We stayed home Sunday… unpacking. It was good and bad.
I followed Mom around and dumbed myself down enough to just obey commands because I knew if I unpacked things my way, Mom wasn't going to like it and was just going to redo it herself. I saved her the trouble and became her robot-slave.
"It's like having four arms," she said.
"Just know that once we're done you're setting me free back to my room."
Mom sighed. "You can't stay inside all day and watch movies."
"Watch me."
"You don't want to go outside at all?"
"Not in the slightest. Here?" We'd gotten to the walls. I was built longer than Mom, so I had to hang all the paintings that had nothing to do with us or the house. All the "paintings" were bought at that antique shop, and they were all flowers. Cheshire was the very start of country, so flowers grew in abundance here.
"Lift your right corner—there. Perfect."
I let my arms dangle. "Was that the last one?"
"No. This one is." She held it up.
"Where'd you get that one?" It was a white porch with a faceless girl standing in front of the open door, light framing her silhouette. She was facing out of the painting, like she knew she was being watched. It gave me chills.
"I actually found it here."
"When?"
"Last night, in one of the linen closets." Mom smiled at me. "You don't recognize it?"
"Should I?"
"It's our house!" She seemed really excited about that, glancing down at the painting like she'd painted it herself. "This is probably what it used to look like before it was painted all brown."
"I guess…." I still didn't see it.
Mom saw that and she made me follow her outside—with the painting. I hoped everyone was asleep and no one saw me with the crazy lady holding a painting of our porch next to our actual porch and comparing the two.
When she held it up, I saw it then. It was the same everything, although the house looked like the brown, wizened version of the one in the painting. Looking at the painting, I immediately placed it in the 30s. Maybe it was the girl's dress… maybe it was the Clark Gable/RDJ dream I'd had.
I quickly chased Mom into the house before anyone could see us.
She laughed at me. "You'll have to leave the house for school tomorrow anyway."
"Then at least let me postpone it as long as possible."
*
We had some kind of a brunch thing for… brunch, and then we went our separate ways. Mom had already finished unpacking her room, and we'd already done the house and the kitchen.
All my stuff was still in boxes. I found my little boombox and CDs (yes, I still have some, filled with illegally downloaded mp3s) and blasted Imagine Dragons, signal music that I wished to not be disturbed.
I found all my clothes, put them accordingly into my closet and two dressers, the smallest one next to my bed that served as a nightstand. The room itself had a small bookcase built into the wall, directly across the door; you walk in, it's the first thing you see. I filled that case with small knick-knacks, a few books (including my mother's) filled the middle two shelves. A few choice items was a big shell I found on Tamarindo Beach in Costa Rica with my mom, some kind of blue rock my dad had found while on a hike in Colorado, and various school ribbons in track and tennis. I still wasn't sure if I was going to try out for either at Cheshire High (I didn't even know what the mascot was).
I had pictures of some close friends from my old town, but if they didn't try to contact me in the next week, they were staying in a box in the back of my closet.
Okay, okay… I myself had gone through some weird emo-phase when my parents divorced, alienating everyone. It was one of those 'Ugh, No One Understands Me' things that most of us go through at some point, like the precursor for a mid-life crisis. My behavior had warranted a counselor visit, and that's where the cutting question came from.
The alienating part hit my friends hard, especially since all their parents were still married—and happy. They probably didn't understand that great trust between me and my dad had been horribly violated. There was enough hate coming from me that it was okay for me to cut him out of my life completely. I was sure that that alone would've confused my friends, since their dads were cool. The idea of completely rejecting someone who raised you, one of the most important people of your life, was simply alien to them.
Maybe that's why I pushed them away. I didn't want them to see just how horrible I could be if I was crossed beyond measure. I was perfectly capable of cutting someone completely out of my life, and maybe that would've alerted them as to what kind of friend I was. I hurt them first before I really hurt them first, I guess….
*
It was dinner, and my already dour mood was even… dour…ier? More dour.
"Are you nervous?" Mom asked. Her cooking was much better now that she had the stove to work with, and more choices of food.
"Not really. Just not looking forward to it." I pushed around my broccoli, wondering how far the nearest Pizza Hut was. There was a local pizzeria in Cheshire (of course), but I was always all about Pizza Hut.
"This is a small-town, so I'm sure it's going to be cliché."
"Cliché?"
Mom looked up. "Of course. You saw how everyone reacted when they found out I was divorced. Small-town, small-town mindset. It's nothing you can't handle. If you choose to, you can fit in or be one of those loner, sophisticated kids. You can pull off either one."
"Nice to know I have the option of being a loner in your mind, Mother."
"See? You'll be able to choose your role here. I just have one request."
"What's that?"
"Stay away from the boys."
That wasn't going to be a problem. "I'll see what I can do."
"It's just that I don't want them getting the wrong idea about you being a kid coming from divorce. I mean, you could lose your trust in men, or try to find a father-figure in a boy and be completely—"
"You've been reading those divorced-parenting books, haven't you?"
Mom gave me a sad smile. "I just don't want you to believe every man in your life is going to be like your father."
It took me a minute to formulate a response. "I'll see what I can do."
*
Here's what my dad did a little over a year ago:
He cheated on Mom.
In our house.
With two other women.
One of which got pregnant and already had the baby.
Both relationships went on for more than three years.
All while he'd been married to Mom.
He hid it well, very well… up until I came home early from school when track practice was canceled.
I found him in the kitchen, arguing with the two women—one of them with his baby. They'd been arguing over what seemed to be hush-money.
The women were glad to tell little 16-year-old me what was going on, and to my mother via phone while she was at a publisher's meeting in the city.
I didn't go to the counseling meetings.
I didn't go to the court proceedings.
I didn't speak to my dad during custody arrangements.
I didn't see him since that argument. And I don't want to.
*
I watched It Happened One Night to cheer myself up about school (and other things).
I'd seen Clark Gable as Rhett Butler in Gone with the Wind, but I preferred him in a comedic role. If anyone ever redid IHON (though not necessary or likely) Robert Downey Jr. could play Peter Warne, the "brash and breezy" reporter easily. RDJ already played Charlie Chaplin like no one else could (also, he's Iron Man, so…).
I had no particular interest in the 30s. Mom had taken me to a film studies class at a community college, and IHON was one of the films. Also, a few of Charlie Chaplin's small films, Bringing Up Baby, and Singin' in the Rain. I could watch these many times over, and I usually did if I was in a bad mood. Mom would tell me to go back to the 30s if I was acting particularly insolent.
Anyway, Clark Gable was in my dreams, still trying to solve my murder. I thought it sweet.