The Year I Almost Drowned (10 page)

Nana

and

me

when

we

were

your

age.”

“How’s

that?”

“You’re two crazy fools in love.” He chuckled quietly to himself. “I bet you didn’t

know that your Nana’s father hated me–loathed me–couldn’t stand the sight of

me. Said I wasn’t worth the mud under his shoes and she could do better.” I

turned to face him, surprised by his confession. He continued, “I was a bit of a

hellion when I was younger, but she tamed me. We had to elope, you know.”

My

eyes

widened

in

amazement.

“You

did?”

“We didn’t have to. It just made things easier for us. It was the best option at the

time.” He leaned back and stared up at the popcorn ceiling. He placed his arms

behind him, resting his head on his hands. “Eloped the day after Christmas. Her

father was madder than a box of frogs.” He guffawed. “It doesn’t mean you two

should run off and elope, though.” He glanced over at me, gauging my reaction.

“What,

us?

Grandpa.”

He took a deep breath and exhaled. “Well, it wouldn’t surprise me. Young people

do foolish things all the time especially in matters of the heart.”

“You can be assured I won’t elope with Jesse. You can count on that,” I stated

emphatically. We sat silently for a while. Voices from outside carried into our

room.

“You never know what you’re gonna do. Life will always throw surprises at you,”

he said, getting his last two cents in. I didn’t respond. Eloping at the age of

nineteen was not on my list of things to do, no matter how much I loved Jesse.

Within a matter of minutes, he fell asleep. His mouth was wide open, his eyes

were closed, and he was snoring loudly. I had a difficult time falling asleep–

between my grandfather’s snoring, how cold the room was, and the paper thin

walls that allowed every single sound to be heard. I could hear every sound the

couple in the room next to ours made –more than I ever wanted to hear. I tried

putting a pillow over my head to muffle out the high pitched noises and other

incomprehensible moaning, but it didn’t help. They echoed into my head and

wouldn’t go away, like a horsefly clinging to a cow on a hot summer’s day. I

shivered under the thin bedspread and lay wide awake for most of the night.

My grandfather slept through the night. He was well-rested and raring to go;

whereas, I needed about five cups of strong, black coffee to help get me started

and survive the rest of the long drive to Graceville. I was exhausted. I looked at

my reflection in the bathroom mirror and couldn’t tell if it was the poor lighting, the

rusted glass, or my lack of sleep that made me look as awful as I did. I think it

was

all

three.

I turned off the bathroom light and entered the room. My grandfather gave me a

worried

expression,

his

forehead

wrinkled.

“You

look

tired.”

I

yawned.

“I

am.”

“How about I drive some?” he offered, and I didn’t argue.

***

I woke up from an hour’s sleep. I squeezed the back of my neck, massaging it

gently. It was sore from lying on the flat pillows the night before and from leaning

against the stiff head rest in the convertible. We weren’t moving. I could see a

long line of cars ahead of us. The radio was turned off. I heard the low hum of car

motors and could smell exhaust coming from a nearby car muffler.

“What

happened?”

I

asked.

My grandfather looked irritated. “We haven’t moved for a while. I think there was

an accident. Look at that map and see if there’s another way we can get home.”

I grabbed the large atlas Nana had placed in the car and opened it to the state of

Tennessee. “It looks like the next exit will take us through Pigeon Forge. It’s out

of the way, but it’ll get us to 40 eventually.” I showed him, pointing to it on the

map.

He turned on his signal and looked to his right, giving the driver next to us a look

that read “let me over or else.” The driver immediately complied and allowed us

get in front of him. It took more than twenty more minutes to reach the exit, which

had only been a quarter of a mile away. We rode down the US-441 Scenic

Parkway, passing through towns like Sevierville and Gatlinburg before we

reached the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Most of the leaves had fallen

off of the trees. My grandfather stopped the car so we could stretch and trade

places driving. He handed me the keys and we stood side-by-side staring at the

beautiful view of mountain upon mountain. I took the camera out of my purse and

held

it

up

to

us

to

take

a

photo.

“Hang on. I gotta get something.” He wandered to the car and grabbed something

from the back seat. “Can’t take a photo without these.” He smiled and put the

Elvis

inspired

sunglasses

on

his

face.

“That’s a good look.” I took the camera and held it far away from us, taking several

photos trying to capture our moment in front of the Great Smokey Mountains.

“Let’s

get

home.”

We continued to drive off the beaten path on winding, mountainous roads until

we reached Highway 40 again. For some reason, I didn’t react like I had when I

drove on it the first part of the trip. I was too busy thinking about getting home,

that

I

didn’t

have

time

to

dwell.

We arrived at my grandparents’ house just as the sun was beginning to set.

Jesse’s car was parked off to the side of their front yard. He and Nana were

talking on the front porch. Something was wrong. I could sense it. Jesse didn’t

smile–he looked stressed. Nana was frowning. I wondered what had happened

and knew whatever it was, it was serious. The sullen expression on his face said

it all.

The mood was solemn. A breadth of seriousness hung loosely in the air. My

grandfather and I walked up the porch steps carrying our suitcases. Nana was

relieved to see us. She kissed my grandfather on the cheek and then reached

over to hug me. “I’m so glad y’all are home,” she said, her soft cheek brushed

against

mine.

