Fire, again

by summerexile

NO, oh god, no.  “Sure, I can come down today.”  Does she not realize that this is only the second time she has ‘had to talk to me.’  What could it be now?  The nervous energy pumps fear through my veins and sparks an ugly imagination.  I know this cannot be good.  “I love you too, Mom.  I’ll leave in an hour.”  I have to drop everything again for this godforsaken family.  ‘I have to go down to Valencia to talk with family. Sorry, can’t pick you up later,’ reads a text to Kate.  How could she understand any of this.  She can’t be my support as much as I’d like her to be.

Okay, grab my things, it’s time to get on the road.  The nightmares are still coursing.  My hands shake as much as my old car when I start it.  Everything feels wrong with the world right now.  This car is going to break down any day on me, but that’s nothing new.  Fumbling around with my ipod, trying to calm the storm, I can’t stop thinking.  I wish I could shut off this burdensome mind sometimes.  What good are you doing me now? Huh?

What the hell is that?  I notice smoke seeping out from under my hood.  I think my engine has caught on fire.  No, Johnny, that’s irrational.  I’ve probably let the coolant get to a dangerously low level.  Thankfully there is a parking lot up on the right.  As suspected, I’m out of coolant, but the nearest gas station is over a mile away, at least, and it’s hotter than hell out here.  “Kate? Kate I really need your help.”  I don’t know what I should be expecting here.  Shes’s too damn selfish to drop everything.  “No, no, it’s okay.  I understand.”  I don’t.  “I’ll figure everything out and be just fine.”  Anger, fear, paranoia, disdain.  How have I gotten here?  A broken down car, about to burst into flames.  A family who asks me to drop everything in the middle of the week.  Friends who can’t help me.  This part of Calle Real is a lonely road.  It seems fitting to me.  I am finally as alone as I have always felt.

Taking off my button up shirt and rolling up my jeans I start the jog towards the gas station.  I can’t make my mother or piece of shit father or brother wait on me.  Why couldn’t today have been overcast?  I have always sweat more than most, and I can assure you this was no outlier.  I could feel the eyes of the gas station clerk beating on my back, harder than the sun rays, as I looked for a bottle of coolant.  I can’t imagine what he thought of me, but no time for such speculation, time to start the jog back to the car.  Now, aren’t I lucky to be carrying a huge bottle of coolant on the second half of my run?  If only I could just give my family the metaphorical middle finger and leave them and this entire life behind.  If only I could just keep running until I could start over.  If only I could find a place and a group of people who were supportive and didn’t expect this of me.  But, alas, my loyalty to friends and family is principal to my character.  I will get down to Valencia to bear this inevitably bad news.  I will hug my family.  I will be supportive to Kate.  I will always be there for my friends.

There’s that old, shitty car that I am so lucky to have.  High noon has passed and the heat is bearing down harder.  Certainly my car feels the pain.  That’s why it was on fire in the first place.  Here is your ice cold drink of coolant, sweet volvo.  There, there, drink up.  Hands shaking once again, I slam the hood shut and start the car.  No smoke?  No smoke! “I got the car working again.  I’m getting onto the freeway now.”

Oh no.  Again? Really?  I’ve only made it twenty miles and my car is ready to burst into flames.  I’m lucky there is an exit here.  Summerland, beautiful this time of year.  I find a place to park my car again.  There must be a leak.  Dammit, all of this car trouble, at least you are distracting me.  “Jack.  It’s Johnny.  I’m stranded in Summerland.  Did mom tell you what happened to my car earlier? Okay, well should I take it to an auto shop?  I don’t think there is one close.”

“I’ll come up with dad so we can help you, Johnny,” says Jack.  He’s been such a great problem solver ever since the first fire.

Let’s see what this Summerland place is all about.  You know, I am stranded, looking at this beautiful, blue, crashing Pacific Ocean, and I can’t go anywhere for anybody.  I am stuck here.  Hah! How lucky.  I guess I could walk up and get some lunch.  So this is it, this is the eye of the storm, a momentary paradise.  With the outlook of devastation on the ever nearing horizon, it is much more necessary to enjoy peace and happiness than worry.  I’ve always thought of worry and speculation as unnecessary evils, chomping away at our happiness.  Chicken strips, and chili cheese fries, my all-time favorites, a reminder of childhood happiness.  If only my phone had just died and Jack had never come for me.  I could stay in heaven, because this is so much more tangible than anything any damn religion preaches.

I want, I thirst, I need a beer, or seven.  Damn this America that forces me to college and doesn’t let me buy a beer to ease these nerves.  For God’s sake, He’s given me heaven.  I think I should be able to sip the nectar.

