The Summer I Learned to Dive (2 page)

All I had wanted for my fifth birthday was to go to the zoo and see the Panda Bear
Chow Mang
from China. My kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Stevens, had shown us a picture of her, and I was immediately mesmerized. I wanted to see her up close and in person.
Chow Mang
was all that I could talk about for weeks. I incessantly begged my mother to take me to the zoo for my birthday.

***************

I woke up early that morning and ran to her room, jumping on her bed, shouting, “It’s time to go to the zoo, come on!” It was as if it was Christmas morning and I had a slew of presents to open. I was
that
excited. We got dressed quickly and were almost out the door but came to a halt when someone knocked on it. I opened the door without asking who was there. 

My mother fussed at me, “Finn, don’t open the door to strangers.” And then, her body language changed. She became defensive and literally forced me to stand behind her, preventing me from viewing the visitors. Even at the age of five, I could tell that my mother was angry. It was her tone of voice and the way she stood in front of me as if she were guarding me from something dangerous.

“How did you find us?” she indignantly asked them. I could barely make out their response. They had strong southern accents. My mother refused to allow me to get a glimpse of them, forcing me to stand behind her. I was so curious to see who they were. I peeked my head around her hips and looked up at the large, very tall formidable man and petite woman. The small woman with delicate features had smiled at me, telling me happy birthday. I thought she had a friendly face, and I was excited that she knew it was my birthday. My mother became hostile and shouted at them, throwing her fist in the air. They handed her an envelope and said goodbye to me. She slammed the door before I could say anything. Our trip to the zoo was cancelled. We spent most of the day searching for a new place to live. I never got to see Chow Mang.

***************

I looked at the card again. I didn’t understand at the time why we couldn’t go to the zoo that day and why we were moving. I now realized who those visitors were and what they had wanted.  Lillian and Charlie Hemmings, my grandparents, were trying to see me on my fifth birthday and my mother had shut them out of my life—literally. I felt like I had been punched in the stomach, as if all of the air had been knocked out of me. Now I knew how someone felt when their heart had been broken. It is the most painful feeling in the world –to discover that someone you love has betrayed you. I sat there for several minutes, trying to gain composure, but the more I sat, the more the anger festered. How could she lie to me and what good reason was there to do so?

I immediately took the graduation card and check out to the living room seeking an answer. My mother was looking at her reflection in a mirror, putting on pink lipstick.  “Mom, what is this?” I asked her, my hand shook as I held the check and card in my hand.

She looked away from the mirror and stared at me. Her face was instantly crestfallen. “Finn, why were you searching through my things?”

“Why did you hide this from me?” I asked angrily, my arms folded, my face becoming a light shade of red.

“I did it for your own good. It was for the best,” she said nonchalantly, trying to brush it off, like it was no big deal.

“What?” I asked belligerently. “How could it have been for the best? All this time, I thought that they wanted nothing to do with me! Do you know how that affected me?” My eyes started to water.

She moved closer to me, her hand reached out to stroke my arm. “I love you. I didn’t want you associated with them. I didn’t want them interfering with you. I wanted to protect you,” she said, her tone softening.

I shrugged her arm off of me with more force than necessary. “Protect me from what?” I glared at her.

“Finn, if you’ll just calm down, you’ll see why I did this.” She tried to coax me.

“I don’t think so,” I yelled, staring at her with contempt.

“You don’t need anything from them,” she said.

“I can’t believe you.” I stared at her, and for the first time in my life I didn’t know who she was. She had lied to me about them my entire life.

She moved closer to me, careful, as if she were approaching a rabid animal. “Finn, you’ll forgive me in time. It was for your own good. I know what is best for you.”

I covered my ears and shook my head. “I can’t listen to your lies anymore!” I screamed.

“Finn,” she said, trying to sooth me only angering me more instead.

I turned away from her and went to my bedroom and slammed the door. I locked it and lay down on my bed sobbing hysterically. She knocked on my door.

“Finn. Let me in,” she said, shaking the door handle.

“Leave me alone,” I replied tersely, my voice hoarse from shouting. Tears streamed down from my eyes. I didn’t bother wiping them.

“If you’ll just listen to me,” she started.

