room was...is Mom and Dad's room. Between the two rooms is the staircase. You walk down a long, winding hallway and you get to my room. Having the bathroom saved a lot of time in the mornings.

  Sometimes, when my alarm wouldn't go off, I would skip the walking part and just run to the bathroom. That rarely happened, believe it or not. When I used an alarm that plugged into the wall, it happened a lot (roughly twice a week). I started using my phone and never had any more trouble.