The shed soon became my own man cave, nah, crib. Man cave sounded like some doddering oldie. I would come home from school and begin my exploration. I generally stayed there until Seth called me in to eat and then went back out afterwards.
Dad had a recliner out there. There was an apartment-sized fridge which had been cleaned and turned off. There was a two-burner contraption like some kids take to a dorm room. There was a brand new microwave still in the box. Mom said she bought it for him but by that time he was more into liquid refreshment than things that needed heat. A window air conditioner unit was built right into the wall and served to make the room habitable in the summer. A small space heater was sitting in a corner to provide heat on the few days that you need it in Louisiana.
It took me most of the first week to spruce up the space. There were dirt dobber nests, spider webs, and mouse droppings. I was determined that Pop's crib would be put back to rights. I figured that giving it a good scrubbing would go a long way towards that end. I also hoped to light on the hiding place where Dad kept the key to Blue Ox.
In a corner near the recliner was an old wooden barrel. It had a wooden top that fit over it making it into a sort of small table. When I took off the top, it was chock full of old beer bottles. There were local breweries like Chafunkta along with a bunch of national brands like Budweiser. I had seen something on the Net about making wind chimes out of bottles. Mom really liked wind chimes. She had them hanging all over the back yard. I decided that making bottle chimes would be a good way to get Mom's goat so I sorted the bottles by brand, put them in the dishwasher to clean them and then got to work. I ended up with six different wind chimes. I hung one from each corner of the shed and one midway down each side. I knew they would make plenty of racket when the wind blew, but I also knew that just the sight of them would be enough to vex Mom. I gotta give her props. She didn't set up a squawk, but when she thought I wasn't looking, she would glance at them and cringe. After I hung them, when she was outside she always sat in a patio chair with her back to the shed.
After I had the room reasonably clean, I decided to start with the tool area. I checked out the various electrical items. I cleaned them, oiled them and plugged them in one at a time. Although there was some rust from being in a shed with no air or heat, they all seemed to be in fairly decent working order. The hand tools were in similar shape. They had been hanging on the peg-board or kept in toolboxes. Again, some rust but nothing so bad that they couldn't be cleaned, oiled, and used. I found some linseed oil in a container and used it on the wooden handles. They soaked up the stuff but looked almost new when I got done.
I dumped out every jar on the nail shelf. That seemed like a good hiding place for a key, but all the jars held were various types of nails, screws, bolts, nuts, and washers. Finally, I opened the cabinets and began to explore the contents. There were old paint cans, each labeled with the room that had been painted that color. There were ropes, bungee cords, and every imaginable type of tie down. I found drop cloths, paint brushes, turpentine, and paint trays.
When I reached the last cabinet, the one closest to Dad's chair, I found blankets and pillows. There were some old shoes and a few paint clothes. When I removed them, which didn't take long, I found a long piece of metal with a point similar to a Phillips screwdriver. I figured it was just something Dad had laying around in case he found a use for it. I had found other such implements elsewhere in the room. He didn't seem to throw away much.
The more interesting find was that the cabinet was not as deep as the others. The back of it ended about a foot short of the depth of the others. Excitedly, I began to feel around to see if there was some type of false back. I tried inserting a slim screw driver at the top and then the bottom. trying to pry the back off, but it didn't budge. In feeling around I noted a small round hole near the top towards the middle of the cabinet. It reminded me of the screw holes on the backs of electronic devices where you have to insert a screwdriver and unscrew before you can access the inner workings. I picked up the long piece of metal, thinking it was an extra long screw driver that had lost it's handle. I figured it was designed to allow one to open the back panel without having to get down on ones hands and knees. I was partially right. When I inserted the shaft into the hole and put a little pressure on it, a spring released, allowing the back to swing down and rest on the floor of the cabinet.
Inside were the things Mom would have confiscated had she searched the shed and found them. One shelf held a line of whiskey bottles, all unopened. On another was a line of pill bottles like the ones Mom had showed me in the picture. All of them had expiration dates long past, but they were full of Oxy. There were some syringes and a bunson burner. There was a small bong and some pot.
I sat back on my heels and stared at the stash. My first thought was that I should get rid of it. Mom already hated Dad; this would only add fuel to the fire. But then I realized that if Mom didn't know it was there, it couldn't add to her hatred. All I had to do was put the false back in place, and the existence of the stash would be my secret. I could take my time in deciding what, if anything, to do with it.
