My Blue River (2 page)

2. Northbound

As we traveled further and further from San Diego, I thought of all the things I would miss. First of all, I would miss Sheridan. Best friends like her didn’t come around very often. I would miss the beach, the ocean, waves crashing over my body, and the beach parties with my friends. I would miss surfing and shopping.
I’m pretty sure Blue River doesn’t have a mall
. I would even endure Aaron showing up and Mason’s flirtations if it meant I could have stayed. Those things were gone now. Never again would I see a Bird of Paradise plant—its glorious, brilliant colors and shapes molded into the actual appearance of a bird.
Does Montana have a Jarcandra tree
?
I doubt it.
Montana probably didn’t have one single purple tree or bush of any kind. There’s wasn’t one thing about Montana that would compare to the world I was leaving behind—not one thing.

A couple of hours later, Aaron’s kite came back down and he realized he was trapped in a vehicle headed northbound on Interstate 15. He was about to live out his life in a small town with invisible shackles on his wrists and ankles. If he were ever allowed to leave the confines of Mom and Dad’s new detox program, it would be a miracle. Then again, my parents had failed me so much lately that I was keeping my expectations low. I anticipated Aaron would once again win the battle between parent and child while I remained caught in the crossfire.

“Hey, we gonna stop for munchies or what? And when are we headin’ back to California?” asked Aaron. When no one responded to his questions, he muttered, “This sucks.”

I shook my head in disbelief. I felt Aaron’s eyes looking at me so I returned a look with that of complete disgust. He knew my look and the meaning behind it—it was my signature slit-eyed look that let him know how much I disliked him.

“You’re such an idiot,” I snapped.

“You’re the idiot,” Aaron mumbled back.

“Really, are we
really
gonna go there? Because, from where I sit,
you’re
the idiot and
you’re
the one who’s condemned us to whatever hell awaits us.” I leaned in and whispered, “And I bet you can’t find any weed there.”
Ha!
I showed him
. I turned back to my window with a smug grin. I was satisfied with the dish I had just served him. When I looked back at him, his brows were furrowed as if he were actually pondering that point, even though I knew he could sniff out weed like a trained drug dog.

An hour later, we were entering Sin City—Las Vegas, Nevada.
Why weren’t we moving here? At least I would only be five hours from home.
When I stepped out of the car I was overwhelmed by the heat—heat that was dry and felt like I was being blasted in the face with a blow dryer. It was only the first of June and already hotter than hell.
This place could be renamed, “The Surface of the Sun.” I guess I wouldn't want to be here either.

We often visited Vegas while I was growing up. For me, the memories included being stuck in a hotel room with some lame room service food and a messed up little brother while my parents were off having fun. Vegas was unbearable and the only appealing thought was leaving Aaron here in hopes he would pass out and burn to a crisp on The Strip.

We re-boarded what I called the “Northbound Express" and five and half hours later, we stopped in Salt Lake City, Utah.
Maybe we should just leave Aaron here to fend for himself
. Had the circumstances been different, I would have appreciated the beauty of this city. Large mountains flanked the eastside of the city and the epicenter erupted with beautiful architecture. At least my parents were taking pity on me and allowing time for photo stops. We detoured downtown and came to a stop. I snapped several pictures to continue documenting this tragic event.

We found a decent restaurant and had dinner. I sulked throughout the meal, plotting what I would say to them later. After dinner, we checked into our hotel. After we were settled into our room, I began to argue the necessity of the move. It was such a futile effort since we were already on our way, but I couldn’t resist trying to persuade them otherwise.

“But I can live with Sheridan and her family,” I pleaded, but they would have none of my arguments.

“We need to live together as a family, Addy. This is for the best,” insisted Dad.

“Addy…” I could tell my mom was about to begin her dissertation on drugs and alcohol and their effects on a family. I held up my hand to stop her.

“I don’t want to hear it, Mom. Don’t bother,” I snapped at her and resumed pouting. When that didn’t work, I chose to silently cry myself to sleep.

********

The next day was another ten-hour drive. I thought I was going to die. I spent the hours torturing myself with thoughts of how I could change my destiny. Eventually, I pressed my virtual rewind button, replaying the dreams I had experienced over the last several months, long before I knew of our move to Montana.

The dreams were always the same. I was standing on a gravel, pine tree lined road. There was always a huge blue sky, dotted with clouds. Most impressive was the water that rushed past the pine trees. It was blue—spectacularly blue. The color seemed like the blue of the ocean and yet it had a striking difference as it tumbled over an assortment of rocks. It was the most intense color of blue I had ever seen. My mind somehow knew it was a wide and deep river. The dream was so vivid near the end, I could almost actually smell pine and river water—I didn’t even know what river water smelled like. I had never lived anywhere near a river so I had no words to describe the scent. It was the tangy salt water I loved so the dream constantly confused me. Despite the confusion, I always felt calm while slumbering in the wide, open space and each time I experienced this dream, it was serene and comforting.

I had spent months wondering why this dream found me each night. When my parents announced our move to Montana, the meaning of my pine tree lined dream came into focus, like when I adjust the lens on my camera before taking what I hope will be the perfect picture. But there was no way this picture would be perfect. I didn’t hold the tiniest ray of hope for a picture perfect life in Montana.

