Jennifer Brown - Torn Away

My grandparents were sitting at a table near the restrooms, side by side, their shoulders touching. Who does that? I thought. What couple doesn’t sit across from each other so they can talk? But then I decided that I was just as happy it wouldn’t be my shoulder grazing against one of theirs, and I slid into the chair across from my grandmother.

“We already ordered,” she said by way of greeting, but the waitress had appeared, carrying two glasses of iced tea, which she plunked down in front of my grandparents. “Didn’t think you were coming.”

“That’s okay, sweetie, I haven’t put the order in yet. Need a menu?” the waitress asked. Something about the softness in her eyes reminded me of Mom, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to hold myself back from crying out or flinging my arms around her waist. Maybe in my movie, the waitress could be the hero who loves the girl after all. Save me!

“No, that’s okay,” I managed. “I’ll have a burger and fries. Some water.”

“Sure,” she said, and took off.

“Now, I don’t know how your mom did things, but don’t you go expecting to eat a lot of fancy dinners out,” Grandfather Harold said, his voice deep and ragged, the kind of voice that would scare a little kid. Hell, the kind of voice that was already scaring me.

I didn’t know how to respond. If they thought my life with Mom had been fancy after their son abandoned us, they were crazy.

“And don’t be expecting any fancy dinners at home, either,” Grandmother Billie said, frowning at the saltshaker, which she turned in circles between her hands. Almost like she was nervous. What did she have to be nervous about? “And you’ll be cooking some of them yourself, so don’t be expecting to be waited on. We run a house, not a hotel. Everyone pitches in.”

“Okay,” I said, my voice a squeak.

“Yes, ma’am,” my grandfather corrected.

The waitress brought my water, and I picked it up and sipped it, grateful to have something to cool down my burning cheeks.

“Don’t drink too much,” Grandfather Harold said. Lecturing must have been his strength. “We don’t plan to stop again until we get home. You got an emergency, you’ll have to hold it.”

I put the glass down, uncomfortable silence pressing over our table like a thick covering of fog.

The waitress brought our food. Once I started eating, I was surprised at how hungry I was, at how good hot food tasted. My grandparents dug into their matching chicken-fried steaks, shoveling gravy-drippy forkfuls into their mouths. A dollop of white gravy clung to my grandfather’s bottom lip.

“We don’t got that much space at our house,” Grandmother Billie said after a few bites. “On account of everyone living there. We believe in taking care of family when they’re in need, and unfortunately you’re not the only one in need.”

“Goddamn flophouse,” my grandfather said, crumby spittle collecting in the corners of his mouth. He licked one side clean and I had to turn my eyes toward my plate to keep from feeling nauseous at the sight of his food-covered pink tongue slithering out between his dry lips.

“So we’ll find a place for you, but it probably isn’t gonna be the same kind of bedroom you had in your old house.”

“ ’Course that bedroom’s halfway to Marceline by now anyhow,” my grandfather said. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to make a joke or if he was just insensitive. He seemed to specialize in the latter.

“We could put her on the porch sofa for the time being,” my grandmother said, turning to Grandfather Harold, her forkful of meat suspended and dripping over her lap. He didn’t answer, but she didn’t seem to be looking for an answer. “It gets cooler out there at night than in the house, anyways. And it’s all covered,” she added, “so you wouldn’t need to worry about that. We’ll figure out something else for you in the winter. Maybe set up a room in the basement.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, thinking that the last place I wanted to be “set up” in was a basement. The very thought of setting foot in a basement made my palms sweat.

“It’s a shame what happened to your mom,” Grandmother Billie said between bites. “But there’s nothing to be done about it. Terrible things happen every day. To everybody, not just you.”

Again I was reminded of Mom’s theory that Billie and Harold were unhappy people because of the pain life had dealt them. I wondered what terrible things had happened in their lives, and if Mom was right, and they’d simply shut down to shut out the hurt. I wondered if I would end up cold as a reptile, unhappy, jaded, someday telling someone fresh in their grief that “terrible things happen every day.”

We ate in silence for a while, each of us staring at our plates. I was full before I’d even gotten halfway through my burger, but still nibbled on my fries.

