Landed On Freespace

I got the call when my sister Marsha passed away.  

“Daryl, I hate to bring you bad news…” My mother’s voice faded.

“What is it, mom? I’ve got a meeting in fifteen minutes.” I looked at my wristwatch. 

“Your sister has passed away.” She sounded as if she had been crying.  

“Marsha?” I gasped.

“You have another sister?” She said with an edge to her voice.

“Oh God, this is horrible.” I shook my head.

“She was having trouble with her sobriety since Brian left a few months ago.” She said with a sniff, “I have the children.”

“Good.” I closed my eyes. “I am so sorry.” 

“I was wondering if you could come by later and help me sort things out at the house.” 

Ah, the house.

Battleground between her and Brian.  From the sound of it, she had finally decided to surrender it.

“Has Brian said anything?” I asked.

“Daryl, it’s time for the meeting.” Sergio  poked his head into my office to remind me.

“Could you tell them I am going to be a little late?  Family emergency.” I held up the phone.

“Ah, but you know how they hate it when people are late.” Sergio shook his head and disappeared.

“About the house?” Mom asked, “Not yet, but you know he’ll be asking.”

“Is he going to take the children?” I remembered the meeting where Brian lost his cool and stormed out of the divorce lawyer’s office.  

“It’s part of the signed agreement.” Mom let out a heavy sigh. 

“Doesn’t mean he’s going to abide by it.” I rubbed my eyes, “Mom, I’ve got to go. I will call you later.” 

“Bennett, you’re late.” Mr. Slater snapped when I walked into the conference room where the other program designers were already seated like obedient and compliant employees.

“Sorry, I just found out my sister Marsha has passed away.” I seated myself.

Caught on an awkward fulcrum, Mr. Slater’s angry sneer dropped from his face as he said, “I’m sorry to hear that.” 

To be honest, I do not remember much of the rest of the meeting as my thoughts were focused on Sherri and Marcus, my sister’s children who were at their grandmother’s house, the one we both grew up in.  Mom was set on spoiling them for as long as I could remember, often taking them for various amounts of time while Marsha was remanded to another rehabilitation program.  

“What the hell am I supposed to do, Daryl? She spends most of income on these programs.” Brian once complained when I spent the day with him watching football on his giant television screen where I could count the nose hairs on Tom Brady.  

“My sister had some difficulties growing up.” I told him as Brady threw another completion to Gronk. 

“I get that.  My childhood wasn’t all rainbows and roses either.” He sighed. 

“Growing up is tough.  Tougher for some.” 

“I get it, but there comes a time when you have to get over the taste of bad medicine.” Brian said with a scowl.  He was not empathetic to his wife and in his lack of understanding, she began to pull away from him. “I’m not sure how much she loves the kids.” 

“Hold on, Brian, of all the things she can be accused of, not loving her children is not one of them.” I glared at him.

“Doesn’t seem like it sometimes.” He threw his head back into his chair. 

“Uncle Daryl.” Both Sherri and Marcus came running to hug me when I stepped in the door.  Sherri had just started kindergarten while Marcus was starting junior high.  I handed each of them a candy bar I bought at the supermarket. 

“Do not eat that before dinner.” Mom waved her finger at them.

“Alright grandma.” Marcus beamed.

“They have been eating cookies all afternoon.” She laughed as they ran into the den where they had been watching television.  When they were out of earshot, my mother’s expression changed, “Oh Daryl, I am so upset.  I was sure this time she was going to stay sober.”

“I had my doubts.” I kissed her on her forehead.

“Why?  What was so awful that she had to do this?” 

“Do what, mom?” I asked since I had not heard any news.

“She took a whole bottle of her antidepressants and washed them down with a bottle of Johnny Walker.  The kids were at school, but Marcus was the one who found her in her room on the bed.” She began to sob into my shoulder.

“Oh God.” I gasped. I held my mother until she stopped sobbing. 

My mother served her famous meatloaf and mashed potatoes, but nobody seemed very hungry and the silence spoke louder than anyone at the table.  While mom was watching Wheel of Fortune, Brian rang the doorbell.  I ended up answering it. 