I turned my stereo on and turned the volume up, loud enough so her voice was muffled. She said something else, but I couldn’t hear her. I lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, so angry and confused. The longer I lay there, the more I had time to think about what had transpired. I could not trust her anymore. I didn’t understand why she had lied to me my entire life. Keeping my grandparents from me and out of my life didn’t make any sense. They were my only link to my father, and she had taken that away from me. I contemplated about what to do next. I couldn’t bear the thought of being around her the rest of the summer, let alone for another day. I needed to get away from her and fast. Nothing she could say would ever make what she did acceptable.

I had always been curious about my grandparents. I had formed an idealistic picture of them in my head, of two older people from a Norman Rockwell painting sitting in front of a fireplace; grandpa reading the newspaper, grandma knitting a scarf. Knowing that they were trying to be a part of my life all this time made me want to know them more. I wanted to discover who they were.

Without really thinking things through, I veered off my life plan. I was going to do something I had never ever done before, something on a whim. I turned on my computer and searched the internet for air fares. It was a waste of time. Most of the airline tickets cost more than I had to spend. A Happy Trails Bus Company ad popped up on Google. I looked at their site and saw there was a bus traveling to Greenville, SC, the closest town to Graceville, from Tampa. It was leaving at 1 o’clock in the morning and would cost me less than one hundred and twenty dollars. That was much cheaper than an airline ticket and would leave me a few hundred dollars to spare. I instantly reserved the ticket and decided that I would take the chance. It was the rashest decision I have ever made in my life.

I packed my clothes and placed them in my old suitcase, one that had only traveled with me whenever we moved houses. I grabbed the wad of bills I had stashed under my mattress and stuffed them in my wallet. This was money that I had received for graduation and had planned to use on a computer for college. It was worth the sacrifice. I had never been anywhere outside of Tampa.  Riding on a bus to a small town in the mountains of South Carolina to meet two people that may want nothing to do with me was risky, but I felt confident enough to take that risk.

My mother knocked on my door again. “You can’t stay in there forever, Finn.”

“I can, and I will,” I yelled. It was an immature response, but I wasn’t feeling like being mature and talking. I was seething, too angry to see her point of view.

“I guess I’ll cancel our dinner reservations then,” she said, trying to guilt me into opening the door. I didn’t care about dinner and I definitely didn’t feel like celebrating.

“Go ahead and go by yourself!” My stomach grumbled. I was hungry, but I wasn’t about to sit down for dinner with her. At that moment, I couldn’t bear the thought of looking at her.

“Suit yourself. I’ll leave you alone tonight but we need to talk about this tomorrow,” she said walking away from my door.

I won’t be here tomorrow, I thought to myself.

***

It was midnight, and my mother was sound asleep. She was predictable that way— going to sleep the same time every night. She liked routine. When I was certain she was completely out of it, I called the cab company and asked them to pick me up down the street. The last thing I wanted was for her to wake up from the sound of a cab pulling into our driveway and see me leaving. I wasn’t running away from her, I was running toward something, toward the unknown.

I left the house quietly, carefully tiptoeing to not make a sound. With the one suitcase in my hand, I walked down my street to wait for the cab in the middle of a still and quiet night. There was something very unsettling, creepy even, about being outside that late in the night.

I stood at the end of my street waiting with trepidation, alarmed by any sound I heard.  A cat frightened me as it ran across the street. A car drove slowly down the road, its driver staring at me suspiciously. I turned my head in the other direction, wanting to avoid all eye contact with him. A squirrel rustled in the trees. I instantly jumped, feeling foolish for doing so. I anxiously kept looking at my phone hoping that time would fly and I would be on my way to unchartered territory.

Chapter 2

The cab smelled like onions and stale cigarettes. It was putrid, over powering. I tried breathing out of my mouth to take the strain off my nose, but the smell was too strong. It permeated the air. The driver looked at me suspiciously from the moment he picked me up. I could tell he questioned the motives of a teenage girl hailing a cab at midnight on an isolated street. I’m certain he thought I was a runaway. Why wouldn’t he? It did look suspicious: I was carrying a suitcase hailing a cab in the middle of the night headed to a bus station.

We drove the entire way to the bus station in silence. He kept looking at me through the rear view mirror. His glances made me shudder, making me doubt the decision I had made. I tried to smile at him, but it didn’t stop him from looking at me distrustfully.

The outside of the bus station felt dark and isolated. I instantly felt fear and regret for being there. I was scared and felt alone, questioning if I had just made the biggest mistake of my life. I thought about asking him to take me back home but stopped myself. I needed to do this, to meet the grandparents that had been stolen from me. He stopped the car and looked at me through his rear view mirror again, this time indicating with his dark eyes that we were there.

