Snack (2 page)

Over what?

A wish that will never come true. More like a dream that started, and then I finally woke the fuck up.

Each and every time I scold myself. “Fucking crybaby. Snap out of it! Stuff that feeling away. He was never really yours.” I know with a high degree of certainty that today, I will see him.

I want to.

I don’t want to.

I’m a fucking mess, if you want to know the truth. And I’m freezing. It’s cold as hell in January in Chicagoland. I can feel Wookiee shivering inside my purse. I sense he’s going to start barking loudly to go in where it’s warm, soon.

All I can think is
Snack is back
!

What will it be like? I haven’t seen him in years. I’ve, at times grudgingly, held on to so many feelings about him. My heart harboring too many unrealistic hopes that I keep tamped down. A friend. Remember, Minnie, he just needs a friend.

Standing here, with snowflakes swirling around me while the street lamps flickering in the twilight seriously consider turning on, I’m transported back to the first time I ever stood in this spot.

The summer before pre-kindergarten, my dad lost his job. And my mom. Not in that order. We lost my mother first. Oh, we didn’t
lose her
lose her. We knew where she was. We just weren’t sure if she was ever coming back to us.

A year later, very suddenly, we moved from just outside of Boston to my dad’s hometown, Downers Grove, Illinois. We traded one bedroom community for another. Like upgrading when your older sibling goes to college. I don’t know if moving was an upgrade, so much as a necessity. It seemed to be an upgrade for my brothers. To this day, I’m still not sure about my dad and me.

I don’t know why we’re standing here. We got off the train and now Daddy has us just standing outside the train station. All of us, my older brother, my baby half brother, Sid and me, not moving and looking at some restaurant across the street. I can see my breath.

“Clippy, what’s going on?” I ask my big brother.

My dad interrupts. “Baby, his name isn’t Clippy or Clip, it’s Clif or Clifton.” I don’t know what Dad’s problem is. I’ve always called my brother Clip.

“I like to call him Clip, Daddy,” I say and press my lips together.

“It’s no big deal, Dad. I like it, too,” Clip interjects.

“Yeah, I do, too,” Daddy says and smiles big down at me. “It was your mom that always insisted we call him by his correct name. I guess we can call him Clip as much as we want, now.” He reaches down with his big hand and rubs my hair through the stocking cap on my head.

Baby Sid starts crying. His cheeks are red and he has shiny snot running out of his equally red nose. He must be cold, too.

“Come on, kids,” Daddy says and we follow him across the street to the restaurant.

My father, Gil, is…
was
an engineer for a large company in Massachusetts. One day he came home from work and never went back. The day before that, my mother went out for groceries and never came back. As much as we asked, Dad never told us
exactly
where our mom went. He’d tell us something vague, like she’s on a trip or visiting her parents. Dad was never much for lengthy or heavy discussions. If we pushed or cried, he left and went to his room. Maybe he was trying his best to hold it together in front of us. I’d creep up and listen at the door. All I could make out was a strange sound like a ghost being strangled. I was too chicken to go into his room and find out what the noise really was, but I’m pretty sure he was crying. Before we moved to Illinois, I would sometimes hear him on the phone talking to someone—begging them to come home. No one else was missing from our house, so I can only guess it was my mother on the other end of the line.

In Massachusetts we lived in a big old house that smelled like a cozy fire even in the summer. It had two stories with windows that rattled when the wind blew and floors that creaked with every footstep. I loved it. I loved every noise the house made. Daddy used to tell me during storms that
there’s nothing to be scared of
. I would always reply with an
I know
. The noises actually comforted me. I was sad to leave my one-hundred-fifty-year-old house and all the noises and smells I loved. For a long time it was just Daddy, my older brother, and me in that house.

Then one day like a bolt from the blue, my mother showed up at the door, handed a baby to my father, and left. All she said was “His name is Sid. He’s not yours.” Then poof! Gone. I remembered it all clearly, because I stood at Daddy’s side, holding the leg of his jeans. She never looked down at me. Not once. She never asked to see Clip or me. She delivered her package and left. That’s how I got my half brother. Dad accepted him without argument, gave him our last name, and legally adopted him. As a kid you never realize what an amazing thing that is to love a child that isn’t your own.