There they are, my escape from heaven, with a good amount of duct tape to stop the leak.  Of course, Duct Tape will slow down this inevitable fire.  “All patched up.  It should easily make it to Ventura,” my father proclaims to anybody listening.  What a sense of satisfaction he wears on his face.  But, I’m thankful.  I have to be.  “Johnny, do you  want to ride in the truck with me.  Dad can drive the Vovlo and we’ll follow in case anything happens.”  Jack had become so wonderful in his new role.

I really wanted to laugh.  It took so much out of me to show proper social attitude toward the situation.  I was hoping that this could finally wipe that satisfaction off his face.  It didn’t.  It only turned his face into a focused beam of dedication when the car started smoking ten miles down the freeway.  We’re still at least ten miles from Ventura, on the side of the freeway as my father tries his darnedest to concoct a new solution.  “What the hell is dad doing, Johnny?”  Jack looks at me with the shake of his head.  “I’ll get out and see if I can help,” I tell Jack.  By the time he looks up from his work to acknowledge my helping hand, he’s ready.  “I did it! I used some rag on the side of the road and that should slow the leak until Ventura!”  Emphatically states my father.  “Dad said he got it, Jack.”  And he did.

It’s early afternoon now and I’ve exhausted myself three days over.  A father and his two sons are heading down to ‘have a talk’ with his ex-wife in his in-laws house.  Well, this really should be a blast.  I can’t decide what is worse at a time like this; the silence of knowing doom awaits, or filling the air with wasted conversation in a desperate attempt to ease that forlorn.  I think I’d take the silence, but I’m not sure about anything.  Who could be?  A midst all this silent noise, Jack tells me that the ‘talk’ has been pushed back until his wife, Grace, is done with her classes.  So, off we are, further into Limbo.

That burning hot afternoon we spent in Pasadena was muddled with nervous anticipation and a binary of neediness and hatred of Kate.  I hated her for letting me go through this all alone, with no help from her along the way.  I also needed her to talk to me.  I needed some sort of love and attention and I sure as hell wasn’t going to find that in this stand-off they call my family.

It’s time, we’re all headed to meet my mother in Valencia for the day’s prized event.  Everything else that happened today to test me was just a series of warm-ups.  Funny enough, everything got progressively more intense.  That doesn’t bode well for ‘The Talk.’  It is always very pleasant to see the Cleary family.  I had really nice encounters with all of them, but the end loomed over my head like Truman’s rain cloud.  “Hello, Mom.  We got the car to Ventura, we’ll deal with that problem later.”  As I hugged my mother. “It’s good to see you too, Mom.”  I didn’t mean that.  How could I?  But, we always maintained formalities and I respect formalities.  They’re becoming a lost art.

“Jack, could we close these doors please?” my mother ordered my brother.  Suddenly I was sitting down next to Grace and Jack looking across the table to my mother and father.  “Thank you all for meeting us here today.”  Oh boy she has no clue what sort of effort this took.  “Your father and I have something to tell you Jack, and Johnny.” She nods at us as though to recognize our presence and individuality.  “Jack, when I was still an undergraduate, I was very, very, close friends with a man.”  She started to tear up.  “Well, Jack, He was the first man I ever slept with, and, and, I swear Jack, truly, I swear this sort of thing was foreign to me.”  Get to it already.  You and your euphemistic ways.  “Well, Jack, I became pregnant and, well, and my constitution would not allow me to give the baby away.”

“Mom, are you telling me this man is my biological father?” Jack insisted.  “Yes, Jack, Yes, see Andrew and I had known each other and began a relationship after I was pregnant.  Jack, your father did not want me to keep the baby.  Jack, do you remember when Andrew adopted you?”

“I, um, I remember being in a judges office with you two, but I didn’t know what was happening.”  Jack hesitantly stated.  His hand grasping ever harder on Grace’s leg.  I think he’s trying to get her strength, but he already has it.

“Mom, Dad,”  He is always careful with his words, ” Is Johnny the son of both of you?” Jack is strong.  “Oh, yes, of course.”  They say in unison, as if this question was unnecessary.  It was necessary for me.  I couldn’t trust them.  Frankly, I still can’t trust them.  That’s why I’m so much shorter than Jack.  That’s why I could handle Andrew better than him all these years.

Jack, Johnny, and Grace sat at a beautiful dining table, across from a firing squad, and we had all been hit.  We had no shields besides our strength and our character.  ‘Mom and Dad’ decided that this was the grand day for the secret to be revealed.  Jack and Johnny are half brothers. My mind is scrambling, but my eye catches Jack’s and I turn and look straight at him.  I couldn’t tell you if anybody else was talking at that moment.

“Johnny,” Jack might have been tearing up more than me, “Johnny, You’re still my brother.  No more.  No less.”

“I feel the same, Jack.  You are my brother and nothing has changed.”

The talk went on that fiery evening, but I had heard what I needed.  My brother is my brother and will always be my brother.  Your brothers and sisters and parents are those who stand by you in both normality and distress.