Uncle Jack

My uncle, Jack, is a stoic man. He’s tall and quiet, and we never really talk to each other. He lives across town, having moved when I was a little girl, around seven years old, for some job. I used to see him more.

His skin is pale, his eyes are dark and his hair is an ashy blond, like mine. His sister, my mom, has red hair. I try not to think about the dad I never had, but I wonder if I’m blonde because he was blond, or if I got that from my mom’s side, like Uncle Jack.

His clothes are dark and sophisticated. He has some job, I don’t really care to remember it, that keeps him busy and requires him to dress nicely. He’s worn the same trench coat since before I can remember, sometimes even in the summer when it’s hot.

His car matches him, vintage and sleek. It’s black and shiny, with a silver bumper and fender, and silver door handles. He’s had it since before I was born, and I know for a fact it wasn’t as nice when he got it.

Oddly enough, today he’s picked me up from school and taken me to a park.

“Why are we here?” I ask him as I unbuckle my seatbelt.

“Follow me,” he tells me, shutting the car door and not acknowledging my question.

I do as he says, walking alongside him. It’s an overcast autumn afternoon, not exactly park weather. At least it isn’t raining. 

 He stops in front of the seesaw. He takes a seat on one side, and I go to sit on the other. I sit, staring at him, wondering if he wants to play a game of seesaw.

I doubt we’re here for fun and games, but I can’t think of any other reason we’d be here.

I wait for him to say something or do something. This is all so strange; I’m fourteen, I haven’t been to this playground in at least five years. My uncle never picks me up from school. What’s going on?

“Do you remember coming here as a little kid?” Uncle Jack asks me.

I nod slowly, “Yeah, I used to come here all the time.”

He nods as well, “Back when I lived closer to you and your Ma, I would take you here. You loved to play on this seesaw with me. I always had to help you push it up and down, since you were so light compared to me.”

I stare at him, “Huh. I guess I can kind of remember that.”

He gives me a look, like he’s not sure what to say, or like he’s scared to say what he needs to say.

“Uncle Jack, what’s going on?”

He sighs, rubbing his forehead solemnly before letting his hand drop in his lap. “Look, kid, I’ve got something to tell you. It’s not gonna be easy.”

I furrow my eyebrows, “What’s wrong…?”

“It’s your Ma,” he says, his voice cracking with emotion I’m not used to hearing from him, “She… she’s going away.”

“What?!” I ask him, shocked at the vague and distressing statement, “Why?! Where?!”

“She’s sick, kid. She has been for a while. She needs to stay at a hospital, but the one in town is full. She’ll be about an hour’s drive away.”

I stare at him, “What do you mean, ‘sick?’” I sputter, “She was fine just yesterday!”

He shakes his head, resigned, “She hasn’t been fine. She’s… well, it’s hard to explain.”

“Do it anyway,” I command him, my voice wavering.

“She’s not sick physically, kiddo. It’s in her head,” he says softly, “It’s a disorder. They can’t help her here.”

“What disorder?”

“We’re not sure. She’s not… she’s not fit to be your Ma right now. I’ll be watching you for a while, til she gets better.”

My eyes well up with tears, “This is crazy! Of course, Mom can take care of me, she’s my mom! She would have told me!”

His eyes fill with pity, “I’m sorry, kid. I promise I’ll keep you safe while she’s gone.”

I don’t know if I’m imagining it, but I think he might need to cry, too. He and my mom were pretty close when I was growing up.

I shake my head, letting it fall into my palms. I sob, confused and angry. None of it makes any sense. My mom loves me, why would she leave me? Without even telling me first? Does she not trust me with her problems? What are her problems? Does Uncle Jack know?

The weight on the other side of the seesaw lifts, and a large, warm hand appears between my shoulder blades.

“We’ll be okay, kid. We have each other. We’ll be just fine,” Uncle jack whispers beside me where he’s crouched down.

I don’t believe him.

Eventually, we get up and leave. I sit in the seat of his car numbly, watching as it begins to rain. Rain drops race each other too-slow down Uncle Jack’s car window, not unlike the tears staining my cheeks with salt.

Uncle Jack pulls over at some kiosk, leaving the car and coming back with an ice cream cone for me.