It was only years later I found out that my mother was very ill. Mentally ill. After leaving Sid with us, she was arrested a few months later for vagrancy and public intoxication. She didn’t have to go to jail. The judge ruled she was too sick and sent her to an institution. Of course, it’s not
called
an institution; it’s called a hospital. It’s been years. I don’t think she’ll ever leave.

The visit from my mother and the arrival of Sid set everything in motion. With no job, a big house, and three kids, my dad decided to move us back to his hometown, Downers Grove. Clippy told me we’d been to Downers Grove before, but I honestly didn’t remember. All I knew was we were packing all our things, moving far away, and going to live with my Mimi in her basement, and I wasn’t allowed to bring my pet hamster, Eggroll, with me because we were going on a plane. It was pretty much the embodiment of a nightmare for a six-year-old.

“Where are we going, Daddy?”

“Inside. To that café over there. It’s called SNACKS and my friends own it. We can get something to drink and warm up,” Dad tells me as he opens the door.

The welcoming smell of cinnamon and coffee and warmth immediately surround me in a cocoon of sensation I’m sure I will never forget.

“Gil! Gil Cooper! What are you doing?” A pretty lady with her long blonde hair pulled back in a red bandana rounds the counter. “You were supposed to call when you got to O’Hare. I was going to send Robert to get all of you.”

When she gets to us, she hugs Daddy really hard and then kisses him on the cheek. The lady smiles, but her eyebrows pinch together and her eyes are wet. To me, her face looks happy and sad at the same time, so I can’t tell what she’s thinking. Then she laughs a little. Grown-ups are so weird.

I’ve never seen anyone but my mom hug my dad. And I can’t even remember that very well. Why is this lady hugging and kissing my daddy?

I think my dad is almost crying because I hear him sniffle and then his shoulders drop. His voice sounds funny when he says, “Colette. It’s so good to see you. You have no idea how good it is to see you. I didn’t want to trouble Bob or you with coming out to get us. The train was fine. The kids like the train.”

The train was really cool, but I was so tired I fell asleep and missed seeing anything out the windows.

“Oh, Gil, look at these adorable boys,” the pretty lady chirps excitedly after touching Sid’s cheek and then squatting slightly to look at Clip and me. I’m about to correct her and tell her I’m a girl when she calls over her shoulder. “Snack! Come meet the Coopers!”

A yellow-haired streak comes out from behind the counter, nearly knocking the Colette lady over. “I’m right here, Momma. You don’t have to yell.” It’s a boy. It must be Colette’s boy. He looks like he’s Clippy’s age. He has hair the color of his mom’s and big blue eyes that look like—fun. Like he has all kinds of ideas for fun… and maybe a little trouble! I like him already.

“Come meet Mr. Cooper and his boys. Gil, this is my son, Marcus or Snack. Everyone just calls him Snack.”

Why does she think I’m a boy?

My dad says, “Uh, Colette—” But he doesn’t get to finish because the boy cuts him off and comes to stand right in front of me.

Looking me straight in the eyes he says, “Momma, this isn’t no boy… This is a girl.”

“What?” The pretty lady’s eyebrows jump up.

“Yes,” my dad says. “I have two boys and one girl, Colette. These are my boys, Clifton and Sid. My daughter’s name is Minnie. I guess I could see how you’d make that mistake. They are all sort of dressed alike.” I look at Clip and Sid and realize we all have on similar clothes. Thinking about it, we probably looked like three little convicts. Denim overalls. Chucks. Winter coats. Mittens and stocking caps. All of us in blue. I don’t like pink, so I guess Daddy just put me in the same things as the boys. I never really thought about it before. I didn’t care. Until just now.

The yellow-haired boy hasn’t stopped looking at me. Even though it makes me feel a little uncomfortable, I don’t want him to stop. He hasn’t paid any attention to Sid or Clip.

“See, Momma, I told you she was a girl. She’s too pretty to be a boy.” Nobody had ever called me pretty. Not anyone in my whole six years of life. Not that I can remember. Boys don’t talk about pretty things and I was always only around boys. Suddenly, the boy pulls off my mittens and shakes my hand. “Hi, Minnie! My name is Snack.”

My name is Wilhelmina Jane. Who does that to a kid? Wilhelmina Jane. There are so many horrible combinations of names you can make from that. Shall I elaborate? Willie J. Minnie Jane. It only got worse after the media started with the
JLo
/Hip Hop nickname thing. The list goes on. Then add my last name—Cooper. Yup, you got it. Minnie Cooper. For real. This was never a thing when I was a kid—only in the 2000s when Mini Cooper automobiles were introduced and that damn
The Italian Job
movie came out. Now, my name is a big joke.

