Learning to Cry (30 page)

Father

June 7, 2010.

Can you be in the wrong place at the wrong time? Jesus, I no longer have any idea what makes sense.

I woke up that morning as I did so many other days that I’ve forgotten. How can anyone remember every moment of their lives? They all blend together, forming one at some point. I lay in bed, snuggling Karen. I had not gotten on the computer, which always drove her crazy by the way, but had chosen to lie for a few minutes with her in my arms. She always smelled like some kind of fruit or flower. She had lotions for everything, it seemed.

She would rub anti-aging lotion on her face and anti-wrinkle cream on her forehead. There was this one wrinkle or line she always pointed to, telling me how she could now tell she was getting older. She was 13 years younger than I was, so it really seemed irrelevant. She still got carded every single time we went out for drinks. It wasn’t that she looked underage at 30 years old, but she did look young. In reality I wouldn’t have cared what she looked like.

You always get those questions in relationships asking “what if.” “What if” I were burned beyond repair, or “what if” I lost my arms, or legs, or “what if” I were dying in two years, or my face was smashed beyond recognition, would you still love me? I am not sure I understood the question before I met Karen, but I did once she came into my life. It wouldn’t matter what she looked like, what happened to her, how old she got or how her body might change. I loved her with my whole heart. Every fiber of my being loved that woman. Jesus Christ, I still love her, but I have to let her go now, don’t I?

I lay there with her that morning, and we held each other. She rubbed her fingers through my hair, as she so often did. It was the most amazing feeling. I can still remember it if I close my eyes and imagine. It is those memories that keep me going, I think.

The clock hit 6:15, and I knew the girls would be up, so I pulled myself out of bed and let the dogs out. I never really paid enough attention to my two dogs. They were good dogs. I wish I would have lain on the floor with them a little more often and just scratched their ears. They loved that. It would have been so simple to get out of my recliner and give them some much needed affection.

Amelia and Cassandra were awake. They were busy getting dressed and yelled good morning to me as I let the dogs in the backyard. I didn’t even check if they needed food and water. I hope that Karen remembers to feed and water them. I am sure she will, but she does get a little distracted now and then. She forgets to feed her 18-year-old cat at times, and I used to drop food and water in her bowls. I really didn’t mind much, but I gave Karen a hard time about it.

I knocked on Melissa’s door, and she still wasn’t out of bed yet. She yelled at me that she was awake, but I could tell by her voice she wasn’t moving. She was always so mean when she woke up. Karen used to refuse to rouse her for fear of being on the short end of one of Melissa’s temper flair ups. Melissa really had no control over her anger during any point of her teen years.

I made it to the kitchen and started breakfast. That morning was pancakes and eggs for everyone. I started Karen’s gluten-free pancakes first. That doesn’t even seem like a real allergy, but she holds fast that it is. I sometimes wonder since she has never even been tested for it, but in the end it is such a small thing to overlook for somebody as remarkable as she is. Damn, maybe she really is allergic, anyway. How the hell do I know one way or the other? At some point shouldn’t I just take her word for it? I made pumpkin-spiced pancakes again, which the kids loved. They had been as leery as I was when Karen first introduced us, but it had only taken one bite for me to be convinced. Mine were not quite as good as the restaurant version since I only used a pumpkin pie spice to flavor them, but they were better than the average plain version. Once breakfast was made, we all sat down and ate together. It was a little rushed as usual in the morning, but sitting down as a family to eat a meal was important to both Karen and me. This was something that never occurred in my previous marriage, and Karen was so thoughtfully adamant about how important the time was.

As normal, I yelled at everyone that we had to leave once breakfast was done and everything was cleaned up. The last minute touches of make-up and hair brushing occurred every morning. When you live with four girls in a one-bathroom house, you have to show some patience with their fighting over the mirror and sink. Even my little one got in the mix, and she was only 8 years old.

