Raising Hope (7 page)
“Ha!” I say, slapping my hand on the table. “You never tell me any stories about you.” It’s a sore spot with me, and I’m glad to have a chance to bring it up. “I always ask what you were like when you were my age, about the things that happened to you, and you both just say, ‘Oh, water over the dam’ or ‘I don’t remember.’”
Sara Lynn presses her hands to her heart. “Doesn’t matter. You know in here.”
“Hmmph,” I say, thinking about it as I take some more popcorn.
Ruth flicks a kernel of popcorn at Sara Lynn and says, “You know, I am beginning to believe my mother was correct all those times she told me you were a genius.”
Sara Lynn laughs. “Your mother said that?”
“Only every goddamn day!” Ruth looks up at the ceiling and says, “Ma, you were right.” Then she looks at Sara Lynn and says, “Oh, Jesus, Ma’s so happy I finally admitted she was right about something that she’s doing a little dance with Saint Peter.”
Those two start laughing, and I can’t help but laugh with them, even if I don’t really get the joke. I mean, what’s so hilarious about Ruth’s dead mother—my grandmother, I might add—dancing in heaven?
O
h man, I’m tired. It’s the crack of dawn and I’m driving to Jack’s. Five hours of sleep just won’t do it for me these days, although it used to be just fine. I’m damned if I can keep my eyes open lately. Having a little drama fest with Hope last night didn’t help matters much. Goddamn Bobby, anyway! I shake my head and drum my fingers on the steering wheel as I stop at the red light. Stupid to be parked here at a light when there’s no one else on the road at this hour, but it’d be just my luck to get caught and have to pay a big, fat ticket.
God, Hope about broke my heart last night. What in hell am I supposed to tell a twelve-year-old kid about her father who took off when she was a week old and never came back? The line I fed her about how he’s just scared was pretty good. Pulled that one out of the old hat. But, man, that’s all it was—a line I pulled out to help my little girl feel better. “We’re all scared, Bobby,” I say out loud, narrowing my eyes. That’s just what I’d tell him if he was sitting here next to me in my little shitbox car. I’d say that we’re all freakin’ terrified every day of our lives, but we still get up in the morning and put one foot in front of the other like the world is a certain place.
Christ, I sound like Ma. God helps him who helps himself! When the going gets tough, the tough get going! Got to play with the hand you’ve been dealt! I dreamed about her last night, and it was a bad one. Probably part of the reason I’m about to drop off to sleep over my steering wheel. It’s not exactly restful to dream about your dead mother screaming at you. And that’s what I dreamed. We were cleaning a house and she was yelling over the noise of the vacuum cleaner I was running. “You’re not doing it right, Ruth. You’re just a big failure.” And then I hollered back, “I’m trying my best.” “Well, your best never was good enough,” she said back to me, and as she walked away, I chased her, yelling, “Ma! Come back!”
Sick! Sick, sick, sick! What’s going on in my head that would make me have a crazy dream like that? I don’t like to remember the bad stuff; I just like to block out those years Ma and I didn’t see eye-to-eye. Oh hell, I’m being like Sara Lynn, hiding what’s true behind pretty words. I should say, those years when Ma and I couldn’t stand each other, those years when all we did was fight, those years when we wondered what kind of a twisted God had ever thought it was a good idea to put us together in the same family.
Four days after I graduated from high school, Ma decided it was time to put me to work. I was taking it easy that morning, sitting with my bare legs hanging over the arm of the La-Z-Boy chair and chomping on a bowl of Cocoa Puffs as I watched a talk show. Ma stomped in with her usual storm cloud hovering above her gray, permed hair helmet, pulling on the shades fiercely and letting go so they raced up to the roller with a
crack
! Then she cleared the boys’ breakfast dishes from the table right next to the La-Z-Boy where I sat, clanking the bowls and spoons and sighing all the while. Didn’t even say “Good morning, Ruth” or grunt a little “Hey” in my direction.
Well, I was damned if I was going to say hi to her. She was in a bad mood, as usual, with poison instead of blood flowing through her veins. It was just like Ma to get up on the wrong side of the bed every day of her life and take it out on me. She sighed again, and I watched her from the family room as she stomped into the kitchen and grabbed the loaf of Wonder bread sitting out on the counter. She yanked out two slices and stuffed them in the toaster, sighing yet again as she slammed down the toaster lever.
“Ruth!” she snapped.