Snack helps me with my coat and hat, throwing them on a nearby chair and then, without warning, hugs me! This family sure likes to hug. “I’m glad you’re FINALLY here, Minnie,” Snack tells me throwing his arms up in the air dramatically. “Let’s go play!”

I look up at my dad. He nods that it’s OK to go with Snack. I hear Snack’s mom say, “Oh, I’m so sorry, Gil. She just… Why are you dressing that sweet little thing like a boy? Overalls? A pixie haircut? Really, Gil?”

Daddy sighs and I hear him tell her, “I know, I know. It’s just I don’t know much about girls. And she doesn’t like pink or Barbie dolls.”

Dad was right. I didn’t and still don’t care for the color pink. Living in a family of boys didn’t set me up for much exposure to girl stuff. I preferred to play with Hot Wheels and Legos and my Star Wars action figures. The other little girls at my day care in Boston thought I was strange. I wound up hanging out with the boys—just like at home.

Snack and I go over to an area on the other side of the café, away from the windows that face the train station. There’s a fireplace and it’s much warmer. My new friend has a huge toy box with all of my favorite toys and then some. Not only does he have Legos and Hot Wheels, he has electronic football and Micro Machines, too. Clip been begging for some of those. He gives me a tour of all his stuff and when he finally stops talking, he says, “What do you want to play?”

I know I should say something. I haven’t said a word; he’s done all the talking for us both. This yellow-haired boy is so loud and busy and interested in me. That’s new for me. Nobody ever asks me what I want to do. Daddy’s always so busy with Sid because he’s a baby. The last time I saw my mommy I must have been invisible because she acted like she didn’t see me. This boy doesn’t think I’m invisible. He’s so… pretty and nice. I don’t know why I can’t talk to him. I talk to my brothers with no problem.

I’m about to open my mouth to tell him I don’t know when Snack points at my chest and says, “What’s that?”

I look down at the pocket of my overalls. A small, furry, golden head with beady eyes looks up at me. Busted! I look over my shoulder to see if my dad is watching. “That’s Eggroll, my hamsta,” I whisper.

“Your hamsta? Oooooh, your hamst-ER. I like the way you say that.”

I had no idea at the time my Boston accent was funny or different. As a matter of fact, I thought Snack sounded pretty funny, too. He never teased me about it. He’d just laugh and try to say things the same way. Twenty-six years after our first meeting my accent is a distant memory, only appearing when I’m very tired or drunk or both.

Snack laughs a little too loudly. “Eggroll? That’s a funny name.” I turn my head again to see if Daddy’s looking. I could get in trouble for hiding Eggroll in my pocket and bringing him on the plane. Dad and I agreed I would give him away. I packed him up in his cage and took him to school, but then I just couldn’t do it, so lied and told Dad I gave him to my kindergarten teacher. I didn’t. I threw out his cage and kept Eggroll hidden in a box in my room until it was time to leave. Then I snuck out with him in the bib of my overalls.

I take Eggroll out and hold him for Snack to pet, making sure to shield the meeting from my dad’s view.

He smiles at Eggroll and then me. “Why do you call him Eggroll?”

“Because he’s the size and col-ah of an eggroll and he smells yummy. At least, I think he smells yummy.”

Daddy must have sneaked up behind me because I jump when he says, “Wilhelmina Jane Cooper! Is that what I think it is?”

Snack instantly comes to my defense, saying something like, “Don’t be mad,” “She just didn’t want to be alone, and I’ll help her take care of Eggroll.” Just like that, Magic Snack, my hero in blue jeans and Keds saves the day for the first, but not the last time, in my life.

“Please, Mr. Cooper.” Snack has his hands folded together like he’s praying. His eyes are big like a puppy’s. My dad seems to be powerless against Snack, too, because he caves and agrees that I can keep Eggroll since he must be a super hamster to survive a cross-country trip on a jet.

“Minnie, we’ll get a new cage for Eggroll tomorrow,” Daddy tells me with a half smile. “I swear you kids run right over me.” I let out a sigh of relief. Thanks to Snack that went much better than I thought it would. Daddy hardly ever gets mad at me, and I hate to disappoint him, but giving up Eggroll was too hard.