The Boots My Mother Gave Me (2 page)

I stopped laughing, my smile slowly retracting as I fumbled with my hair, pulling it over the side of my face as I always did when nervous. I hoped he would tell a joke and we would burst out laughing, quenching the unnerving silence. Much to my trepidation, he said nothing.

He leaned into me, tucking my hair behind my ear, exposing my undoubtedly blushing face. As if pulled by some electrical force, I leaned into him. He lingered so close, his breath warm, moist, and rapid, only inches away from my mouth. He smelled like clean linen, fresh off the line. His hand rested on my neck as he traced my bottom lip with his thumb. My heart knocked on that little spot in the back of my throat as it pumped ferociously.
Oh, my gosh, he’s going to kiss me. What do I do?

My mind racing, I closed my eyes as his lips softly found mine. Something biological triumphed over my worrisome mind, and I found myself returning his kiss. His mouth tender, his taste was sweet. Warmth flooded my body. I felt on fire from head to toe. No wonder people kissed all the time in the movies. God, it felt good! Hearing myself moan faintly, I quickly returned to my body, my mind now awkwardly conscious. I pulled away.

Jeremiah, caught in the moment, his eyes closed, slowly revealed his captivating dark browns. I looked away, touching the back of my hand to my lips to seal in his taste, while wondering if I had done it right.

Recognizing my discomfort, he quickly returned to the steering wheel. The only sound on the way home was the ambient rumbling of the tires on the road beneath us. For the first time, we had nothing to say.

Our silence was short-lived, thank God. The next day, we picked up where we left off as if the kiss never happened.

Nearing the house, coming from the basketball game, I felt my stomach begin to turn, my muscles growing tense. They always did that when I approached home, because I never knew what I would walk into. I hid it well, though, the master of facades at this point. If you smile and laugh, people think you’re happy. If you act calm and collected, people think you have it together.

Usually, I would drop Jeremiah off down the road, at his house, before returning to my own, as I rarely had anyone over. My father didn’t like having people around. It compromised his secret, our secret.

As I came upon the house, I could see Kat, my younger sister, crossing the road to the barn. My father’s town truck was gone and Mom’s car sat in the driveway. It was too late to be milking by normal standards. I had seen this scenario many times before. Dad went out to the bar and didn’t come back in time for chores, so Mom ended up doing them when she got home from waiting tables at the local restaurant. I didn’t want Kat and her to do chores by themselves, so I pulled into the gravel by the barn to tell them I’d be right back after running Jeremiah home. After all, Dad was gone, so I thought.
What a stupid thing to do.

Kat, in all her fourteen years had grown into a beautiful child, unlike me. The perfect mix of tomboy and one-hundred-percent girl, she slipped in and out of the roles as easily as dice on a craps table. Kat was that girl every girl wanted to be, and every boy wanted to be with.

As I pulled off the road, she came to the driver’s side of the truck. Seeing Jeremiah in the passenger seat, she quickly put on a smile. I could read the nervous energy all over her. That’s what we had become, a bunch of ions, our charge continuously reforming to suit our father’s energy.

“Hey, Jeremiah. How was the game?” Kat asked.

“Your sister did it again, Kit-Kat. They smoked ‘em. You should have seen her out there. The only thing I heard all night long was swoosh. Nothing but net,” he said. “You guys still milking? You need some help?”

“No. No thanks. We’re just finishing up.” Kat tapped on the truck. “See you in a minute, Harley.” That was my cue.

“So you think you’re too good for chores, huh? Basketball comes before chores now?” I heard my dad’s gruff, deep voice from the front porch.
Why didn’t I just take Jeremiah home and then come back? Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

Kat looked at me, scared and nervous. I don’t think my father saw Jeremiah inside the truck in the dark. I was the only one he expected home. He usually held his tongue in front of people, reserving his Jekyll and Hyde routine for Mom, Kat, and me.

“Take the truck home. I’ll pick it up tomorrow,” I said to Jeremiah, grabbing my gym bag and hopping out.

“Harley, what’s going on?” I stood outside the truck, rolling up the driver’s side window, attempting to shield him from anything further my father might say.

