Grace to the small things

“Marcus!” 

God, give me strength.

The piercing wail echoes through my eardrums in enough vibrations to both assault and effectively deconstruct my hearing for a second. Not that I need it. Most days I think being deaf would be a blessing if it meant having an excuse to feign ignorance to the world. The source of such auditory assault is coming from my mother, the woman who birthed me and the light of my life. Note the sarcasm. 

“Coming, mom!” I yelled back in a tone that not only matched the irritable pitch but went as far as to outdo it in an effort to subject her to such trepidation. It was the least she deserved if she thought Thanksgiving could be spent exchanging sincere smiles and mind-numbingly fervent words that spawned from the depths of our pure souls. That was not happening, now or ever. Not after what they did. 

“Don’t yell at your mother, Mark. Such disrespect.” Jason input while shaking his head. 

Mom’s latest boyfriend was not only hypocritical, being that he yelled at my mother daily but an overall lazy jerk whose only redeeming quality was the lack of intellectual thought that allowed me to conspire under his nose. 

“Shut the fuck up, Jason,” I said as I passed him on my pursuit to the kitchen. He either didn’t hear me or ignored me. 

I walked to the kitchen to find mom peeling potatoes for the Thanksgiving dinner. She had been fretting all morning to make this dinner perfect for the guests who would be arriving soon. Carrots were to be cut into singular sticks all the same length and width, and turkey stuffing was to contain an appropriate balance between tasty yet not overpowering. I recognized her need to be perfect this year. I felt the same need buried in my bones. The need to be a perfect family with no problems and only pure unadulterated love for one another. The perfect disguise to mask the disfunction that was weaved into the very fabric of this family. 

“Marcus, darling, I need you to run down to the store and pick up some more wine. Moscato, if they have it.” Typical Cynthia, living on the bare necessities of alcohol and desperation. “Oh, and some carrots. Jason loves his carrots, isn’t that right, honey?” She called to the living room. An unintelligible grumble was her only response. 

“Yeah, whatever. Let’s go Max.” I grabbed his lead to attach and my beanie. God knows the November winters will gift me with frostbite if I don’t rug up. 

The store was only a short half-mile walk from home, but the frosty weather made the distance seem forever expanding. Max tugged on the lead, quickening our already swift pace. We jolted to a stop outside Hero’s hideout, an old treehouse that sat in the Williamson backyard. The high fence did nothing to conceal the structure of the old cabin. My eyes blurred as memories swept their way into my mind. 

“Mark!” She giggled. “Mark, come up already! I can see the whole world from up here.” 

“I’m coming. Wait for me!”

My eyes cleared as I jolted back into reality. The once fairytale-like treehouse was now rotting and rain damaged, too old and too broken to be salvaged. Just like her.

Max tugged his lead again, a reminder of what exactly I was doing. My feet started walking again but my mind stayed on the hideout. The store was uneventful, and I picked up the things mom needed to survive the night. I took the long way home, making sure to not pass the Williamson’s house again. I felt raw like my emotions were on display for the world to see. My nose burned and I felt pressure on the back of my eyes. I swallowed down the tears that were threatening to fall. 

Home was no different from when I had left. Except now mum had an entirely new bottle of wine to start while continuing with dinner preparations. If she continued this way, there would be no doubt she would be drunk by dinner. I passed Jason again, who hadn’t moved an inch since my departure, his eyes still glued to the game on the television. My nerves were starting to ignite, annoyance with his inability to do anything remotely useful, overshadowing my thoughts. Mom did always manage to pick the worst ones.

I retreated to my room, opting to bask in the peace before tonight’s chaos. 

**

Dinner rolled around faster than I desired. I could hear mum bustling around in the kitchen, ensuring every bit of her perfect thanksgiving dinner lived up to its name. Turkey was cooked and potatoes were matched, everything set out on the expansive dining table, completed with expensive cutlery and soft napkins. She had changed from her plain jeans and t-shirt into a dress that fell to her knees and a frilly apron. Her hair was curled and makeup on point. She looked every bit of the Stepford wife that she wanted to be. 

Well done, mom. You’ve managed to play your part perfectly. Here’s hoping the rest of us can do the same. 

The doorbell rang, right on time. “Marcus, answer the door please,” Mom called. I invited the Archibald family inside, taking their coats and leading them to the dining room table. We all took our seats, including Jason who was half asleep, and mom who was highly intoxicated from the bottle of wine consumed throughout the day. Anne and Michael made light conversation while their son, Jeremy sat next to me and talked me through a new app that had hit the market. I reached for my glass of wine, deciding it would be the only thing that got me through this night. 