It warms my heart, just a little, to see my stoic Uncle Jack trying hard to slow my tears. I eat the ice cream, even though I’m not hungry, to make him happy. It doesn’t taste like anything.

When Uncle Jack and I make it to his small house across town, he wordlessly leads me inside.

“You can put your schoolbag on that hook. We’ll need to go back to your apartment, so you can pack some clothes,” he tells me. I do as he says, looking back up at him. He’s looking at me with a mildly helpless expression. “Would you like to go get your stuff now, or later?”

I sigh, “Now, I guess,” I mumble.

We leave again around five minutes later. The drive to my apartment is around forty minutes and when we get there, it’s already getting dark.

I don’t bother to ask Uncle Jack how long I should pack for, before heading to my room. I don’t want to know, and I’m sure that if I pack too little, he will let me use his washer and dryer. I grab my toothbrush, and things like that, before walking back out to the living room where Uncle Jack waits.

We drive back in the direction of Uncle Jack’s house. After about thirty minutes, when we’re almost there, Uncle Jack turns at a grocery store.

He parks, unbuckling his seatbelt and looking over to me with a gentle expression, “You want to come inside with me, or wait out here?” he asks.

“I’ll stay here.”

He nods once, before getting up and leaving.

He comes back around fifteen minutes later, wordlessly staring up the car and driving us the rest of the way to his house.

I go straight to his guest room when he points it out to me, dropping my stuff on the floor and collapsing on the bed.

I cry, silently. I don’t know when I’ll see my mom again, I don’t know what happened to her, and I don’t know how much my life will change when I know the answer to those first two questions.

I feel bitter. If Uncle Jack hadn’t moved, maybe mom would be fine. Maybe if he didn’t prioritize work over family, our family would still be intact.

I know it’s not fair to blame him. I scold myself for it. Still, not any of this is fair at all, what’s a little more unfairness in comparison?

Eventually, I must fall asleep. I wake again when it’s completely dark out to a knock at my door. I sit up blearily, grunting a noise to confirm entry to the knocker.

Uncle Jack’s silhouette appears along with the lights of the hallway. “Dinner is ready.”

I roll out of bed, wiping my puffy face and walking out of the room. It’s awfully bright in comparison in the hallway, and I grimace. I squint, making my way to the small round table in Uncle Jack’s kitchen.

“Sleep well, kid?” he asks me as I sit, placing a plate of spaghetti in front of me.

“Mmh,” I respond noncommittally, digging into my food like a caveman who’s just been unfrozen out of a glacier.

We eat silently, and it isn’t until I’m almost finished with my food that Uncle Jack speaks up.

“So, what kind of television do you like to watch, these days?”

I pause, caught off guard by his uncharacteristically conversational question. “Uh… I like comedy… and action, I guess.”

“Would you like to watch a movie with me tonight?” Uncle Jack asks me.

I look up at him. His face is tinted with mild hope, and that same gentleness that was there in the grocery store parking lot.

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” I tell him.

After we finish eating, I go back to the guest room and unpack my things. I read for about twenty minutes before there’s another knock at my door.

I get up and open it, giving Uncle Jack a small smile as a greeting.

“Would you like to start watching something now?” he asks.

I nod, “Sure.”

I go to the couch, finding a bowl of popcorn is there already. Uncle jack isn’t the type of person I’d think to have microwave popcorn on hand.

We’re about halfway through the movie—an action movie with a witty main character that Uncle Jack had picked out—when Uncle Jack speaks up.

“I bought ice cream at the store. Would you like some?”

I perk up, “That sounds great,” I tell him with cheer in my tone.

“Stay here,” he says, getting up and going to the kitchen.

He comes back with two bowls of ice cream. One of them has a noticeably superior pile of ice cream in it. He hands me that one.

“Cookies and cream is still your favorite flavor, right?” Uncle Jack asks me.

I almost can’t believe it. How did he remember my favorite ice cream flavor? We probably haven’t had ice cream together since I was eight!

I nod.

Uncle jack silently unpauses the movie.

I go to bed that night certain that Uncle Jack is the sweetest man on the planet. I curse myself for ever being upset with him. I will be safe with him, while my mom gets better, which I’m now certain she will.  Yes, everything will be okay.