Sharon O'Donnell

"The songs I now remember best are those I used to hear When love was new and wonderful And life was so sincere."
"Remembered Songs" - James Metcalfe

EXCERPT:

We're riding along on Highway 64 with most of the windows wide open. Daddy says when the new cars come out for 1976, he might get a new one that has air conditioning. I sure hope so. The beach trip was fun. Terri and I went swimming in the hotel pool every day and took the raft out into the ocean and rode the waves into shore a few times, too. She looks a lot better in a two-piece bathing suit than I do. I think it's mainly because her boobs are bigger and her stomach is flatter. Yeah, I guess that would pretty much do it.

I miss going to the beach with my whole family like we used to do before everybody got married or moved away. The night before we'd leave for vacation, I'd be too excited to sleep so I'd shake Renee next to me in our double bed and ask questions about what the beach would be like. Renee would answer imaginatively, describing in great detail what the cottage would look like, what the weather would be, and what kind of people we would meet. I would lie there in bed, envisioning all the things she was describing. We used to rent a big cottage down at Carolina Beach on the oceanfront and stay for a whole week. The cottage always had a big kitchen where Mama would fry bacon every morning and wake us up with the delicious aroma.

We'd all get tan and our hair would get bleached by the sun, and at least one of my sisters would meet some guy and start a beach romance. One guy Renee met at the beach about six years ago tied a blue ribbon around the base of our striped beach umbrella for some weird reason, and it’s still there. Nobody ever bothered to take it off, so there the ribbon has stayed summer after summer, serving no purpose at all. I wonder what ever happened to that guy.

When I was little, I’d play in the sand while my sisters ‘laid out’ on Mama’s old floral bedspread. I used to sit on the beach and look out to sea and be so amazed that we were on the very edge of the whole United States. That thought would captivate me. I’d imagine a U.S. map in my mind and picture us there on the very edge of the Carolina coast and get goose bumps about the fact that our country was 3,000 miles wide and yet there we were almost off of it. I made the mistake of mentioning this thought out loud one time, and nearly everybody laughed. I never brought it up again, I remember, because it was a wondrous thought to me, not funny.

My brother-in-law Mark had been the only one who didn’t laugh. He winked at me and nodded slowly a couple of times like he knew what I meant. He’s been like a brother to me ever since they got married almost four years ago. He’s a lot of fun, too. “The life of the party” I heard my aunt say once. A few months ago, he even tried to teach that dance called The Hustle to my Daddy, and they had everybody cracking up. Plus he helps me with my math homework.

We drop Terri off at her house and then drive home. As we pull in our driveway, I see a red Mustang parked under the basketball goal nearby. The mustang is Mark’s prize possession, a gift his rich uncle bought him when he started law school. Good, I think, Laura and Mark are here.

Mark has been like a brother to me ever since they got married almost four years ago. He’s a lot of fun, too. “The life of the party” I heard my aunt say once. A few months ago, he even tried to teach that dance called The Hustle to my Daddy, and they had everybody cracking up. Plus he helps me with my math homework.

I roll down the window to yell at them, but then I notice Renee standing on the sidewalk in her bathing suit, her arms folded in front of her. She looks madder than hell. Her radio is on top of her lawn chair and towel, playing away although nobody is listening. Some song by Chicago.

Then I see Mark and Laura sitting in the middle of the yard on the grass. Laura is crying with her knees pulled up to her chest, rocking back and forth. Mark is squatting beside her, staring straight ahead with no expression on his face at all.

Daddy parks the station wagon, shouting, "What in the world is going on?" Mama jumps out of the car and makes a beeline toward Laura. Daddy and I get out, too. I smell that wonderful fresh-cut grass smell. The neighbor boy from down the street must have mowed the lawn not too long ago.

Laura looks up at us and sobs, "Oh, Mama." Mama hugs her while she cries.

