A Rocker and a Hard Place (16 page)

The Sweet Surrender

When I was in preschool
, I wanted to be a superhero when I grew up. I thought it would be pretty handy to be able to fly or turn invisible, maybe even walk through a wall or two. As I developed a better understanding of how life works, I thought I could settle for being rich and famous.

People told me that money couldn’t buy me happiness, and maybe that wa
s true, but it sure could buy you a lot of stuff. Now that I was an adult, I no longer had grand dreams for my future: I just wanted to make it through the day.

I couldn’t help but wonder if life had made me cynical or just realistic.
I often heard people say to be careful what you put out into the universe because it would come back around like a boomerang and smack you in the face. Considering how badly life had been smacking me around over the past few months, I must have been emitting a lot of negative energy.

Rather than continue sitting
around feeling sorry for myself, I decided to get my act together- positive thoughts and smiles for everyone. I could still grab ahold of my life and turn it around. But then again, I didn’t really have a choice in the matter. I knew from experience that change would come whether I was ready for it or not.

I guess you could say my
total meltdown was a long time coming- years of broken friendships, intolerable family gatherings, a disastrous engagement to a cheating loser, and a shoddy career. My life had been in a downward spiral for about two years, so it was only a matter of time before something pushed me over the edge.

That trigger happened two weeks ago when my boss decided that I was “no longer a good fit with the company.” Considering the company, I took that as a compliment. My employer was one of the many internet news sites that had popped up in recent years priding itself on a unique approach to journalism that incorporated all
the newest fads on the internet- blogs, i-reporting, twitter- you name it.

Really it was just one of the many run-of-the-mill mediocre news sites
where ambition surpassed the actual talent and content. I took a job there after getting my Master’s degree in journalism, hoping to use it as a stepping stone to bigger and better things. Instead of a stepping stone, the job turned out to be quicksand.

Everything started off promising enough. I was given my own column in which I was to write about “anything new and exciting taking place in the city.” That city being Chicago. I started off writing about movies being filmed, new art exhibits, and neighborhood events. After nearly a year of that monotony, I branched out into areas that I considered to be more relevant to the times.

I covered the move for immigration rights, the public transportation strike, and the protest at City Hall. I had received mostly positive reviews from my readers, but unfortunately, my bosses at Chicagoland Daily News did not agree. They felt my articles were “too controversial and not accessible enough” to the average reader of CLDN. Mostly though, they just didn’t understand the words I used without looking them up in a dictionary.

So, a short fourteen
days ago, I packed the contents of my desk into a small cardboard box and said goodbye to CLDN. And then I went out drinking with some friends to celebrate. The day after that, I spent recovering. The day after that, I spent relaxing. The third day out, I started worrying about my future.

Fortunately, I had managed to save a portion of my measly paycheck every two weeks so that I wouldn’t have to rush into another pointless, depressing job right away. I thought maybe I would use my time off to travel
more. Maybe go see the Great Wall or Thailand. The options were endless. Until the phone rang.

It was my mother, and she was not calling with good news. My father’s illness was progressing faster than expected and she needed some help taking care of things.
Couldn’t I come home, “just for a little awhile?” she wondered. It would only be until summer when my brother and sister would be available to help her out.

Besides, it’s not like I had a job or family of my own to worry about, she
politely reminded me. Despite everything inside of me that was screaming “No!” I agreed to come home.

Normally a trip home
didn’t have to be cause for alarm, but nothing about my family was normal. My father had been a successful lawyer, and then judge, before his illness prematurely mandated his retirement. He had a boisterous personality, booming laugh, and sharp wit that often left people in tears. Unfortunately for his family, he also had no filter. What other people found charming and endearing in small doses became obnoxious and offensive when living with him on a daily basis.

My mother wa
s a rare creature- genuinely kind and cruel at the same time. She possessed the rare ability to compliment you and insult you in the same sentence. For example, “
Your hair looks much better like that than the way you usually wear it,”
or, “
You are so pretty when you actually put forth some effort.”

She was also a big fan of self-medication. Though she had no actual illness that any of
her children knew about, her medicine cabinet was filled with prescriptions- uppers, downers, relaxers, and killers. You name it, the woman would take it.

The combination of these two people was unimaginable, yet so perfect. They were dynamic and explosive
, and their combined DNA had created three of the most messed-up individuals on the planet. But they were also each other’s best friend and devoted parents which made up for whatever damage they had inflicted along the way. That was also what kept us coming back for more after all these years.

Which brought us to the present. I was sitting in traffic, my car packed with all the things I would need to sustain me for a couple of months away from Chicago. I was headed to my hometown, Portstown, Illinois. I had lived there m
y entire life, until I turned eighteen and moved away to attend college. Portstown was located in western Illinois near the Quad Cities. It was about a three hour drive under normal conditions, but with the rush-hour traffic I was sitting in, it was going to take nearly four hours today.

Traffic had finally moved above a crawl and I was once again on my way. I had just been home in December to celebrate Christmas with the family, but somehow it seemed much longer to me. For me, going home was
akin to going to the dentist. I dreaded going so I put it off as long as possible and when I left, parts of me were numb and yet other parts of me throbbed in pain. It was quite the phenomenon.

I feared
this trip would be no different, especially because this would be an extended visit. The pleasure of my company was being requested for two months. That was two months in the most boring town east of the Mississippi. I could barely contain my excitement.