“I’m past curfew,” I lied. “Please, Miah, go. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I shut him inside. Dad sat on the porch step, pulling on his boots, a lit cigarette hanging out his mouth and a bottle of beer sitting beside him.

“I’m surrounded by a bunch of goddamn idiots. A bunch of worthless goddamn women,” he said between puffs on his cigarette.

“Kat, go to the barn.” She did as I told her. Jeremiah still sat in the passenger seat, completely perplexed. I saw it all over his face. “Go!” I tapped on the driver’s side window, before walking in my father’s direction.

As I neared the steps he stood up, pointing his finger in my face, the way he had done so many times. “You just bought yourself your last basketball game.” I said nothing, looking straight ahead, my expression unchanging as I stood before him, much like a soldier in training faces a drill sergeant. My father expected my undivided attention while he told me how worthless I was.

“Do you know how good you got it? I was a good basketball player but I couldn’t play. Nobody cared enough to let me play. Did you win?” he asked with a cocky smile.

“Yeah,” I said. The truck still sat in the driveway. I wanted to get the verbal “niceties” over with, get back to the barn to help with chores, and chase Jeremiah off.
Why didn’t he just go?

He took a puff off his cigarette. “It’s nice to know you’re not a loser at everything.” I cringed as I heard my mother’s fast footsteps in the driveway, followed by the opening of the truck door.

“Flo!” Jeremiah called as he stepped out of the truck, walked to Mom, and gave her a hug. One of her three jobs, she drove the bus for the activities program at school. All the athletes loved her.

My mother’s name was Marilyn, but they affectionately called her “Flo” because she also waited tables at a restaurant beside the school. Flo of
Mel’s Diner
fame seemed only fitting. They tried to get her to smack her gum and say, “kiss my grits,” but she just smiled and gave them a look that begged,
As if.
My mother was too refined and shy for such horseplay.

“Jeremiah,” she said with surprise, returning his hug. “You better get home. Isn’t it awful close to curfew?”

“Do I stink or something?” He smiled, smelling his undershirt. “Everybody keeps telling me to go home.”

“Who’s that?” my father demanded.

“The neighbor boy. Mr. Johnson’s son, Jeremiah. He rode to the game with me. He’s one of the kids on the activity bus she drives,” I quickly explained, annoyed by his ridiculous implication. My father was the green-eyed monster of jealousy incarnate. He couldn’t stand anyone showing Mom the slightest bit of affection.

“Marilyn, those cows aren’t gonna milk themselves. Get your ass back in the barn. I’m coming over, anyway. I can’t depend on anyone around here to get a goddamn thing done.” He guzzled the last of his beer and threw the bottle against a tree in the front yard. With the awkward movement he threw himself off balance, falling backward onto the front porch step. I grabbed his arm and guided him down.
Be a shame if he hit his head or something.
I didn’t dare turn around to see the look on Jeremiah’s face.
What must he be thinking?

“Please, Dad.”

“Please what?” he whispered, mocking me. “Am I embarrassing you?” His voice grew louder. “You’ve been an embarrassment to me from the day you were born. What the hell good is a goddamn girl to a man? Every man should have a son. What did I get, two worthless goddamn girls and the worthless goddamn woman who gave birth to ‘em!”

My father’s favorite word was goddamn.

I heard Mom’s footsteps coming up behind us. I turned around and saw Jeremiah in the middle of the road, watching in frozen disbelief.

“John, go back to bed. We’ll finish up at the barn,” Mom spoke softly, approaching the front porch steps. “Harley, take Jeremiah home.” She leaned down taking my father by the arm, helping him to stand. Once he was on his feet, he shoved her, hard. She fell back into me.

He came toward her, his eyes raging, shoving his infamous finger in her chest. “I will snap your head off and shove it up your goddamn ass!”

I spun Mom around putting her behind me, facing him. “Just leave her alone, Dad.”

“Leave her alone, Dad,” he mocked me again. “Poor Marilyn. Everybody sticks up for Marilyn. Everybody
loves
Marilyn. What about poor John? Nobody gives a shit about John! Not a goddamn one of ya, worthless pieces of shit.”