“Now look, it allows for any images uploaded to be enhanced through this filter. Cool, right?!” Amazing, Jeremy. 

Across the table sat Anne, who was discussing the snowy weather with mom. “You know, Cynthia, I told Peter those icy roads need to be cleared before daylight to avoid any other accidents on the road. It’s just dangerous, I say. The city council does little to ensure the safety of these road users. Preposterous!” Mom nodded along, heaping large gulps from her wine. If only she had an original thought in her head, she’d be able to tell Anne that the city council have found a new method for clearing the ice roads before maximum traffic ensures. 

“Absolutely, Anne! I mean, how many accidents have to happen for them to see that these conditions are too dangerous! Look what happened to that Williamson girl. Although wasn’t she drunk when she drove. I tell you what, Anne, these kids just have no sense of responsibility in this community. Only ever wanting to go out and have fun, consequences be damned. It was only a matter of time before something bad happened.” 

My blood boiled at the mention of her. They had no right to talk about her that way. No right. 

Anne nodded. “Yes, but what do we expect? That mother of hers was the exact same way in her youth, wild and reckless. No class at all, let alone a sense of responsibility. Guess the apple doesn’t fall very far from the tree. As you said, Cynthia, it was bound to happen at some point.” Her nose upturned, an ugly sneer reaching across her mouth. How dare she? 

Jason caught on to the conservation. “Are we talking about Valerie Williamson? I remember her, she was always a wild thing, even back in the day. Her daughter looks just like her. Damn shame she’s a vegetable now.” 

That was it. 

I stood up, my chair screeching as it fell back. I looked at every person in this room, my eyes burning. “How dare you! How dare any of you! She is in a coma. She probably won’t make it! And you sit here and talk about her like she deserved to be in that accident. Because of her mother? Let me tell you, Anne,” I glared at her, “Her mother is a thousand times better than you will ever be. Unlike you, Valerie actually loves Olivia. She raised her to be happy and free, which is more than I can say for your ass, you bitch. And you,” my attention shifted to Jason, “You are vermin to this town and this planet. Not only should you not open your mouth ever again but you shouldn’t even breathe the same oxygen as the rest of us.” 

He at least had the decency to look ashamed. Finally, I looked at my mother. “She was my best friend, mom. For twenty years, you loved her like she was your own. How can you sit here and talk about her like this?” My voice cracked. She looked down.

I grabbed my coat. “Fuck this and fuck you. I’m out of here. Thanksgiving sucks.” With that, I slammed the door. 

**

I don’t remember the drive from home to the hospital. I wouldn’t have a clue what music played on the radio or what route I took to get here. My mind was stuck on the old treehouse and the events at dinner. I walked through the halls, muscle memory carrying me to the one person that I actually wanted to be with on Thanksgiving. I quietly pushed open the door. Val was sitting in the corner chair, a blanket rested over her legs and a book in her hand. She looked up and gave me a soft smile. “Hi, Marcus.”

“Hey, Val. How’s she doing?” I nodded towards to petite figure on the bed. It still scared me how small she looked in that bed. 

“She’s alright, sweetheart. Are you staying for a little bit?” 

“Yeah,” I replied. I took a seat in the other chair on the opposite side of the bed, grabbing her limp hand in mine. I exhaled a sigh that I had been holding in all day. 

“Hey Liv, guess what I saw today? Remember that treehouse in your backyard we used to climb up? I was thinking, when you get better, we can do that again.” Tears began to build up. My voice cracked, emotion rippling through it. “I mean, a fresh coat of paint wouldn’t go astray, but we could do a picnic up there one day, just like we used to.” 

I felt Val’s eyes on me, the weight of her stare burning into the side of my face. I continued, “I walked Max today. He’s gotten so big since you last saw him. And his hair… Liv, it’s so long. He will need to go to the groomers soon. Don’t worry, I’ve taken pictures so you can look through them when you wake up.” 

I continued telling her about my day, about all the things she was missing out on. Soon, the nurse was knocking on the door to tell us that visiting hours were over. I squeezed Liv’s hand once more. “I’ll be back next week.” 

I hugged Val goodbye and walked to my car. I sat in there for a little while, thinking about all the things I had to be thankful for this year. Most days, the list of bad outweighed the good. But as I sat there, noticing a tiny snowflake that had fallen on my windscreen, I whispered a small thanks that Liv was still here with us and in time would wake up. For us. 

Note: course language