I then drove them over the coast for my hour-and a-half commute to all of their schools. My ex-wife insisted that my little ones remain in school on the coast despite the inferior quality of the entire district. I remember a parent conference with Cassandra’s teacher, and he asked me if it were true that I lived in Burlingame. When I confirmed this he asked me why she didn’t go to school in that district since it was so much better than the one he taught in. I told him to talk to her mother. She refused to give up the social aspects of her involvement in school functions, and that was more important to her than the quality of our daughter’s education.

He laughed at the time but when I saw him the next time he nodded his head in understanding. She really did care more about her own involvement than her children’s education. It is sad in a way, but on the other hand, she is involved so what can I say. After the debacle with Melissa and her switching districts, then switching back, I had lost my energy to fight with their mother on quality. I figured I would just help them all the best I could wherever they went to school.

Once I arrived back home, I spent the day writing as I had done the last few months. I made the bed, picked up the remnants of clothes left in the wake of our early morning rush for school, and watched one of my new favorite shows “Spartacus.” I am not even sure it was that good, but I did enjoy the reprieve from sanity once a week while I watched it. I think it was scheduled on Friday nights but I never managed to watch it until later the following week. Karen hated the violence and refused to have it on while she was in the room.

Today was Karen’s turn to pick up the kids, so I had some extra time at home by myself. I actually enjoyed picking them up, but it was also nice having a break. Karen was such a help with the children. They weren’t even hers, we were not even married, and yet she jumped in and helped in every aspect of rearing them. Being a school psychologist she was wonderful with all three, but she also said on many occasions it was so much more difficult when they were children living with you, under the same roof. Being with those damn little vixens was not always the easiest thing. Still, I miss it more than anything else in life.

When Karen and the girls arrived from their day at school, we decided to go to Hola’s for dinner. It was becoming quite the tradition for us to venture down to our favorite Mexican restaurant once a week, if not twice a week on the rare occasion. It had not been long before that Karen and the kids introduced me to Taco Tuesday. I, for some reason, thought it was Taco Wednesday, but that doesn’t seem to make much sense. Still it was happy hour every day from 4 p.m. to 7 p.m., and that was enough incentive for us to make the commitment.

We knew the staff there pretty well by this time, so we sat down in the bar area on our own that day, and they quickly gave us our free appetizer plates. We, then, ordered our usual round of drinks. The kids always had lemonades, I had the house margarita, and Karen had a pomegranate martini. We had quite the colorful table setting. We stayed for a couple of hours, had some food, and by the time we left, I had polished off three margaritas. This was actually a normal occurrence so it was nothing out of the ordinary. The one big difference was that night, I drove.

On most occasions, we walked down to Burlingame Avenue. I loved the walk. If it were up to me I would have always walked, not that I am pointing blame at anyone. I’m just stating a fact, really. I enjoyed the fresh air and liked the exercise. That night the kids were tired, it was a little breezy, and I gave in to the relentless demands of everyone concerned. It wasn’t that far away, so it didn’t seem to be a big deal.

We had parked in the public parking lot on the corner of El Camino Real as we always did. It was less than a block from the restaurant. We walked back to our car after dinner, and everyone got in. I pulled out of the lot without a thought. It is funny how you remember all of the details of the strangest things. The red hair clips in Amelia’s hair, the headphones cocked back on Cassandra’s head as she listened to TV in the background. Melissa as she sat lip syncing to the song on the satellite radio. It was all there as vivid as if it were happening right now. It seems so real, like I could reach out and touch any one of them.

As we headed north on El Camino Real, I glanced in the rear view mirror and saw the girls arguing over something. Karen brushed her hand through my hair as she so often did. It sends a chill down my spine as I can almost feel the tips of her fingernails as they skim seductively over my scalp. It isn’t the things that I saw that affected me that evening. It is the things that I missed seeing that haunt my dreams and make my hands shake uncontrollably.

