A Death In The Family

I was halfway through junior year when I made the decision to drop out of high school. I was just at the cusp of my 17th birthday, so I kept my mouth closed, waited to get my plan together. I knew that if I came home and told them I was dropping out, I’d need to have another plan, even if that included leaving their lives forever. In fact, it would be easier to just leave town and not look back than it would be to tell them that I had given up on schooling. I planned to get my GED, but I knew that wouldn’t be    enough. I surreptitiously packed my suitcases, setting them in the closet. My mother had stopped coming into my room years ago when she realized that unlike my much younger siblings, I could keep my room clean. I knew it killed her, though, to forfeit that small layer of control, to have one place in the house that her golden touch didn’t reach. But she was busy, with three kids under ten, and countless PTA meetings. 

 If it wasn’t for Rachel, I might have driven off even before it was legal, called it quits, but I couldn’t leave her hanging like that. She was twelve, and the quietest, clearest eyed child I’d ever been around. Lucy and Lily and Jordan were always running around, making noise, doing their dozens of extracurricular activities and still coming home and wearing the floor thin with their overeager feet. Rachel never did. She just sat, watched them, took in everything, spent all of her time with her nose either buried in a book or a notebook. I was closer to her than I was to anyone else in the house. It was lame to hang out with my kid sister, I knew that, my friends wouldn’t let me not know that, but when I wasn’t hanging out with them, I was hanging out with her. I knew that when I left, she would take it the hardest, so I’d written her a manilla envelope full of letters to open when she wasn’t feeling good, and I made a promise to myself to call and check in with her, even if it meant that I would have to hear my mother’s scolding tone every single week. 

Another miserable day of school, sitting at a desk that didn’t fit my lanky frame, looking out a window at the sky beyond, the bored slouches of the students around me, checking the clock, tapping their pencils. Another wasted day of potential. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy knowledge, because I did. It wasn’t that every day when I woke up in our town with fewer than 30,000 people I felt like the air was slowly being vacuum pressed out of my lungs. It wasn’t that I would never meet the Berry family seal of approval. Or maybe it was all of them, a little. But really, it was that I felt more alive every time I spent time with the people I cared about than I did in all my years of education

I went to the office that day, officially dropped out, and went home to my family. I faced my mothers silent rage, my fathers quiet head shaking, the silence of a man that was strong enough to take care of his family of 7 but not strong enough to ask his oldest son to stay. I dealt with the confusion and then sadness on my youngest siblings faces, asking me where I was going and why, clinging to my legs, asking if I’d be home by next week. Rachel stood by the wall, watching this unfold, and when I met her eye, she nodded at me, so faintly it would have been easy to miss, and the corner of her mouth tipped up in a sad smile. Then my bags were in the car that I afforded by working at a record store that thought Neil Diamond was real music, and I started driving. I drove for two days, staying at a hotel in Indianapolis, and then stopping before I hit the ocean. I got out of my car to get gas and buy a road map in Philadelphia, and then I stayed. 

It’s been 18 years now. I’ve been home a handful of times. A few obligatory visits at the beginning, fewer and fewer as the guilt I felt diminished and my realization that I was an adult who could make my own decisions grew. A few visits for weddings, first Rachel, in Denver, during which I may have shed a few tears. And then, surprisingly, Jordan, my youngest brother, settling down much earlier than anyone had expected, doing Rose Berry proud, and then Lucy, to an aloof man that I never was able to develop any feelings for. My grandparents funerals, during which I definitely shed many tears, and then, sporadically, my parents 35th anniversary, which I got roped into when I was nearby for something unrelated. It was full of side-eyes and judgmental comments; reasons why I left and didn’t come back, and I had no intentions of making my way out there anytime soon. 

I had hoped that Rachel might visit at some point, and I had dropped a hint to her quietly, privately at the party that she should come. She was the one member of my family that I felt safe inviting, knowing that she would not come down on Gloria like a vulture, that she would not send me things and call me constantly. I checked on her once in a while, especially now that she had moved back home. I couldn’t imagine anything worse than ending up in Fountain again, and when she told me I had sunk to the couch, head on my hand, hoping I wouldn’t lose her to the sinkhole that was our hometown. She had assured me that I would not, and had told me again and again that it was just a smart decision, that was all. She and her husband had dreamed of opening a bookstore for years, and when it came down to it, what was possible in a small town just wasn’t possible for them in Denver. I worried about her, though, and she sounded small and drained. Her husband was wonderful, but I didn’t know that he was enough to protect her from the smothering nature of Fountain and our mother. 

When I wasn’t worried about her, though, my life in Philadelphia was magic. I woke up today, like most days, when the sun streamed through the window, and the biggest challenge I faced was forcing myself out of my luxurious bed. Gloria lay next to me, curls wild across her silk pillowcase, her eyelids closed, flickering slightly as if she was in a particularly riveting dream. Her hand rested slightly on my bicep, which I had begun to notice lately; most mornings when I woke up she was somehow in contact with me, even though with our California King, she could feasibly never even breathe the same air as me. I independently contracted through a few software companies, so I started work whenever I felt like it, in the privacy of my home office. Gloria was a journalist, and when she wasn’t out in her office or in the field, we would sit in comfortable silence, the only noise the tapping of our keyboards. Today was one of the days that I was in no rush to get started working. It was freezing outside, I could tell just from the noise of the wind slapping the window, the snow particles leaving wet smudges on the glass. I sat up, stretching my arms, and Gloria stirred, moving closer to me, her hand landing softly on my thigh before she opened her eyes and looked up at me. I reached up and touched a coil of hair. 

“Good morning.” 

She smiled. “Hi.” She looked startled for a moment as her face contorted into a yawn that nearly obfuscated her eyes. 

“You sleep good?”