Daddy asks Mark what's the matter. Mark stands up, slowly shaking his head, looking down at his shoes. Laura manages to say between sobs, "Mark wants a divorce."

Renee adds without taking her eyes off Mark, "He told her in the car on their way home from eating at Hardee's. Laura was real upset so he decided to stop by here to see if we could calm her down." Her voice was like steel -- cold and hard. It scares me.

Mark sighs, rubs his forehead like he’s got a headache. "I didn't mean for it to happen like this. We were talking about having a family and - " His voice trails off. "I told her I wasn't happy. I've been thinking about telling her this for a long time."

"So you tell her in the car of all places?" Renee asks.

"It just happened Renee," Mark says, sounding really tired. "She was talking about having a family, and I had to tell her how I feel."

Mama, all the while hugging Laura, softly asks him, "Is there somebody else?"

Mark's mouth quivers a little. "No, nothing like that. It's just -- it's just me." I gasp, but no sound comes out. Jill had told us all about the ‘it’s me, not you’ line. He looks away from Mama, at the ground. "I don't want to be married any more. I feel trapped."

Hearing this, Laura begins sobbing harder and screams at him, "How can you say that?” Daddy goes over and stoops down beside Laura and Mama. He pats Laura on the back, looking awkward and not at all sure of what he should do next. Cars pass by on the road in front of our house, their passengers not aware of the awful scene taking place.

Suddenly I wish I were in one of those cars, whizzing by and not recognizing a single soul in our yard, not feeling the pain we feel. But this is my family, and for the first time in my life I wonder how we’re going to get through something, how life will go on. Through the screen door, I hear the telephone ringing, but nobody makes a move to answer it. Nobody, including me, even acts like they hear it. After about five rings, it stops.

A cardinal lands in the birdbath in the middle of the yard and then just as quickly, it’s gone, almost as if it took one look around and decided it didn’t want to be a part of this. I watch him soar into the sky until he’s a red dot among the huge oak trees.
Renee starts toward the house, looking pissed, but then she stops and glares at Mark, just a foot or so from his face. "You're such a bastard," she says coldly.

Mark's face falls, like all the gravity just went out of it. "I can’t believe you called me that."

"To me that's exactly what you are," Renee retorts. She turns and leaves Mark standing there as if he’s been slapped in the face. I've never heard anyone in my family say 'bastard' out loud like that and it feels strange to hear it. The word echoes in my head like a 45 speed record that’s stuck on one line. I feel like I’m on one of those afternoon TV soap operas.

Then Mark looks at Daddy. "I'm sorry Rooster," he apologizes. The word 'Rooster' kind of catches in his throat, like he's choking on it.
Daddy shakes his head, swallows, then looks away, his eyes filling with tears. "Don't call me that any more," he mumbles. It's the first time I've ever seen my Daddy cry.

Mark puts his hands in his pockets and leans back against the oak tree by the driveway, biting his lower lip. His jaw seems to tighten, clenching and unclenching, as he stares at the maze of roots at the bottom of the tree. The strong roots look tangled or maybe intertwined, I’m not sure which. I want to go up and hug Mark and tell him things will be all right, that we still love him. But I stand paralyzed instead, somehow knowing that I'm supposed to stand in support of my family, even though I thought Mark was a part of my family. Maybe he’ll tell us in a minute that it's all just a joke.

Then Mark begins walking slowly across the yard, toward his car. "Maybe I should leave for awhile," he says so low I can hardly hear him. He walks past the basketball goal, the birdbath, a patch of dandelions –- the ones I pick and blow into the air to watch the fuzzy white flowers float freely away, never knowing in which direction they will go.

No one says a word as Mark gets into his Mustang and backs out of the driveway. As he drives away, his wavy blond hair blows in the wind just as it did the times he drove me home from school or to Tastee Freeze. After he’s gone no one says a word. And the only sound -- except for the lulling hum of a small airplane in the clouds -- is the sound of Laura crying.