Spilled Milk: Based on a true story (2 page)

BOOK: Spilled Milk: Based on a true story
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Cornelia didn’t
look happy but I did as I was told and ran back home. Adam was still breathing
in deep swallows of air as tears slid down his cheek and a Popsicle stood
hostage in his left hand. My dad sat at the kitchen table, his hands shaking as
he sipped his water.

Look at him,
my dad, he just saved Adam’s life. I bet he would save mine too if I needed it.
I bet he would do anything for us.

My feet stuck
to the kitchen floor as I crossed the room and grabbed my dad’s arms to open
them so I could crawl into his lap. I wrapped my arms around his neck and put
my cheek against his scruffy face. He always smelled like machines. Mom said
it’s because he works hard all day, putting them together, making sure they
work right.

“Let’s not tell
mom about this, snuggle bug.” He pulled me into his chest with one arm and took
another sip of his water.

Adam’s near
drowning would be the first of many secrets I would keep for my dad. “I won’t,
Daddy.”

I put my head
on his chest. I knew why he didn’t want me to tell. Mom would get upset she missed
Dad saving Adam’s life. She would have wanted to see it happen too, like I did,
so she could remember all her life how great he is, like I will.

 

Chapter Two

I was seven. All I knew about a C.B radio was that my
mom and dad met on one and after a week of talking they decided to meet up at
Jones Beach. It took them over an hour to find each other since New York’s
beaches that stretched the length of Long Island were packed before noon on the
blazing summer weekends.

My aunt had already landed her beau-to-be and had a
wedding planned for that October. Not wanting to be outdone, my mom moved in with
David after a few short weeks. They wed in September and planned the house, the
two kids, and the white picket fence. Three kids, two bug infested apartments
and a small unkempt ranch on a desolate dead end street later, I finished a
glass of milk and readied my next question.

“So, what’s a C.B?” I asked.

After I watched a cartoon that morning about two
giraffes in love, I realized I didn’t even know how my parents met. The
giraffe’s flirted through a lyrical orchestra of words and sing-along's. I
imagined that’s what my mom felt like.

Mom looked up from the tea bag she was trying not to
burn her fingers with. “Uh, it’s a way people used to meet each other. You
would talk over the radio. Get to know people you wouldn’t normally meet. It
was a new kind of technology then. Everyone was doing it, I wasn’t the only
one.”

I remained motionless.
Keep going.

She took a sip of her tea. I stared at her.

“Why, you doing a book report or something?”

 “No.”

I watched the cigarette ash dangling from her mouth
threaten to drop onto the table before turning away. It was always the same
.
Unless there was a reason, keep your questions to a minimum. She went back
to her tea, ending the conversation. I left to find Adam.

He was cross legged on the floor playing with his
K’Nex set when I walked into the living room. I leaned against the grand piano
and cleared my throat. “You’ll never guess how mom and dad met.” My arms folded
across my chest and I shifted my weight. “Mom just told me.”

“Through a C.B,” he said, without looking up.

“Not-uh.”
Why does he always know everything?

He stared at me.

“How’d
you
know?” I said.

We were fifteen months apart in age which meant everything
was a competition; who could read all the Disney books the fastest, ride their
bike further or know all answers to the universe both large and small. I
studied Adam as he focused on jamming a long yellow connector onto a blue
corner piece.

Ha, that’s not gonna fit, he needs the green connector.
Stupid
.

He would sit there for hours in his solitude and craft
the most magnificent things; Ferris wheels, cars, the empire state building.
Sometimes I would play with him, but building houses and cars that fell apart
got boring.

“I found an old box in the garage a few months ago. It
looked like a radio so I took it apart because it looked broken,” he said. He
shifted onto his knees to search for another piece.

“So how’d you know that’s how mom and dad met then?”
My eyes glanced over the holes in his sneakers. His t-shirt swam around his
stick arms.