She nodded. “Did you?” She struggled slightly to pull herself up, wiggling to a sitting position next to me. She closed her eyes for a moment, holding her body very still. I knew sometimes even sitting up too fast made her dizzy, so I gave her a moment. 

“Yeah. Do you want breakfast? Or do you have to leave? Are you feeling okay?” 

She kissed my neck quickly and pulled up the blanket around her shoulders even though she was already in a shirt and sweater. “Breakfast would be great. I can order in if you don’t want to cook, though. I might stay home today. Are you going to be here? Will I bother you?”

“I’ll be here, but it won’t be a bother.”

“I just feel a flare-up coming on and I don’t want to go into crisis at the office. I’d rather be here with someone safe.”

“You mean Brad doesn’t know how to give you your shot?” 

She shook her head, giggling. “Not that I know of. Is it cold in here?”

“Maybe I can train him. I’ll turn up the heat.” I reached for my phone, turned the dial to 75. Even in my boxers, I was beginning to sweat a little. 

She picked up a pillow and tucked it into her stomach, leaning forward, and I reached out and traced the knobs of her spine that had begun to protrude from the top of her sweater. 

“I have some missed calls from my mom, I should probably call her before I do breakfast.” 

She nodded, gritting her teeth slightly. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. Why didn’t you answer when she called?”

“It was five A.M, Glor. I wasn’t getting out of bed for that.”

“My mom would come to our house and hunt me down.”

“I know that. Mines a lot further, though.”

“Why haven’t I met your family yet?” She sighed slightly and I didn’t know if it was the physical pain or the longstanding insecurity about my family that caused it. 

“You don’t...you don’t know my family. I want you to meet my sisters. Well, at least some of them, but it just hasn’t been right yet. You know I don’t go home often.” 

She looked up at me, tears in her eyes that were so dark they were almost black, endless pools of kindness. “I feel like you’re ashamed of me.” 

“What could I possibly have to be ashamed of? You’re the best thing about me.”

She shrugged. “Or is this like a Get Out type scenario? Are they all crazy racists?”

“They live in Colorado. It’s hardly Alabama. That’s not it, though. You’d understand if you met them.” 

    “Which I haven’t.” She huffed and leaned back again. “Could you make bacon with breakfast?”

    I threw back my head laughing, which was soon interrupted by my phone ringing again. 

    Gloria gave my shoulder a little shove. “Answer it,” she hissed. 

    I hit the green button with some hesitation, and my ear was immediately filled with frantic shouting. 

    “Where have you been, Mark?! What’s the point in having a phone if you’re not going to answer it? And you haven’t told me where you work so I can’t call you there.” Gloria wrapped her arms around herself and gave me a bemused smile. 

    “Mom, it was the middle of the night. I’m here now. What’s up?”

    “Adam’s dead, Mark. He’s dead.” I felt my heart slow, then speed back up, and my body went cold. Gloria’s hands moved to my arm and squeezed, and her eyes were wide. 

    “What? That can’t be. He’s… he’s younger than me.” 

    “Remember that car accident? A few weeks ago?”

    “No.”

    “Probably no one told you about that, or you didn’t answer your phone, yet again. Well, he wrecked their car, and they thought he was fine, just a little bumped up, and then there was a blood clot or something, it went to his brain.”

    “Oh my God. Rachel. How’s Rachel?”

    “She just watched her husband die, so not great, Mark. Really not great. I just thought you’d want to know. Lord knows you couldn’t be bothered to come out here."

    “Mom, this isn’t the time. I’m going to come. Give me a day.”

    “I think it would really make a difference to Rachel. You know how she is. She just shuts down. No one can get through to her when she’s like this. Maybe you have a shot.”

    “Thank you for calling me, Mom.”

    She grunted softly through the line. “Maybe you could try to be a part of our family again, instead of staying so far away all the time. We're not the enemy, and we need you right now. Come through this time, son."

    “I will,” my voice escaped my body threadlike and soft, and it was a matter of seconds before her end of the phone line went dead. 

    Gloria looked up at me, but didn’t say anything. She, better than anyone, knew that sometimes silence was more effective than words. 

    “Adam died. My sister’s husband.”

    “Your favorite sister?”

    I hesitated for a moment, and then confirmed it. “Yeah.” 

    She covered her mouth with the back of her hand like she did when she was about to throw up. “Oh my God. You’re going out there, right?”

    “Yeah. I’m going to try to find a flight.”

    Her jaw set. “It would be easier if you just drive.” 

    “That’s so far, Gloria. I think it would be better if I just flew. I wouldn’t need to do hotels.”

    “You wouldn’t need to do hotels if we took shifts driving.”

    I looked at her, raised both eyebrows, and she searched my face for confirmation, giving one good involuntary shiver. 

    “If I don’t want you to meet my family the rest of the time, a time when everyone's emotions are at ten is going to be so much worse. It’s going to be a funeral, and my sister… you don’t know her, she goes catatonic. I don’t even know how I’m going to help her get out of it. Adam was the only one--” I trailed off, my body growing cold again. It felt like a matter of weeks ago that we’d shared a beer together at my parents home, even though I knew it had been months. 

    “I know you can figure it out, but I want to be there to help you. If you want us to be a team, if you want this to work, you need to be able to lean on me. I’m not an invalid, Mark. Let me be there for you.” 

    “You just said you weren’t doing so well--”

    “I’m not dying. Not yet, anyway. Right now, I’m packing your suitcase.” She slid to the edge of the bed, standing up and steadying herself for the longest five seconds of my life while she closed her eyes and held onto the headboard. Like nothing had happened, like she wasn’t fighting her own body, she pulled out my suitcase and opened it up. 

    I had underestimated her, had not let my family near her under the guise of protecting her. But Gloria could handle herself. I was the one that I was trying to protect.