I missed the red light warning me to stop. How often is it that a person misses a red light? I can’t remember running a red light since I became an adult and figured out how to drive responsibly. You just don’t miss red lights. What about the other car coming through the intersection? Surely one would see that before it was too late. I guess not everyone does or how would accidents occur? I can’t even remember even speeding on that road, but maybe going 45 miles an hour in a 35 mile an hour zone is normal, and you don’t realize it most times. I now know at 45 miles an hour there can be considerable damage done to a car and people upon impact.

I now also understand what they mean when the say that everything freezes in slow motion as you realize you are about to be in an accident. The entire world stops, and all that you see, or understand, gets mired in a frame by frame depiction of your actions.

Melvin was driving his dark Blue Honda SUV. We were only a few blocks from our respective homes. Sandra was in the passenger seat, and it looked as if she was talking on the phone. She never even looked up or understood what was happening. She just sat there chatting away in the safety and comfort of her vehicle. She never suspected what was a mere few seconds away that would change her life forever. Melvin saw. It was as if he looked directly in my eyes. It was as if he stared at me, asking me why. His mouth opened but before he was able to voice anything, we reached impact.

Marcia and Rachel were in the back seat, and they took the brunt of the blow. Their car was halfway into the intersection when we collided. They were in the processing of turning right, and we hit Marcia directly. The police said she died upon impact, but I know that is not entirely true. I saw her face as the hood of my car crumpled into the back driver side door. It was like a heat-seeking missile, colliding with its victim. I saw the recognition in her eyes as the door and window collapsed on top of her. I saw the thousand shards of glass spraying directly in her face. They were like little specks of snowflakes in a stiff breeze being blown in her direction.

The pain was there. It was real. She felt it sear into her being a second before she died. I don’t think anyone can die instantly. There are always a few seconds or even a second of life where the understanding takes hold and you come face-to-face with the end. It should never happen at the young age of 6, but we don’t always get to pick our paths.

Rachel was a slightly different story. She should have survived, really. I kept hearing that it was such a fluke. Somehow the window frame broke off and hit her seat belt at just the right angel, slicing it completely through. Her entire booster seat shot like a gun, bursting the window on the other side and launched her skyward. It reminded me of those amusement park rides where you sit in a seat and fly up in the air a few times. Dropping half way down, then back up, then dropping again. Rachel’s seat went up once, made a high arch and then plummeted back to the pavement.

Everything is about chance and timing – the fire hydrant was right there. Her seat flipped over. How she happened to land on her head with the hydrant impacting her skull was anyone’s guess, but it happened. What are the odds? Melvin and Sandra most likely don’t care about odds. How can you care about what might have happened, or what should have happened when the only two children you have are no longer alive. Within the span of seconds, they were now both dead.

I wasn’t the only one who witnessed this destruction. Melissa’s eyes were the last thing I remember seeing. Looking in my rear-view mirror and watching her face contort in horror and realization of what was occurring was sign enough that she understood. To see two little kids die at such a young age is something nobody should ever have to witness.

I think of all the times my children talked about smoking and the ill effects. Every adult they met and spoke with who smoked was given a lecture. They were always so good about understanding the ramifications of cancer and what smoking would do. I wonder why we all didn’t spend more time talking to them about drinking and driving. Would it have mattered? I didn’t feel drunk when I left the restaurant. I only had three drinks. I wasn’t even light-headed.

When I woke, I was laying on the pavement with a blanket covering my lower body. I had blood covering most of my clothes, but I soon learned that I was spared any severe injuries. Karen had a broken right arm, some minor cuts and gashes, but she too would make it out with no lasting physical damage. Cassandra and Amelia were fine. A couple of little cuts but they saw nothing preventing them from heading off to a school dance, once the shock wore off.

Melissa, on the other hand, was having a convulsion. There were two people holding me down, otherwise I would have gotten up and tried to help her. They were putting her on a gurney and trying to strap her down. All of her appendages were flying in different directions. It literally took five individuals to get her safely secured in the back of the ambulance. We were all headed to the same hospital. Karen was already on her way, apparently having been taken while I was still unconscious. The police were there but were not asking me any questions at that point.