They tasted like the school’s fries, which were the best thing in the cafeteria. Almost every day Dani and Jane and I would get a chocolate milk shake and a large order of fries to split. We’d sit the shake and the fries in the middle of the table and take turns dunking the fries into the ice cream.

People who saw us do it for the first time would always act all grossed out about it, but then they’d give it a try and next thing you knew they’d be eating fries with chocolate shakes at their tables, too. It was the sweet and salty, hot and cold together that made it perfect.

Sort of what made Dani, Jane, and me perfect together. We were all different. We complemented one another.

I missed them so much my ribs ached as I breathed. Jane didn’t even know I’d left. That is, if she’d made it through the tornado okay. Would I ever find out? If Dani’s mom didn’t pick up her phone soon, I would be well on my way to my new life in Caster City. I tried not to think about what this meant: If I was living in Caster City, three hours away, I wouldn’t be sharing fries and shakes with my two best friends anymore. I wouldn’t be sitting cross-legged next to them on the edge of the stage during theater club meetings, and I wouldn’t be spotlighting Dani’s face as she belted out the lead lines anymore or listening to Jane practice a new piece on her violin. I wouldn’t graduate with them.

I maybe wouldn’t ever see them again.

It was so unfair.

“Of course, Clay will be there,” Grandmother Billie said, adding to the conversation after such a long pause it took me a minute to understand what she was talking about.

Immediately, Dani and Jane were forgotten, as were my fries. “Will be where?” I asked.

“Ma’am,” my grandfather reminded sternly.

“Will be where, ma’am?” I repeated.

She looked up at me, chewing, her forehead wrinkled in thought. “At the house. Like I was saying,” she said.

Of course, that made sense. Clay would be at their house every now and then. He was their son, after all.

He was also my father. The father I hadn’t seen in sixteen years.

“He’s…” I hesitated, so many questions racing through my mind. He’s still alive? He’s not in jail? He’s the kind of guy who visits his mother? “He’s in Caster City?” I finally landed on.

“Of course he’s in Caster City. That’s where the whole family is. His sister, Terry… his nephews… us.”

“He only ever lived up here because it’s where your mother wanted to live,” my grandfather remarked. My insides burned at the thought that I would, after sixteen years, finally see my father. “He was born in Waverly, about an hour thataway.” He pointed out the window with his fork. “But we left that town years ago, moved on down to Caster City. Clay refused to come with us. Said love went where it needed to go. When she ruined his life, he come down to his family. Shoulda never stayed up here, to be honest.”

My cell phone buzzed in my pocket. I peeked at the incoming text from Dani: Mom said she needs to talk to Ronnie. Sorry. I’ll keep working on her.

I put the phone back in my pocket, my stomach twisting in knots. This was happening. I was going to Caster City with these people. I was going to see my father, after all this time. “So does he come over a lot?” My throat felt coated by French fry grease. I cleared it nervously. “Ma’am?”

“No,” she said, still giving me that look, as if she expected me to know about my father’s life, even though I’d never been a part of it. She set down her fork and took a sip of iced tea. “He lives there. With us. And his wife, Tonette, and their two daughters. You’ll meet them all tonight.”

Grandfather Harold was true to his word. After we left the diner, we didn’t stop again until we got to Caster City. Not that I asked him to. I sat in the backseat and thought about what they’d said. I was going to meet my father today. For the first time ever, really.

It was evening when we crunched up the gravel driveway, but the days had been getting longer, so dusk was just starting to fall. I peered nervously through the windshield at the tiny house we were approaching. It was white, with falling-down shutters and a front stoop covered on three sides with wooden lattice, which had holes punctured throughout. I wondered if that was going to be my bedroom. I didn’t see how I’d possibly live in such a place until winter.

Two boys who couldn’t have been any older than eight burst through the front door as we settled into park. Neither of them had shirts on, and their faces were filthy. Their voices drifted through the car’s open windows.

“Give it back!” one of them yelled, clobbering the other on the back of his head with a fist. “Ya turdface, ya smelly fartwad!” They fell into mutual headlocks and spewed cusswords while rolling around on the damp ground, punching and gouging at each other.