Forced Closure

Now

Lightening flashes overhead, lighting the graveyard around me, and I startle at the glare. A distant rumble follows a few seconds later, as I make my way to the one place I've been avoiding for the better part of a year. I find what I've been searching for.

“Hey Mom. It’s been a while,” I say to the headstone. It’s lovely and white and reads “Tawny Cole. Beloved Mother, Wife, and Daughter.”

I stifle a derisive laugh. Beloved Mother. But I guess it’s not such a stretch. After all, she was beloved by me, once. A long time ago, and far before she discovered her escape at the end of a beer. Several, numerous beers.

More lightening cracks above, illuminating the darkening sky. Rain clouds loom, giving the graveyard an even bleaker feel, and I can feel that is rain coming soon in the way the wind has picked up. A storm is imminent.

Saved by the bell as it were, since I really had no clue how to articulate what I came here to finally say.

Then - September 1997

In the year or so since their first physical fight, things have gone downhill with Mom and Greg. They argue more than ever, usually after hours of drinking and partying. Sometimes it’s late at night, or early in the morning. Sometimes not at all. It’s hard to read their temperaments and triggers, because at times the yells and screams just burst into existence, leaving Callie and I cowering in one of our rooms.

And lately, they bicker even when sober, trading bitter barbs and spiteful glances between themselves. There are no more movie nights, at least that involve the two of them. I rode my bike to the payphone three more times since last August, each conversation leaving my father sounding more helpless and me more bitter. He’s sorry that the loud music and scary friends wake up me. It’s horrible that Mom and Greg had battered faces at breakfast. Shameful to him that they can’t exist without turning to the drink.

Words. Just words.

I learned a long time ago that you can’t count on adults to do the right thing.

Dad says that it’s not easy to undo a custody order, and that with his job and lack of resources in Alaska, it would be hard to get the court to overturn the ruling. It doesn’t help that my mom only had two incidents with police; once when she was baker acted after I witnessed her attempt suicide following her brother’s homicide, and her DUI.

I heard her bragging to her friends later on that she blew at .375 on the breathalyzer.

Apparently neither brush with the law is cause for concern.

There have been many days of hunger, having only stale saltines and butter to eat at times when they’re partying at a friend’s house, willfully ignorant that our fridge is empty again.

Many, many parties, broken up fights between their friends and themselves. Lots of mornings of taking care of myself and Callie, making sure she gets on the bus to Kindergarten before I get on the bus to middle school. I’m in sixth grade now.

It’s Sunday and I’m dreading the day before me. We’re going fishing at the lake since it’s a warm day. The forecast is 70 degrees and sunny, which will morph overnight with a cold front and turn to the low forties. Greg says he wants to make the most of the nice day. Which should be exciting, a good day! Such rarity!

Only I saw them pack the cooler. There were a few water bottles and Capri Suns for Callie and I, along with homemade sandwiches. And an entire case of Budweiser.

Still. I like fishing. Well, I like catching fish. I do not like touching worms or fish. They feel gross and smell bad, and I always gag when Greg baits the hook. I refuse.

So, I walk to the station wagon and resign myself to the day. And as we set up and sit in our folding chairs, it’s not so bad. Greg catches the most fish, but I catch three sunfish! They’re not that big, but big enough to eat at least. It’s a really pretty day, and it’s hard to imagine that it will be so cold tonight. We eat fried fish and macaroni and cheese with green beans on the side that night, and my last thought as I was drifting off was that as far as Sundays go, this was a good one.

***

Once again, I’m jolted awake. Only this time it’s because Callie is sobbing in my bed, causing me to sit up straight and turn the lamp on. “Calla Lily?” I say, pushing the hair out of her face. “What’s wrong?” She sniffles, trying to stop crying so she can speak. I check my clock; 1:52 am. Nothing good ever happens this time of night.

But she doesn’t have to say anything. I can hear for myself.

“I’m gonna kill you, motherfucker!” my mom grunts, slurring worse than ever. It’s a miracle I can make out her words, but then again, I’m a practiced hand at translating Other Mom. The one who comes out after Mom’s had too many drinks. Other Mom has heavy, bloodshot eyes, a slack face, and a hairpin trigger. I don’t like Other Mom, with her swaying gait and her slurred words.

I slowly ease out of bed, feeling the familiar alarm and panic course through my body. What. Now.