“Brian.” I waved him inside.

“Daryl.” He nodded, “I’m here for the children.”

“They are watching television with their grandma.” I led him to the den. 

“Hello, dad.” Marcus stood up, but mom just turned her head.

“Vivian.” Brian held his chin up.

“Brian, are you here for the children?” She asked, trying to be civil. 

“Yes.” His answer was clipped.

“Daddy, can we stay at grandma’s?” Sherri asked in her five-year-old voice.

“It would be alright with me.” She said without taking her eyes off of her show. 

“I think they need to be with their father.” He nodded, glancing over at me. 

“And Rachel?” Mom said her name with obvious hostility. 

“Yes, Rachel.” He nodded. 

“Are you sure the children need to be around that woman?” Mom said with ice in her tone. 

“Rachel is good to them, mom.” Brian looked at Marcus who wore an expression of disdain. “Sherri and Marcus, c’mon, let’s go.” 

“Dad, we want to stay with grandma.” Marcus spoke for the first time since he arrived. 

“No.” His voice was raised higher than it should have been, “We are going home.” 

Without any further protest, the children marched out of the house with him. As soon as the door closed, mom looked at me, “I wished he would have let them stay here.” 

“Me too.  Me too.” I sighed. 

“I called Dr. LaPonty.” She said as the show ended.

“Who?” 

“He’s a therapist.  Marcus is going to need some counseling, you know.” She stated matter-of-factly. 

“Mom, you shouldn’t have.  He already is going through a lot without adding on more.” I put my fingers on the bridge of my nose. 

“Nonsense.” She huffed. 

There were family dynamics that were hard to explain.  Our situation was hardly unique, but it was always strained and sometimes hard to breathe in the tense atmosphere.  Both Brian and Marsha were at fault for that.  The children did not want to take sides in their squabble, but often they were made to feel that they had to.  Sherri was too young to understand why mommy and daddy could not get along.  My sister treated me as one of her only allies since mom was always harping about staying clean and sober.  Mom watched my father drink himself to death, blaming her as he sank lower and lower until his internal workings could no longer support his drinking habit. The end result was that mom did blame herself for his early demise.  

Drinking to excess is not genetic, but the influence does cover you like a shadow at times.  I remember some of my classmates making comments about him either behind my back or to my face.  I had started college when he passed away, but not before the shadow fell on Marsha.  Brian and her met in college, but Marsha ended up dropping out due to her drinking in her junior year.  Brian graduated with honors.  Pregnant with Marcus when they finally got married, they seemed like the happy couple.  I was envious until the cracks began to show.  By the time Sherri was born any hint of magic between them had been wiped away.

A few months after they separated, Brian began dating Rachel and on the day the divorce was finalized, Brian married Rachel by a justice of the peace.  At that point my mother swore that she wouldn’t have anything to do with Brian.  As Marsha struggled with her alcoholism, the children found her impossible to talk to.  

Marcus and Sherri attended their mother’s service with their father.  Marcus was very stoic while Sherri kept wiping her face with her handkerchief.  Rachel wore a black dress and veil.  Brian wore a dark suit and tie, but would not look at the casket set on a stand in the front of the church.  I said a few words on behalf of my late sister in which I evoked happier memories of our childhood.  Looking out from the pulpit, I could tell that nobody was really listening to what I was saying.

I did want them to know that Marsha was a good-hearted person who never meant anyone harm, but seeing her children, I knew she had hurt the ones she loved the most.  Mom refused to make eye contact with Brian and Rachel and could not hide her grief.

Afterwards, I walked mom out of the church, “Lovely service, mom.” 

“Lovely service my ass.” She only used harsh language when she saw Brian and Rachel holding hands. 

“You did everything you could do for her.” I bowed my head.

“Why wasn’t it enough?” Tears rolled down her face. 

“Sometimes no matter what we do, it’s never enough.” I felt a slight catch in my throat.

“Could you go by the house tomorrow?” She asked.

“Yes, I could do that.” I agreed.