I was hoping it wo
uldn’t be all bad. It would be nice to have some time to relax outside of the city with nothing to worry about except not killing my family or myself. I had a nice stack of books sitting in the passenger’s seat next to me. I also had a lead on a short-term writing gig with the local paper. Apparently, a writer was out on maternity leave.

One of the best and worst things about small town life was that everyone knew everyone else. Since my mother knew the editor of the paper, I had a good shot at the job without even using my now questionable references.

So at least I would have something to do with my days when my dad-sitting services weren’t required. Plus, it would be nice to spend some quality time with my father. Talk about positive thinking. I was no longer going to be Debbie Downer. I should be called Happy Helen instead. What a coincidence- Helen was my name. The stars were aligning in my favor.

Crash!
             

“Shit!” I exclaimed as my head snapped wildly.

The car in front of me had slammed on its breaks without me noticing. Naturally, the car behind me also did not have time to stop, so my head snapped once again as I was crashed into from behind. What would have been a mild fender-bender under city speed limits had turned into a full-blown accident on the highway.

I could feel Happy Helen retreating back inside and Debbie was climbing her way out.
“This
cannot be a good sign,”
she thought and I couldn’t help but agree with her.

After pulling my car onto the shoulder of the road, I climbed out to assess the damage. My car, as well as the cars immediately in front of and behind me, had all escaped severe damage and were still drivable. The two cars at the head of the pack, and the original cause of
the accident, were not so lucky and were still on the highway blocking traffic. Fortunately, all of the drivers and passengers seemed to have escaped serious injury.

As we waited for the police to arrive, I couldn’t help thinking that my three hour trip was not going to be over any time soon. Once again, Debbie was speaking in my head.
“I knew something like this would happen. We should have stayed in Chicago.”

I physically shook my head and muttered to myself, trying to push those negative thoughts away and just
focus on being glad that I wasn’t hurt. The man who had been driving the car in front of me noticed the outward signs of my inner struggle.

“Are you alright?” he asked, slightly concerned, but mostly trying to keep from laughing at me.

“Define ‘alright’,” I replied, frowning. I was still upset and didn’t appreciate his humorous take on my situation. “I just got in a car accident. Do you think I’m ‘alright’?”

“Good point. ‘Alright’ is a bit ambiguous. Let’s start over.” He paused for a moment, as if he wasn’t certain it was even worth it to continue a conversation with me. Apparently
, he decided that it was, because he continued.

“I’m Benson McCormick,” he said, holding out his hand and waiting for me to reciprocate. What kind of a name was Benson McCormick?

“Helen,” I replied. “Helen Whicker.” I stared for a moment at his outstretched hand before finally grasping it with my own. Apparently my attitude wasn’t the only thing that was cold, because he reached into his pockets and pulled out a pair of gloves.

“Put these on, Helen,” he said, holding them out to me. “They’re a little big, but they’ll keep you warm.”

I started to reject his offer, but then realized how cold my hands were and that I would probably be standing in the cold for quite a while longer. “Thank you,” I said, taking the gloves. I managed a smile despite my sour mood. As I slipped the gloves on, I immediately felt warmer and decided to try warming up my attitude as well.

“So, Benson, did you see what happened?” I nodded my head toward the two cars that were still blocking traffic. Police sirens could be heard in the distance.

He looked at the cars. “The white Ford cut in front of the SUV. The SUV driver tried to swerve out of the way but didn’t make it. He hit the Ford, and I hit him. And then you hit me.” Immediately he glanced my way, checking my reaction. For some inexplicable reason, he seemed to be afraid of me.

“Hmm,” was my initial
response. Why was I having trouble forming a coherent thought? I had to be in shock. Also, why did I care if this complete stranger didn’t like my attitude? I don’t know why, but I did care.

“And here I thought you were just a shitty driver,” I quipped, hoping my lame attempt at humor would lighten the mood a bit.

He chuckled slightly, and responded, “That would normally be a safe assumption. But no, this time it was not my fault.”

I noticed that he was one of those rare people who actually smiled with his eyes. I, however, was one of those rare people who could
frown with her eyes- try it some time. At that moment, two police cars and an ambulance arrived. A fire truck could be seen about a half-mile back.

“Hope you weren’t running from the law,” he continued, keeping with our poor attempt at humorous banter.

“Not in this state,” seemed to be the appropriate response.

By now the police had reached our location and they began to
interrogate, er… interview, us. We answered all of their questions, gave them the appropriate personal information, and showed them the damage our vehicles sustained. I was told more than once that it was a good thing I was such a terrible person that hated the planet and still drove an SUV or my vehicle would have been damaged much worse.

Okay, maybe no one said those exact words but I could tell they were thinking it. As it was, I had a couple of cracked and dented bumpers, some scratched paint, and a couple of broken lights. Things certainly could have been worse.

Benson, too, seemed to have been lucky. The damage to the front-end of his pickup was minimal. Since he had seen the accident take place, he had been able to brake before impact. My SUV had banged up the rear of his truck, but the bumper had done its job pretty well.

The car behind me had only sustained
damage to the front, with just a dented bumper and broken headlight. The two cars involved in the initial impact were pushed into the right lane while the owners wait for tow trucks. The other drivers were all blabbing into their cell phones, probably calling family, insurance companies, and repair shops. I wasn’t even sure where I put my cell phone. Was there someone I should be calling?