He reached around behind me and grabbed Mom by the hair, jerking at her. I tried to deflect his grasp but he kept at her, like he always did. I heard Jeremiah approaching, Kat’s footsteps quickened behind him.
What a freaking circus.

Jeremiah’s voice was edgy as he approached us, “Leave them alone.”

“Jeremiah, don’t! You’ll only make it worse. Just go home,” Kat pleaded, sucking in air amidst her tearful release.

I heard my father’s devious, provoking laugh, as he shoved Mom and me out of his way. “You want a piece of the old man, too?” He turned to Jeremiah, holding his arms out from his sides as an open invitation.

Jeremiah did what came naturally as he picked up his pace toward my father, dropping his shoulder and catching him around his ribcage, as if he were running drills on the football field. He followed through, shoving Dad up against the front porch wall.

“Jeremiah!” Mom yelled. Heeding her call, Jeremiah let him go. Dad sat there slumping against the front porch wall, the wind and words knocked from his body. What an uncanny picture, my father, powerless and quiet, his invitation answered and served, his authority questioned. Jeremiah stood over him, his chest heaving, his fists clenched. The thought that if he only had a red cape he would rival Superman, flashed through my mind. Mom quickly found her way to Dad, assessing him. He nastily swatted her hands away.

“Marilyn, go get my gun,” my father panted.

I moved to Jeremiah, taking his hand. “Come on. I’ll take you home.” Kat stood on the sidewalk, her gaze shifting back and forth from Jeremiah with admiration, to Dad with pity.

“I’m not leaving you,” he said.

“The hell you’re not!” My father’s voice grew stronger, his breath returning. “Get the hell off my property! You goddamn bastard.” My heart sank at his words.
He wouldn’t. Would he?
I pulled at Jeremiah’s hand. He turned with me walking away. My father, steadying himself on his feet, his lungs functional again, continued his favorite pastime.

“Your own mother didn’t even want you. Left you on your
daddy’s
doorstep. If he is your daddy. With a slut for a mother it’s anybody’s guess.”

“John,” Mom scolded.

“Shut up,” I said. I couldn’t believe the words actually came out of my mouth. It was too late to take them back. My father had heard them.

I positioned myself between Jeremiah and my dad whose finger jabbed in my direction, yet again encroaching on my personal space. “You better watch your goddamn tone, young lady. This is my goddamn house and I will not be disrespected.”

I could feel Jeremiah closing in on me from behind. I stopped him with my hand, gently keeping him at bay. My father started in with his maniacal laugh. “You want another round with the old man?” he taunted Jeremiah, grabbing me by my neck with one hand as he had many times before.

“John, don’t!” I heard Mom plead.

I kept my hand on Jeremiah’s chest behind me, holding him off. I could feel his heart against my palm, beating so fast and so hard it seemed ready to jump out of his ribcage.

Used to such adrenaline rushing through my system on a regular basis, I almost felt normal. I had weathered this routine before. My father would threateningly clasp his hand around my neck and tell me how he could snap it in two with one movement. After all, he had done the same to hundreds of “gooks” in Vietnam. He never followed through, and I lost my concern that he would this time. Frankly, I was unimpressed with the whole dress rehearsal.

Like clockwork came the expected words, “I could snap your neck with one move.”

Usually I said nothing, simply endured. But I felt so embarrassed and ashamed that Jeremiah had seen all this unfold.
What would he think of me?
I could feel tears pressing hard against the backs of my eyes.
Stop it!
I coached. I bit down on my lip, taking my mind off the pain in my heart, calling on my
almond
for much needed backup.

I put my hand around my father’s on my neck and squeezed, a low steady guttural tone slipping through my vocal chords, “Do it. Might be the biggest favor you ever do for me.” My teeth clenched, tears welling and on hold in my eyes, I prayed,
Please, God, don’t let them fall.
I held my hand tightly over my father’s as it laced around my neck. “I am so tired of this shit. Just do it. I dare you. Come on!”