“I do not want anything left in that place that belonged to her.” Her voice was bitter as she spoke, “I have heard that he wants to take possession of the house.” 

“Well, the divorce agreement said he would have to pay at least half of the mortgage.” I sighed, “From what I’ve heard, he paid more than that most of the time.” 

“As well he should have.” She sneered, “Look at them. Neither one of them has the slightest amount of guilt.” 

I did not wish to tell her that there was no reason why they should have, but I did not wish to create a scene on the steps of the church.  

The house was a two-story late Victorian that began at the foyer after crossing the threshold of the front door.  You could go left into the front room or right into the dining room and kitchen or you could go up the grand stairway to the three bedrooms.

I would climb the stairs and begin cleaning out her room, the room where Marcus had found her lifeless body sprawled out on the bed.  She owned a four post bed with a canopy.  I had arranged movers to come on Monday to clear out the furniture.  

I found it disturbing that the sheets were still wrinkled in the place where Marcus had found her body.  I yanked the sheets and bed things off the mattress to have them cleaned or at very least removed for memory’s sake.  In her nightstand, I found some of the leftover pills.  I put them in the trash bag I had carried with me. 

Opening the closet, I reached in and began pulling the clothing from the silk hangers she used.  She had good taste, I noted as I put her clothing in a box for donation.

After three hours, I was nearly finished with her bedroom.  I would not have to spend a lot of time in the kids’ room since they would want the things in their room.

I decided to go to the attic to see what needed to be removed from there. When I ascended the ladder, I saw a row of boxes on the dusty attic floor.  

The one thing no one warns you about attics are they are filled with memories. In putting things away for later, what you inevitably do is create a space for things you will one day discover that you have forgotten all about.  These memories have a way of becoming magic.  If I were to make an assessment of what happened that day as I rummaged through the boxes, magic is what I ended up with. 

Pulling out a box held together with some twine was “Magic Land” with a playing board, game pieces and a big old spinner.  It was Marsha’s favorite game when she was a child.  The memory came back as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. 

“Daryl, do you believe in magic?” She said, wearing her cockeyed crown on her head and holding Mr. Jinx, her favorite stuffed animal.  

“Naaa.” I laughed, “Boys don’t believe in sissy things like magic.” 

“Magic is not sissy.” She scoffed. 

“It is so.” I laughed again.

“Are you afraid to play me?” She tilted her head, daring me to take a chance.

“The game is lame, says me.” 

“You are chicken.” She scoffed again. 

“Take it back!”

“I will not.” She shook her head.

“Are you two fighting again?” Mom called from downstairs. 

“No mom, Daryl is just being chicken.” She answered.

“Alright, I’ll play you.  One game.” I held up my index finger.

Her finger spun the spinner and the game was on.  I had played other games.  More adult games like five card stud.  This was just a child’s game that I would surely win.  This game was not magic.  Far from it.  

“What is this?” I pointed to a big blue space on the board labeled “Free Space.” 

“That’s Freespace.  Landing on Freespace, you can go anywhere on the board you want.  It’s magic.” She put her finger in the middle of the space.  A few minutes later, she landed on Freespace. “Alright!” 

She put her piece on a space marked “Finished” and then proclaimed, “I won.” 

“Not fair.” I protested.

“I landed on Freespace.” She pointed, “According to the rules, I get to go to any space on the board.” 

“You can’t put your piece on that space.” I shook my head.

“Why not?  I can go to any space on the board.” She stuck her chin out triumphantly. 

“This isn’t magic, it’s called cheating.” I crossed my arms across my chest. 

“It’s called being a poor sport.” She did the same, put her arms across her chest and shook her head. 

I was outraged at the outcome of this stupid game.  She looked at me with her tongue sticking out.  She looked at me with her wide brown eyes as she straightened the crown set on top of her sandy brown hair. 

Holding the game in my hands, I could still hear her voice proclaim her victory over me. I could feel the memory’s magic she conjured up that day.  The memory was as real as the tears that were now rolling down my cheeks.

She had won the game because she had landed on the Freespace, but the magic ended there.  Or had it?