As I sat staring, I heard Seth call out, "Wayne, your Mom will be here soon. Remember, she gets off early tonight, and we're going out to eat to celebrate the conclusion of your grounding."
The last thing I wanted was to have dinner with Mom and Seth, but I knew that I had to fall in with the plan. Any strange behavior might bring out the "momdar", and I certainly didn't want her snooping around my newly claimed crib. I decided that I would have to use my acting skills to convince them that everything was as it should be.
"I'll be there in just a minute," I hollered, as I put the contents back in the cabinet, secreting the spring release tool in a blanket.
I came out of the shed as Mom pulled into the driveway. Putting a sullen look on my face, I slouched over to the garage.
"Y'all want to come see the shed?" I asked. "It's all clean and stuff."
Mom plastered a smile on her face. "We'll take a quick peak." She looked at Seth, not at me. "We've got reservations, so the full tour will have to wait for another day."
I led them to the shed and snapped on the lights.
Mom sort of blinked and looked around. "My, you've done a lot of work, hon. "It looks like it did when Paul first set it up." Her voice sounded choked.
"I'm sure your Dad would be proud," Seth offered.
"I thought I could get a desk and put it in the corner behind the recliner," I enthused. "I could do my homework out here. Maybe I could have some friends over to play video games or something."
"We can talk about that later." Mom cleared her throat. "You've done a great job. You deserve a steak dinner."
"Maybe you can have a few friends over to celebrate your return to society," Seth added, never taking his eyes off Mom. "You've made it through two months of exile from your friends with few complaints."
I could tell, he was concerned about Mom's reaction, but I had to give it to him. He was walking on eggshells to point out that I had done what she asked. He seemed to think that I deserved props and some kind of reward other than dinner with Mom and him. At that moment, I had a grudging admiration for Seth. He was trying to use his shrink skills to bring peace instead of tension to my relationship with Mom.
"He did, didn't he," Mom murmured. She shook herself as though forcing emergence from a trance. Turning on her heel, she led the way to the car. "I'm starved. Let's eat."
During dinner, Mom brought up Seth's suggestion.
"Would you like to have some friends over for a party now that your grounding is complete?"
I pushed my food around my plate while contemplating my answer. Mom knew most of my old friends. I had hung out with the same guys since grammar school. She might not like the new ones I'd made in the last couple of months, and I didn't want her to get all suspicious again.
"Maybe I could see if some of the guys wanted to do laser tag," I finally said.
"Okay." Mom fake smiled brightly. "You guys can come back and have snacks afterwards. I'll stock up on junk food and make some past hits like queso and mini pizzas."
When we got home, Mom pulled a key from her purse and handed it to me. "You've earned this," She searched my face. "I hope you learned your lesson in the last two months."
"Yeah. Stay away from liquor. I got it."
She pulled something else from her purse and handed it to me. It was an envelope, the letter I'd sent to my Dad. It had return to sender stamped on the front below the words inmate not here.
"I'm sorry, Wayne," she said softly. "I really am."
I stared at the letter. "What does it mean? Did he get out?"
"No," Mom shook her head. "They probably moved him to another prison and didn't forward his mail."
"But, but... Can they do that? Just move him and not let us know?"
"The only time the prison will contact me is if your Dad is released. They know I don't care what prison he's in, as long as he's in one." She reached out and touch me, as though to apologize for the sentiment. "Since you and I are considered victims of his crime, they have to notify us before his release. Other than that, it's up to him to stay in contact."
"Why are we considered victims?" I'm sure my face reflected my disbelief. "We're his family."
"Who do you think suffers when an addict commits crimes?" Mom's tone reminded me of the times when I'd asked one too many why questions. "The family suffers just as much as his other victims, Wayne. He stole from us. He lied to us. He broke promises to us. He put us in danger. We are definitely victims."
I stared at her. I had never thought of myself as a victim.
"The only victimization I remember is being your victim," My voice was as harsh and full of conviction as hers. "You lied to me for years and kept my father's love from me. I guess from what you're saying, I've been victimized by both parents."
Leaving those words hanging in the air, I rushed up the stairs to my bedroom. I threw myself across the bed and lay staring moodily at the ceiling. I was glad to be free again. No more Seth looking over my shoulder and trying to be my shrink. The grounding hadn't been all bad, though. I had learned more than I expected about my Dad, but now I had lost contact with him again. Everything seemed to collude against us, like some kind of bad karma. Life definitely wasn't fair.
I grabbed my phone and called Uncle Clarence.