A slap sounds out, and several dull thuds of flesh hitting flesh. “You goddamn bitch!” Greg roars, and I turn to Callie instantly. “Callie!” I hiss. “Get under the bed and go to our hiding place!” My bed is a double with a large wooden headboard. If you scoot under the bed frame, which is too narrow for adults to fit, there is a large clearance of blank space between the back of the bed frame and the top of the headboard, where the shelves start. It’s the perfect space for us, especially Callie. She’ll be safe there from the two of them.

I hope.

I walk out into the living room and it’s in shambles. The lamp is knocked over and broken, the coffee table is askew, and my mom and Greg are on the ground, grappling. I gasp as Mom sits up on top of Greg and punches him in the face.

“Stop fighting!” I yell, and they both ignore me, lost to whatever rage they’re battling out. I throw pillows at them from the couch, and they bounce off them harmlessly. Greg throws my mother off him, grabs her by the hair, and drags her towards the wall. I jump on his back and yell “Let go of my mom!” trying to make him stop.

And then I’m flying through the air, landing on the ground, and my head is bouncing off the floor. I can’t breathe, the wind having been knocked out of me, and my vision blurs. I try to sit up, but I’m disoriented and hurting. My breath comes back to me in rapid succession and I’m hyperventilating and panicking. He’s never hurt me before.

By the time that I can bring myself to a sitting position Greg has Mom on the ground. He’s knelling over her, choking her, and beating her head through the wall. I rush over and try to grab his hands, screaming at him to let go of my mom, but he elbows me in the cheek, sending searing pain through my face and eye. I scream out in fear and pain, and he stops, looking at me. He doesn’t look like Greg. He looks like a monster with crazed eyes, vacantly looking at me before widening in shock. Like he’s realizing that I’m here for the first time, and he knows he hurt me.

Mom brings her leg up and gets him hard right between the legs, and he goes down, moaning in pain. My brain is working to process everything that’s happening, and I feel like that one time that a faulty outlet shocked my finger, only there is electricity all over my body. I barely register that my mom is dragging me out of the house by my arm until we’re in the front yard and I’m standing on the freezing ground in my bare feet. The cold shocks me, and my senses slam me back into awareness.

“Run to a neighbor, anyone, call the police,” she urges, slurring and weaving on her feet. “Greg pulled the phone line out of the wall.” Just then, Greg appears in the doorway with his shotgun that he hunts with, and if I thought I knew terror before, it has nothing on this feeling. I’m frozen at the sight, every nerve in my body telling me to run, but I can’t move. He’ll see me if I move.

“Ignore him Lark, RUN!” my mom screams, pushing me hard to go. I fall over and hear him cock the gun. That has me on my feet, screaming as I run away, breathless with fear and exertion. I’ve never run like this in my life. I make it out of our gate and take a right, and when the gun goes off, I falter and trip on the freezing asphalt, cutting myself up as I skid to a stop. Pain blooms, burning and sharp.

Instinct tells me to stay on the ground and curl up into a ball, but Callie. Callie is in that house!

I get up and run flat out after that, fear and horror fueling me to pump my legs and lungs. I don’t stop until I hit Ms. Donna’s house, trying to open the front door desperately, not realizing that it’s locked until I’ve tried for several seconds. Pounding on the door as hard as I can, I shout over and over “HELP ME! HELP! HELLLPPP!!” until finally the porch light comes on and she opens the door, looking shocked in her nightgown, her short gray hair wild with sleep.

“My goodness, Lark-”

“Help,” I gasp. “Police, gun, fighting,” I can’t get the words out. They’re stuck in my throat, making it feel tight as they claw their way loose. I can’t speak anymore after that, and I collapse in the entry way after she ushers me inside. I can’t catch my breath, and it feels like I’m not in my own body. I can’t stop shaking, trembles wracking my body until my muscles are all hurting, and my joints are protesting. My shoulders hurt so badly, but I can’t stop the tension, it’s not within my control.

“Lark. Lark! Oh honey, let’s get you up,” Ms. Donna somehow gets me off the floor onto her couch and she pulls a blanket around my shivering shoulders. “Oh no, you’re bleeding Lark. Do you hurt?” I don’t realize what she means until I look at my hands and feet and bruised, scraped skim on my knees. Now I can feel that my feet are burning and freezing at the same time. I still can’t speak.

“The police are on their way, all we can do is sit tight,” she says, trying to soothe me. But the gun. Callie, Mom. Are they okay? Are they even alive?