“We are, too. We had fun, though, didn’t we, Finn?” My grandfather said to me. I

nodded a faint “yes” while glancing at Jesse. His expression was grim.

Nana took my suitcase out of my hand and said, “I’ll get that for you. You two talk.

I’d like to spend some time alone with my husband.” She wrapped her arm in his,

and

they

went

inside

the

house.

As soon as the door closed, I faced Jesse and asked, “What’s wrong?”

His expression was pained. He shook his head slightly. “My dad has had a

relapse.”

I wrapped my arms around him. “Oh Jesse, I’m so sorry.”

He released my hold and motioned for me to sit down next to him on the swing.

We sat down side-by-side. I didn’t say anything. I let him dictate the mood and

the

flow

of

the

conversation.

“It was really bad, Finn,” his voice was strained. “He got fired from his job. I had

no idea; he didn’t say anything to me.” His voice was low and his hands were

clenched into tight fists. “I suspect he’s been drinking again for a while. I think

that’s

why

he

got

fired.”

“You couldn’t have done anything even if you had known.” He sprang up and

faced me. I got up, standing inches away from him–the swing still rocking slightly

back

and

forth.

“He couldn’t handle it. Like always,” he said with exasperation. “He went to You

Bowl Me Over early this morning and started drinking.” He sighed heavily. “It was

one of the worst drinking binges he’s ever been on. He went to his boss’ house

early tonight to tell him off for firing him. The cops told me he was standing outside

his house shouting, cursing, throwing things. He threw rocks in his window,” his

tone abhorrent. “The guy’s daughter was there. She could’ve gotten really hurt.

And

then

he

took

a

hammer

to

his

car.”

I was flabbergasted. I never expected Hank to act so violently. Jesse was

heartbroken. It was the saddest I had ever seen him, and it hurt me so much to

see

him

like

that.

“His daughter stepped on the glass from the broken window and was cut up pretty

bad. She had to get stitches, poor little thing. She was probably scared out of her

wits.” Jesse shook his head in disgust. He sat back down on the swing.

I sat next to him. “I’m sorry,” I said, which didn’t feel like it was enough to say. I

wanted

to

comfort

him,

to

console

him.

“I’m done. I’m so done.” He put his face into his hands and sighed heavily. I gently

rubbed

his

back,

unsure

of

what

to

say,

of

what

to

do.

“Where

is

he

now?”

He exhaled a long, deep drawn out breath. “The police came and hauled him off.

He can sleep in jail a couple of nights, I don’t care,” he said acerbically.

“What can I do?” I wanted to do something. Listening to him didn’t feel like

enough.

“There’s nothing anyone can do, Finn. I don’t care anymore. I’m done worrying

about him.” He sounded so angry, so resentful. I knew he meant it. His dad had

disappointed him and even though he said he thought his dad may start to drink

again, a large part of him must not have believed it would happen, that this time

would be different. I knew what it meant to have a loved one let you down–to rip

you to the core and make you believe you can never have expectations of them

ever

again.

***

The police called him the next day, telling him that his father was free to be

released. I told him I wanted to go with him. I didn’t want him to be alone. We had

trust in our relationship. He didn’t mind me seeing that ugly part of his life.

On the ride to the station, Jesse tried to make small talk by asking me about my

trip to Graceland. I gave him every detail, hoping it would elevate the mood and

ease the tension. He even laughed a little when I told him about Grandpa’s hotel

choice.

“That

sounds

like

Charlie.”

He

chuckled.

“I thought I had bed bugs or lice for sure. My hair and skin itched for hours that

night,” I said and he laughed loudly. I loved Jesse’s laugh. It was beautiful, loud

and deep, from the bottom of his sternum to the top of his vocal chords.

The police station was a few buildings down from Lilly’s Diner. We sat outside in

his car for several minutes. Jesse looked like he was in deep thought, as if he

was

questioning

everything

that

flowed

through

his

mind.

“I

don’t

want

to

see

him,

Finn,”

he

confessed.

“I can understand that.” His father had not only let himself down, he had let Jesse

down,

even

more.

“I’m taking him home, and then I’m through. I can’t be around him anymore.” He

opened

his

car

door.

I had never been inside the station, there was never a reason to. It was a cramped

space with paneled walls and faded upholstered furniture reminiscent of some

bad 1970’s television show. An older woman named Ruby Jean Brown greeted

us at the front desk. She had poorly dyed short red hair that was more orange

than red. She wore excessive make up with sharp, contrasting bright colors. Her

eyelids were completely adorned in blue eye shadow; her eyebrows penciled in.

Her lips were the brightest shade of red. Ruby was a regular at the diner. I had

waited on her several times– she was a poor tipper and not easy to please. No

one ever wanted to wait on her. Her personality was well suited for the police

station. She could scare any hardened criminal with her outward appearance and

the

constant

glares

she

gave

everyone.

“Yes? Can I help you?” she asked. Ruby’s voice was deep and raspy and

sounded like she had smoked cigarettes since she was old enough to walk. She

knew why we were there, but still insisted on asking us what our business was.

“We’re

here

to

pick

up

Hank

Quinn,”