“Fourteen dollars,” he said.

I handed him the cash and started to open the door. “I have a daughter,” he said, still looking at me through the rear view mirror. I questioned him with my eyes, wondering what he meant by that statement.

“I would not want her to run away,” he said, turning to face me.

I shook my head instantly. “I’m not running away. I’m going to meet my grandparents.”

He looked at me skeptically. “It’s late to be meeting them.”

“The ticket was less expensive at this time,” I lied and closed the door. Getting into a deep conversation about my reasons for late night travel was not on my priority list. He said something else, but I ignored him and kept moving.

The inside of the bus station was sterile and unwelcoming. The florescent lights and yellow tiled floors made it feel more like a hospital. One light flickered constantly, giving me an instant headache. The vending machines hummed loudly in the background.  Strangers of all types were sitting on chairs waiting to take a bus to their choice of destination. I couldn’t believe how many people were there at that time of night. I walked to the counter and purchased my ticket. The man took my money, ignoring me completely. He didn’t seem to notice or care that I was a teenage girl at a bus station in the middle of the night. He handed me my bus ticket, never uttering a word, and went back to reading his magazine. I had thirty minutes to waste until it would be time to leave. I looked around the station, searching for a place to sit.  I sat down in an uncomfortable blue plastic chair—one in a row of many. An obese man two seats down from me snored loudly, making choking sounds every so often but no one seemed to be alarmed or care. His little boy stared at me and kicked his legs incessantly against the blue chair. A young couple held hands and kissed each other, taking small breaks to breathe and then kiss again. They whispered things to each other. They must have been newlyweds. Strutting toward me, a dirty man with eyes that made my skin crawl, stared at me, making me feel like he was trying to see me without my clothes on.

“Mind if I sit next to you?” he asked me.

The way he looked at me made me feel uncomfortable. I was about to say “no” but was interrupted. 

“That seat’s mine,” an older woman said, walking gingerly toward us. She slowly, and with much effort, sat down next to me. The creepy man sighed through his nose and sat down on an available chair a few rows away from us.  She smelled of mothballs and peppermint. She turned to me and smiled. I smiled gratefully at her in return.

“There’s a lot of weirdos here.” She looked around, specifically glaring at the creepy man. “Young thing like you, you can’t be too careful,” she said. “Where are you going honey?” She had a faint southern accent and spoke slowly, pronouncing every syllable.

“Graceville, South Carolina,” I answered.

She looked as if she were reminiscing. “I haven’t been there in a very long time. I’m from that area you know. I’m going to see my daughter up there.” She opened up her purse and searched for something. She pulled out a picture and showed it to me proudly. “This is my granddaughter Beatrix, and my daughter Margaret. Named after the British Royalty. Isn’t my granddaughter something?” she said, still admiring the picture.

I nodded and said “yes” wondering if my grandparents would be the same way about me—if they would brag to complete strangers about their granddaughter. I hoped so. I was always envious of my friends on grandparents’ day at school. I was one of the few kids without a grandparent to bring to school and I hated it. My mother’s mother was still alive, but I would hardly consider her a grandparent. I had only met her once when I was a little girl. She wasn’t very warm and frightened me with her pointy nose and beetle-sized eyes. She had a scornful expression and kept telling me to sit still and keep my hands to myself. She criticized my mother, telling her that I was too spoiled. Her house was dark and smelled like bleach. All of her furniture was covered in plastic. Thankfully, we never visited her again. My mother’s relationship with her was strained, way beyond the point of repair.

“We’ll have to sit next to each other. Strange types ride the bus you know. You look like a nice girl though,” she said.  She smiled at me, her front tooth missing.

“I would like that,” I said, feeling relieved.

She talked constantly, as if she had not spoken to anyone in a long time. I listened to her and said very little. She didn’t seem to notice or mind. I learned her name was Elizabeth, another British Royalty name, and that her husband had recently passed away. She was visiting her daughter and granddaughter in South Carolina to be with family because she was lonely. It had to be difficult for her to all of a sudden live by herself, after sharing half of her life with someone. I felt sorry for her, but knew I shouldn’t. Death was a part of life, and at least she had been given the chance to love. I wondered if I would ever have that chance.