Adam had a way of making you feel like you should know
the answer to things and that it was some great inconvenience for him to have
to explain anything. I shifted from one foot to another, raised my eyebrows and
sighed loud enough to wake a sleeping baby. He fished around for a random
piece, skipping over the green one.

I learned that as long as I was quiet and let him
think I was seriously concerned about not having a clue what he’s talking
about, he’ll save me and let me in on the thoughts running through his head.

 After a minute Adam pushed one of his sleeves above
his shoulder blade. There was a white scar the size of a grain of rice on the
back of his shoulder. He rubbed it thoughtfully before his eyes met mine. “I
showed Dad how cool the inside of the box was. There were all these wires and
stuff. He told me I broke the C.B him and mom met on. She was keeping it I
guess. He pushed me into the wall. Mom’s garden scissors cut me.”

“Oh.”

Mom tripped over a toy fire truck as she entered the
room. “Hey-
Adam,
” she said, looking at all the scattered pieces on the
floor. You could barely see the spinach colored carpet beneath the toys and
random pieces of clothing scattered everywhere, which was no great feat in this
cramped room. “I thought I told you to put this away? Now let’s go, put this
away,
now.
” She picked up a toy, decided she didn’t know what to do with
it, and put it back down again. “We’re not going anywhere unless this room is
spotless. You have five minutes.”

Adam practiced his lawyer skills. “Mom, I
only
have to finish this one piece.”

 “Where we goin’ Mom?” I asked.

“Grandma’s, Grandpa’s making dinner. Once Thomas wakes
up from his nap and after Kat nurses. Adam I said
now
.” She shoved a
pile of plastic pieces into a pile with her foot.

“But Moooom,” Adam said. “It’s not fair. All I need to
do is this
one piece.

I wanted to go to Grandma’s.
Now.
My knees hit
the floor beside Adam and I searched for the part he needed. His eyes widened.
“Hey, hey mom she’s messing up my stuff!”

 “I’m helping.”

“No you’re
not
. You don’t even know what I’m
looking for!”

Mom is going to yell in two seconds. Where IS it?

I locked eyes with the green connector and reached for
it. The structure now complete, I looked toward Adam. His head dropped and he
turned on his heel. “I knew I needed that piece. I didn’t need your help to find
it.”

“Can we go now?” I asked.

Mom hustled Adam, Thomas, Kat and I into the minivan.
We spent ten minutes driving down Southern State highway before we pulled up in
front of my grandparents impressive, white Victorian home. Engraved columns
hovered around the garden on the side of the house, and the lawn was striped from
a fresh cut. Grandpa was expecting us. He was nowhere to be seen, but if I had
to guess he was probably out in the backyard skimming the swimming pool. Oak
trees that lined the property kept him busy during the fall and summer months
between his weekly pool and grass preservations.

My seat belt was unbuckled and I jumped over the seat
in front of me before Mom put the van in park. The metal door handle fumbled in
my hands before I rushed it open and jumped off the platform of the van onto
the grass.

Grandma came to the front door before I could call out
to see if Grandpa was still lingering in the garden. “Grandma!” I said, and ran
full speed to the front porch.

“Hey, sugar!” she said as I tackled her waist. She
wrapped me in a soft hug and pulled me closer. Her perfume danced around my face
and she tightened her grip.

“How’s my girl?” she asked. Grandma hugs were always
so genuine, so warm.

Before I could answer Mom was walking up the porch
steps and handing Kat over. “Careful, she’s doing the projectile spit up thing
again,” she warned. Grandma held outstretched arms and took the baby while Adam
zigzagged around her. Thomas waddled behind him, stopping to put a dandelion in
his mouth.

“Hi Grandma!” Adam called out. He dashed into the
house and I heard the wooden toy chest creak open in the front room. My grandpa
had built him a custom toy box when he was just two years old, but my mom said
the stain he had used on the cedar wood gave Adam an allergic reaction. Grandpa
had spent weeks building it, even detailing the top in bright white letters
that spelled out his name. Now it was tucked under the window of their front
room, waiting for us whenever we came over.