"Hey, Wayne." I could hear the smile in his voice. I could also hear sounds in the background. He definitely wasn't at home.
"I'm going by CW, now." I probably was a bit abrupt, but I was in no mood for nicities. "I need to talk to you, but not while you're out and about. Call me when you get home."
"Sure thing. Are you okay, Bud? You sound upset."
"I'm a bit upset but nothing serious. Just call me when you get home."
"Will do."
Mama said Uncle Clarence visited Dad. He stayed in my life, showing up every few months to take me somewhere fun. He told stories about my Dad growing up and about the things we did together as a family before Dad moved out, but he never talked about the trial or the prison. He didn't told me he went to see Dad. I imagined that was the price Mama made him pay for letting him stay in our lives.
He was the only family Dad had other than us. His parents had died in a car accident not long after I was born. I had seen pictures of them beaming at me. Uncle Clarence didn't have any kids of his own. He'd married once, but it was a bust. They didn't even make it a year. Since then he'd been a bachelor. He dated lots of different babes. I'd met some of them. They were generally gorgeous and ditzy. Mostly though, he kept his dating life to himself.
About an hour later my phone rang.
"Hey," Unc said. "What's with the name change?"
I realized I hadn't spoken to Uncle Clarence since my birthday dinner. The one before I got the card from Dad.
"I got a birthday card from Dad." I blurted the information, in a hurry to get to the crux of the matter. "He's been sending me cards and letters for six years and Mama's been sending them back. I only got this one because I ditched school and got the mail before Mom. Dad used to call me CW. I decided it was time to honor that."
"I know about the returned mail, Bud..."
I interrupted. "You knew? Why didn't you tell me?"
He sighed. "I've had to walk a fine line so that I could stay a part of your life. I've kept your Dad up to date with pictures and stories."
"So Mom made you keep her secret."
"She didn't exactly make me." He hesitated. "I knew about the returned letters because your Dad told me, not your Mom. I considered confronting her but chose to keep the peace. The whole situation is complicated."
"Yeah. That's what everyone says." I knew I sounded like a brat, but I didn't care. "Now that I know, though, you can keep me in the loop."
"What loop?"
"I wrote my Dad back. The letter came back with a note that the inmate is no longer there. Mom said that doesn't mean he got out but that he's been moved. Do you know where he is? Do you have a new address for him?"
"I do. I just got it myself. He's at a prison in Washington Parish. I'm not sure why he got moved there or how. He said he was going to write the education department there. They've got college classes so you can earn an Associate Degree. He figured he might as well do something productive while he's behind bars."
"Washington Parish." I was suddenly animated. "Isn't that a parish NEAR here? That means he's close by."
"Much closer than Grant Parish. Probably an hour and a half to two hours north of here."
"You could take me to see him. Mama said you're on his visiting list. She said I can't go by myself because I'm under 16, but you could take me with you."
"I'd have to clear that with Patty."
"Why? Why do we have to clear it with her?"
"If I don't, it'll be the last thing we do together."
"Will you talk to her? Please!"
"I'll try, but don't get your hopes up. In the meantime, here's the address."
He rattled off an address on Hwy 21 in Washington Parish. The name of the prison was Rayburn Correctional Center.
"Thanks, Uncle Clarence. I owe you." Then remembering the bike, I added, "Oh, one more thing. Do you know where Dad hid the key to the Blue Ox? Mama let me clean out the shed. The bike is there but I couldn't locate a key. I searched the whole place. I even dumped out the screws and stuff."
"Maybe you should ask your Dad. He would know. You're not old enough to get a motorcycle license anyway."
"I can get a learner's permit when I turn 15."
"If I recollect properly, we just celebrated your 14th birthday. Besides, learner's permits are for enclosed vehicles not motorcycles. You can't get a motorcycle license until you're 18. You've got a ways to go, Bud."
"I'd still like to have the key, make sure it still runs and all."
"I imagine Paul winterized the bike before he parked it. If you put gas and oil in it, it needs to be driven to stay in shape. If it's not, the fluids thicken and the motor can get all gunked up. You don't want that to happen. You're going to have to be patient."
"Well, I'm still going to ask him."
"That's what I suggested, isn't it. Look, Way...oops CW. I've got stuff to do. I'd better get to it."
"Okay, but don't forget to talk to Mom."
"I won't. Ciao."
After hanging up the phone, I opened the letter I'd written to Dad. I decided that it needed to be rewritten. A lot had happened since I first wrote to him.