We boarded the bus. I helped Elizabeth get settled and sat down next to her. She talked for a little while longer, telling me stories about living abroad and in various unknown places in the US. I admired her sense of spirit, her ability to handle change so well. I had never been outside of Florida and had only ever lived in Tampa. I wanted to see what else was out there, to explore the unknown.

She fell asleep an hour later. It was eerily quiet on the bus. Most of the people were sleeping. The newlyweds I had seen kissing earlier sat in the back incessantly whispering and giggling. An older man coughed a loud hacking cough every now and again. The obese man who had snored in the bus station, sat behind me snoring even more loudly than before. His son kicked my seat. I turned around to glare at him, hoping it would make him stop. It worked for a while, and then he would do it again. I gave up trying. Another older man sitting in the row across from me talked quietly to himself. I tried not looking at him, but it was hard to ignore him. He caught me staring and said something about it being the end of the world. I instantly turned my head and faced the other direction. Sleeping was out of the question. Even the smallest of sounds was magnified. The bus engine hummed as we rode through the night. I would begin to nod off, but would awaken by any sound I heard. A cough, a loud snore, giggling in the back, or talking, my anxiety amplified everything in the eery silence of the night. It had been an awful day and sleeping peacefully didn’t seem plausible.

I finally fell asleep for a short time. The sun had risen, shining light into the bus, its rays blinding me. The landscape changed dramatically. The bus had crossed into the state of Georgia. Everything about it looked different than Florida— the trees, the plants, the hills. I felt the bus drive up hills and come down hills. Florida is the flattest place on Earth, flatter than a pancake, and I’d never had that sensation before.  I leaned my head against the window staring outside, watching as we passed vast farmland and peach orchards. The bus stopped at a rest stop in the middle of the state, just outside the city of Macon. I helped Elizabeth exit the bus and bought a few fresh Georgia peaches. I felt grown up when I bought them. Something about buying an item on a whim without an adult dictating what I did or did not need was very liberating. It made it more of a reality, me mapping out my own life, a new life that had started several hours ago. Buying peaches was only the beginning.

I knew that my mother would be waking up soon and see that I wasn’t at home sleeping in my bed. I had debated leaving her a note but decided against it. Anger is not the right state of mind for writing goodbye letters. I dreaded having a conversation with her, fearing her response to my leaving. I knew she wouldn’t be happy with me. A large part of me didn’t care about her opinion anymore. The other part still clung to her like a little girl believing in her perfection. But the larger part, the part that didn’t care about her opinion, won.

Eventually, I knew I would have to text her and tell her where I was. As angry as I was with her, I couldn’t let her worry about me. I just hoped that she would not try to come to get me. If she hated my grandparents as much as it seemed, then I doubted she would even bother. I let out a deep breath. Elizabeth woke up and patted my hand gingerly.

“You should sleep,” she said, her voice cracking. She smacked her mouth from thirst, taking a bottle of water out of her purse, slowly taking a sip. She offered it to me. I shook my head no.

“I can’t sleep,” I said, my forehead wrinkled.

“You look worried dear.”

“Oh, I’m okay,” I lied.

I didn’t want to share my secrets with a complete stranger, even if she had a sweet grandmotherly face that made me think of warm chocolate chip cookies and quilts and had saved me from the creepy man at the bus stop. She took a peppermint out from her purse and offered it to me. I took it, even though I didn’t want it. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

“What makes a girl as young as you travel in the middle of the night?” she asked me.

Taken aback by her frankness, I stared into her pale blue eyes, eyes that appeared earnest and trustworthy. “It’s a long story,” I said, shrugging.

“I don’t have anywhere else to be,” she said encouragingly, patting my arm, making me feel warm and willing to open up.

“I just found out yesterday that my mother has been lying to me my entire life,” I began.

By the time I finished telling my story, we both had wet eyes. She dabbed her eyes and handed me a tissue. I patted my eyes and blew my nose hard. It felt cathartic to tell her, like a huge weight had been taken off of my chest. She was a good listener and knew the perfect things to say, even if she wasn’t saying much. Just knowing that someone empathized with me was enough consolation.  I think she liked listening to me, offering advice. It made her feel needed. She made me feel safer than I would have felt otherwise. Somehow she made me feel more courageous in what I was doing. I sucked on the peppermint and took my phone out of my purse. I thought long and hard about the text I was going to send to my mother. I had so many things I wanted to say. Instead, I kept it short and simple.

Mom. I’m safe, so please don’t worry. I’m on my way to Graceville to meet my grandparents. I’ll text you when I get there.