What feels like eternity passes. She tries to get me to watch TV, to eat, drink. But I can’t bring myself to relax. I’m worried about Mom and Callie. It isn’t fair that I’m safe and warm here, when I don’t know if they’re okay.

Finally, a knock sounds on the front door, and Ms. Donna lets in Mom and, oh thank GOD, Callie, followed by a policeman. Mom and Callie are crying, and Mom grabs me in a huge hug, sobbing. I shake her off and hug Callie and check her over. “You’re okay, he didn’t touch you?”

“No,” she says, shaking head and tear stained cheeks. I came out when Mom starting yelling for me that it was safe. They took him away in a police car.”

I sag in relief, some of the tension finally fading away. Now that the shock is wearing off, I’m feeling every single ache and pain in my body. Walking hurts because my feet are torn up from the cold, rough asphalt. I just want to go to bed.

But first there is a statement that we all make separately to the police. Mom has sobered up some, but not nearly enough. Officer Armfield recognizes this and offers to come back tomorrow to get a more thorough statement.

Mom thanks Ms. Donna over and over, and then we’re ushered into the back of the police car and Officer Armfield drives us home. He’s kind to Callie and I, but I don’t miss the distrustful look he gives my mother before she closes the door.

“Oh girls, I’m so sorry.” Mom cries. “You did such a brave thing Lark, I’m so proud of you!” She hugs me to her, crying over the top of my head. But I don’t want to be told that I was brave. Because I was scared, terrified, but she made me run in the night to save her from herself and her boyfriend. And I don’t want to be held, either.

I push off from her. “I’m tired,” I say woodenly. “I’m going to bed.” She can handle putting Callie down. I don’t wait for a response and lock myself in my room before throwing myself in bed and crying all over again.

I’m so afraid that Greg is going to come for me, even though I know he went to jail tonight. How does that work? Will he be let right back out? Can he escape? Over and over these thoughts come into my mind, unbidden. Will I ever be free from this endless cycle?

I locked my door to create a barrier between my mom and me. But then I think about Callie and go unlock the door. Sure enough, an hour later as I’m lying awake in the dark, Callie comes tiptoeing into my room, seeking comfort. I feel her come get into bed and sigh as she burrows into my blankets. Only when she starts snoring do I feel my eyes start to close, and I finally succumb to sleep. 

***

Greg stayed in the county jail for months on charges of aggravated assault, on account of the shotgun. Mom forced us to visit him a few times after about a month. I didn’t want to go and said only one word responses to his prompts. With hangdog eyes, he apologized and asked for my forgiveness. I gave it. I didn’t have a choice, did I?

I couldn’t understand why Mom didn’t leave him after that. I knew she was just as guilty as him. When she was Other Mom, she’d been first to strike plenty of times. It wasn’t until Greg was released that I noticed my mom’s stomach looking like it did when she started showing with Callie.

I never did find out if Greg shot the gun at my mom or at my retreating figure that night. I also never found out the reason for the fight in the first place. But now I knew why they were staying together.

I was going to be a big sister again.

Now

Thunder rumbles in the sky, startling me from my trance. I’m still staring at the headstone. Closure is a funny thing when it’s forced on you. It feels like a burden, not a relief. Maybe it would have been relief had I actually spoken to my mother in the decade before she was killed.

No, it wasn’t Greg, although I’m not convinced that one of them wouldn’t have eventually killed the other. Their fights were violent and ruthless. I don’t miss either of them.

Still, when Tawny was killed in a horse riding accident, I was caught off guard by the enormity of my feelings, and the variety that pummeled me. I was shocked, mostly because the accident happened while she was sober. To further add to the irony, Tawny loved horses. She treated them better than her daughters, that’s for sure.

So, when we found out how she died, I couldn’t help but see the contrariness in how she went out. Feelings of sadness, shock, loss, grief were offset by feelings of peace, freedom from the burden I’d felt since cutting her out of my life once I turned 25 and could no longer take her toxicity, and the sense that maybe now I could move on from the trauma of my childhood.

It’s held me back for so long.

The first raindrops fall on my head, and I lift my face to the sky, letting the rain cleanse my thoughts. It’s time to let the burden of the past go.

I have special people in my life who know and love me. Who treat me well and understand why I am the way that I am. It’s a special kind of person who doesn’t let you apologize for the way you are.

I have better things to do with my time than wallow and dwell.

After all, I get to meet my sisters for dinner soon. Something to look forward to. Smiling now, I head to my car. There’s nothing I have to say, after all. I don’t look back at my mother’s grave.

It feels like goodbye.