The Space Queen

~ 3 ~

We are moving around from base to base - having to readjust our lives at every juncture. We move to Texas first - to Forth Worth. My dad is being prepared for real combat in what they suspect will be an upcoming war somewhere in Asia. The fear of Communist China and Russia abounds all talks. There are many beautiful women that walk around, absent of their husbands, worried that they will one day wake up a widow. They ooze sexuality wherever they go, sticking their breasts out like birds puffing out their chests for mating, dying their hair strange colors and curling it until the hair is singed, as they walk along the poolside at the beach. They all befriend my mom, but they have eyes for Dad. Dad only has eyes for Mom.

In spite of all the ways that Mrs. Bissell, Grandma, made clear of in the way that she disapproved of Mom; he held onto her just as tight, and tried even harder to make the marriage work.

"She's not my real mother. She's never been there for me when I needed her, and I can hardly say that I feel loyal to her. I've always wondered why she left. The things my father made us do, those things are so horrific, that they stay as slaps in the back of my mind. It doesn't make sense why she didn't come back to take us, at least to take her own daughter - especially when she knew what was happening to us."

I hear Mom tsking from the other side of the wall, and they move as if she's leaning onto her chest.

"That's terrible. I wish that had never happened to you. Who knows what kind of affect it had on you. We don't know yet how trauma affects us, but it leaves echoes on our body. "

Those were the exact words that Mom would repeat on the phone to Grandma, unbeknownst to Dad.

"You weren't even there for him. You don't even know what kind of trauma that caused him - your own son. How can you make any comment about how Michael, Roland, and I are living are own lives?"

"You're missing the point Mary... we are talking about you. You're not taking responsibility for your psychology right now. Your emotions have put my son in a state of stress, and he shouldn't have to be responsible for how you are feeling all the time. You can't go about pretending that you're Miss Susie Homemaker. You have to take care of your own emotions. You should be seeing a therapist or a psychiatrist - someone who can help you process your problems."

"Like you did that when you ran away from your ex and kids."

"I did" says Grandma.

Still, Mom retains a look of sternness on her face, as if she believes it easier because my grandma married rich.

When Mom repeats Grandma's words to Dad over a prepared Thanksgiving meal.

"She's right. You need to go to therapy. I wish I could be going to therapy too, but they would kick me out of the military at the first mention of it. At least if you go, you can teach me what you're learning."

He smiles his charming smile, and Mom leans into him for a kiss.

The psychiatrist that mom is referred to prescribes her Xanax, the lowest dose, while going to therapy. Meanwhile, Mom and Dad's relationship gets closer. They are two lost souls in the waves of hardship and the only selves the other can hold onto. They ignore me, and I internalize within myself that it has something to do with them silently blaming me. I am only 6 years old, and yet I think of Beth every day. The sun shines on the flowers and trees, Easters and Christmases come and gone, and all I want to do is play with my sister. Sometimes my parents come in and see me talking to Beth, as if she's still there, telling her how much I miss her. It is then that Dad has to take my hands and tell me that Beth is gone, and that talking to her spirit is preventing her from moving on.

It is during one very muggy summer night that Mom and Dad are making very strange sounds in the next door next to me. It seems as if Dad gets off and then he hits his leg against the bed.

"FUCK!" he explains.

Mom giggles, and Dad growls.

"Let's go outside."

"No... Roland..."

"Let's do it... come on..."

"Oh alright" giggles Mom, and they go out the screen door.

It was on that summer night that my new baby sister was conceived.

Every summer, I am sent off to my Uncle John's in Yorktown Heights. My cousin John and I run around with the neighbors, playing Baseball and having Italian food every night. I hear Italian so much that it's almost no question in my mind that I am Italian, even when I'm not.

Sometimes Mom and Dad come up there for a visit. When Mom is up, she usually befriends the women in neighborhood via Aunt Lois and then hooks Cousin Debbie up on date after date. John jokes that the only reason the boys are so compromising is because of my mother's beauty, not because of Debbie.

It was a few months after that Mom discovered she was pregnant that she made a trip to the Catskills McCarthy house to share the news. Every summer the McCarthy family members go there. There's Grandpa whom is always making repairs on the house. It's a large barn house with no electricity and no running water. There is some art paintings that hang on the walls. The upstairs rooms are very much left the way that Mom and Aunt Lois had when they were teenagers, the only difference now being that Aunt Trudy and Uncle Joe are teenagers that run away to Cousin Kathleen O'Ryan's hotel - as inherited by my Great Grandad. Of course, Grandpa and Grandma always find a way to get them to come here.

When we arrive, Grandad is working on the garden outback. He waves and watches as our car rolls in. I pop out as soon as possible, and Grandad gives me a big bear hug for a very long time.

He then turns to my mom, who takes a hard look at him, and starts crying. He doesn't say anything but holds her in his arms, and then gently nudges her away saying, "I would like to have a chat with my son-in-law."

He pats Dad's shoulder, and then both of the men take off into the grass that Grandad is always trying to cut away.

Off into the kitchen Mom and I go. Aunt Lois is cooking with Grandma. They tell Mom what they are making, and room for her to join them.

Uncle John is sitting at the table drinking coffee. He smiles when he sees me.

"Michael! You are going to be a big brother! Are you excited?" he asks, saying it as if Beth had never happened. DOn't they know that, every day, I see my little sister around me?

"I'm gonna be the best big brother ever" I say with the seriousness of a soldier.

The kitchen is silent. I hear my mom choking back a sob and Grandma scolding her "Not now Mary!"

Uncle John smiles as if he hadn't heard anything.

"John! Debbie!" he calls.

Debbie appears with her long brown hair, her beautiful Italian eyes, and her maniacal smile at the torture she's prescribed for me. Despite Mom's plan to help Debbie become more of a woman, Aunt Lois always calls her a "maniacal brat that cannot be controlled." There was a time that I had a slight crush on her, but John made huge fun of me for it and told me it was "weird." Those thoughts were never brought up again, and remain dead in the light of her evil smile.

She's accompanied by slightly older cousin Kathleen, the daughter of our Great Uncle who runs the Catskills Hotel. She's blonde, busty, and exquisitely beautiful. I wouldn't mind trying to peek a view into her room at night, and Cousin John agrees. I just don't like the way that Debbie and her whisper to each other like they are the best of friends.

"Debbie?" asks Uncle John. "You're not going to torture Michael like you did the last time, are you?"

She smiles and says "No... definitely not." Her mouth then drops open. "Aunt Mary!" she cries, and then runs into my mother's arms.

Uncle John sighs "Women" and takes a puff of his cigarette.

Then, Cousin John peers his head out. He's the same age as I am, and like I've said, we've spent every summer. He's my best friend and more than that, he's my brother. He's scared to death of his sister, but me and him are going to have a lot of fun!