I snapped from my reverie as we approached our final destination—Blue River, Montana, population 2,984. As quickly as flipping a switch, I knew I was about to start a life of complete misery.
Why must I share in Aaron’s imprisonment?
Preparation must have been the message of the dream, and I just didn’t see it or maybe I just didn’t understand.
Dang it!
I cursed myself for not being able to decode the dream because if I could have, I would have had the chance to run away.

Blue River was a town of two stop lights, two cafés, a post office, three schools—elementary, middle, and high school—a small grocery store, and a whole bunch of bars. I snickered to myself.
I bet they call them saloons in these here parts of the country.
I wasn’t even certain this place could even be called a town. It was more like a dot on a map—a place that barely existed.
Gag
. I felt nauseated at the idea of calling Blue River my home.

The nausea passed and my gift for sarcasm returned. “So is this what they call a one horse town?” I asked.

“One horse town? What’s that mean?” asked Aaron.

Dad replied, “It’s an old expression that means it’s such a small town, with so few people, that one horse is the only means of transportation.”

“And it can also mean it’s so small that everyone is a backwards thinking, weird ass redneck,” I interjected.

“What do you mean by backwards thinking?” asked Aaron.

“Holy shit, Aaron! Read a book!” I exclaimed.

“Addy, watch your language,” chastised Mom. “Aaron, backwards thinking means they are…behind the times…not up to current thought and ways of living.
Which is not the case in Blue River
.” She emphasized her last words.

Aaron wrinkled his nose as if he regretted asking for definitions.

“But lucky for you, spaz, they’re probably stuck somewhere in the sixties where drugs are everywhere and prohibition is over.”

Mom and Dad ignored what I said while Aaron quickly looked to see if they were watching; they weren’t. He mouthed the words, “I hope so” to me.

I mouthed back, “I hate you.”

He stuck his tongue out at me and right as I decided to return the favor, Mom turned around and saw me.

“Addy, aren’t you a bit too old to be sticking your tongue out at your brother,” she scolded.

I rolled my eyes.
It just figures that I would get caught and he wouldn’t
.

Dad decided to clarify. “I’d say Blue River is quite a bit bigger than a one horse town.”

“You’re right, it’s a large prison—with one horse and two wardens,” I corrected.

Mom let out a heavy sigh. “Please give this the chance it deserves,” she said in her usual serious tone. She turned around and looked at me, her green eyes searing a hole in me as if that would make me understand the seriousness of the situation. She looked away and rubbed her pale, freckled fingers on her temples to release the tension.

“Quit frowning,
Mother
. It’ll make you look old someday,” I paused for effect, then added, “By the way, I don’t have to support the Aaron Davis rescue mission or give ANYTHING a chance, got it?”

“Addy, don’t talk to your mother that way,” admonished Dad. His voice was as tired as his body so I knew a long lecture wouldn’t follow.

Despite Aaron’s lethargy, he managed to pay attention to my words and chimed in with, “Dude, that’s tight—
Aaron Davis Rescue Mission
. I like it.”

I immediately reacted by punching him in the arm.

“Ow!” Aaron whined like a three-year-old boy. “Stop it. That hurt.” He didn’t bother attempting a return punch as he didn’t have the energy to finish something he started.

“Addy.” My dad’s voice was soft, but his tone sent the message loud and clear. I had finally exhausted his last nerve and he was usually the sensible, sensitive one but not when it came to this move. He was throwing it all away to follow Mom’s commands.

I peered over at Dad as he drove. I wondered as I examined him why he wasn’t my hero today. Perhaps it was because he was my dad and I loved him, but I considered him to be a handsome man. His dark hair had begun to gray at the temples, making him look distinguished. His glasses made him look intelligent which was in all actuality the truth. He usually wore a friendly smile, but Aaron’s antics had begun to slowly make Dad’s smile fade and he now wore worry creases around his eyes. In fact, when I really took the time to examine my parents, they both seemed to have aged a great deal over the last year. I made a mental note to hate Aaron for that as well.

After we picked up some groceries at Brody’s Supermarket, the smallest, most pathetic excuse of a grocery store I had ever seen, we passed back through town. We then took a right, went about three miles, then turned right onto what I deemed a very long driveway with each side lined in huge, mature pine trees. My mouth fell open in disbelief. It was jarring how much this image matched my dream. The only part missing in my dream was the two story, white, farm-style house sitting at the end of the driveway that now lay before me.

When I recovered from what felt like déjá vu, I asked, “Is this it? Is this
seriously
where you plan to force your children to live?” It was a shack compared to our home in California and there sure wasn’t a swimming pool in the backyard or a nearby beach party.

My dad seemed to be looking at a completely different house because he was absolutely beaming. He was suddenly uplifted and overflowing with joy. Aaron needed professional help and they thought moving him here was a brilliant way to avoid that fact, but that was only part of the story.

The other part of the story was my dad’s desire to live in the Northwest. He had wanted to move to Montana for years. In all honesty, I thought he was being opportunistic using Aaron’s addiction as a reason to leave California. “We should have wide open spaces, a garden, maybe raise some animals. It would be good for us,” Dad would say.
Ugh
. It all sounded dirty and disgusting to me. Not only that, I’m sure Mom came up with this idea as some new form of therapy that she would later write a book about.