My grandma moved us into the living room. “I just had
the carpet shampooed, sorry if it’s still damp. Just put the diaper bag on one
of the flowered couches, Molly.”

Symmetrical paintings of the ocean floated above each
couch. I wandered over to the wood stove and looked up at the mantle filled
with pictures of family, grandkids, and knick knacks from the beach.

I sunk into a couch and stared up at the ceiling that
seemed to go on forever. The room smelled and felt like Grandma. “My goodness,
look at how big everyone is getting,” Grandma said. She put Kat on the living
room floor. “I
think
that somebody’s birthday is coming up, but I can’t
remember who.” She met my eyes with a smile.

 “Me! It’s my birthday Grandma. I’m turning eight.” I
smiled.
She remembered
.

“Oh it
is?
” she exclaimed, bringing her hand to
her forehead. “Well I guess we’ll just need to go to Toys R Us while everyone
else swims then.”

“Oh mom, no,” Mom started, shaking her head, “Not
necessary.” She handed Kat a stuffed bear and pulled a pill bottle out of her
pocket. Two oval shaped, cream colored pills fell into her hand, and with a
fluid motion she popped them into her mouth and threw her head back.

Now you see them now you don’t.

I had heard my mom repeat the story of how she hurt
her back thousands of times. She had worked as a nurse’s aide at Great Side
Hospital in lower Manhattan up until three years ago. Her shifts were sporadic,
and having three small children at home made it difficult to juggle everything.

She managed to generate significant income working
mainly around Dad’s work schedule. They had asked her to work a double shift
last minute a few weeks before Christmas and she obliged, making a quick last
minute call to the babysitter.

A heavy-set man had just come out of surgery for gall
stones and she assisted in transporting him to his room. The registered nurse
left the room suddenly, telling my mom not to move him until she came back with
more help. She hurried out before my mom could protest otherwise.

 The man groggily tried to shift himself from the cot
to the bed on his own. His weight fought against him and he began to slip through
the two beds. Mom acted on instinct, and pushed against the cot to catch him
between the two instead of letting him fall to the floor.

Two nurses walked into the room a second too late, and
scrambled over to help just as Mom fell to the floor from the pressure. She
herniated and ruptured seven discs in her back all together, and doctors were
sure she would never be pain or painkiller free for the rest of her life.

She had saved her job by doing the right thing and she
saved the hospital from a major lawsuit. In return, she became a permanently
disabled mother to four children under the age of five, eventually succumbing
to such intense chronic pain after five back surgeries that she started
collecting social security disability and had to leave her job permanently.

I remember one day I watched a girl run off the school
bus and her mom swooped her up and swung her around in a tight hug, backpack
attached and all. The mom kissed her head as she set her down, eyes bright and
chatting about how her day was. My eyes welled up. I came home and accused my
mom of not loving me.

“Why can’t you pick me up?” I cried. “I’m the smallest
one in my class, I’m little!”

 Mom started crying too. “Oh, Brooke, I’m sorry. I
just…can’t.” She gripped the edges of her back brace with white knuckles.

I couldn’t even sit in her lap as I sobbed. My only
comfort was to stand next to her while she sat at the kitchen table and bury my
face in her shirt until I had nothing left to cry.

That day I learned to let go of things like being
picked up and feeling hugs that squished my bones. Instead, I focused on giving
those things to Adam, Thomas and Kat. I wanted to feel that closeness, even if
I was the one who had to initiate it.

“Oh no, no, I want to.” Grandma beamed, watching my
mom swallow her pills. She turned to me. “You ready, sugar? Let’s go.”

We talked about the beach and my upcoming birthday as
she merged onto the highway. “So, tell me everything, what grade are you going
into?” she asked.

BOOK: Spilled Milk: Based on a true story
10.98Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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