That was Ma all over. Not content to sit in her own toxic waste; had to spill it over onto me, too. I was eating my last mouthful of Cocoa Puffs, and I took my sweet time answering. She said again, real mean, “Ruth! I’m talking to you.”
“Ma! For God’s sake, I’m right here.” I brought the bowl up to my mouth and slurped the last of the milk in there. Then I rattled the spoon in the bowl and set it down on the rug next to the chair. I knew what Ma was thinking. I could see her glaring at me all red in the face and breathing hard like her head was going to pop off. She was thinking, Why can’t you get up and put that bowl in the dishwasher, Miss Lazy? Would it kill you to help out around here? Well, I’d put my bowl in the dishwasher when I damn well felt like it. She could just go to hell and back waiting for me to do it. I looked hard at the TV, hoping she’d leave and never come back.
“What’re you doing today?” Ma asked, and it wasn’t at all nice the way she said it. It wasn’t like “Ruth, dear, do you have plans that will be fun today?” No, it was more like “You little shit, what evil schemes do you have up your sleeve today?”
Goddammit, couldn’t she be even a little bit nice to me? I hadn’t bothered her at all this morning. Just sat and minded my own business, and here she was trying to cause trouble. I squinted hard at her and asked, “Why do you want to know?”
“Watch it,” she said. “Your face’ll stay like that. You look just like your father when you do that with your mean little eyes.”
Me looking like my father was about the worst insult she could think of, seeing as she hated the man with her whole heart. It was always that way—you look just like your father; your disposition is exactly like your father’s; you’re the spitting image of that man. So, what were you, Ma? Just the unlucky incubator of your husband’s child?
“What’s the issue, Ma?” I said, sighing. It sure as hell wasn’t me looking like my father or not picking up my cereal bowl right away. It was something else, and Ma could never just spit it out. Dammit! She never could just say what she meant. “What exactly is your problem?”
“My problem?” Ma said. Her toast popped up and she started attacking it with a butter knife. “My problem is you!”
Oh, that’s right—I’d forgotten. If only I’d been born different, Ma’s life would be just dandy. She’d been shoveling that load of shit on me for years. I picked up the remote and aimed it at the TV, pressing the volume button so it got louder and louder, drowning out Ma’s nasty voice. She marched over and turned it off, stuffing toast into her mouth all the while.
“I have the remote,” I said, aiming it at the TV again and turning up the sound. Ma thought she was so smart. Couldn’t even figure out that turning off the television was pointless if someone else held the remote control.
“Big deal,” she said as she stomped back into the kitchen, and I snickered because I knew she couldn’t think of anything else to say. I kept my eyes glued to the TV, but I could hear her banging her dishes around, pouring herself a glass of orange juice, and gulping it down like there was no tomorrow.
She slammed her glass on the counter and walked back over to the TV set to turn it off. Then she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and stood in front of the TV so the remote wouldn’t work. Her eyes glittered at me. “Who was the damn fool who ever thought daughters were a good idea? Tim and Bobby together don’t give me the hassles you do.”
“Oh, right,” I snorted. “Tim getting arrested for pot and Bobby drinking all the time don’t bother you a bit.”
Her face reddened, and she said, “That’s not what I’m talking about, you spiteful little witch, and you know it. No matter what the boys do, they don’t give me the attitude you do; they don’t look at me like they’re going to spit in my eye.” Ma’s curly hair stood out from her head, and I wondered idly if she’d stuck her finger in a socket when she got up.
“Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?” she asked me.
I sighed. “Not really. What do you want me to say?”
“Look at your cereal bowl,” she said, pointing to the bowl and spoon on the rug next to the chair. “Why don’t you say something about that? Something like—Gee, Ma, I know you’re going out to clean other people’s houses all day. It’s the least I can do to
get off my lazy ass, pick up my own dishes, and put them in the dishwasher.
”
“Everything always has to be on your time,” I yelled right back at her. “It’s your way or the highway.”
“You’re damn right,” she said, her voice rising with every word she spoke. “It is my way when you’re living under my roof.” She got quiet then and walked up to me and stuck her finger in my face. “You listen here, missy . . .”
“My name’s not ‘missy,’” I said, looking right into her crazy-lady eyes.
She stepped back a little, like she was afraid she might hit me if she got too close. “I’m done with you hanging around here being lazy. Time for you to get to work.”
Jesus H. Christ! I’d only been home four days. Four crummy days and she was saying I didn’t do anything except hang around. I threw up my hands and banged my head back on the chair. “What do you want me to do, Ma?” I hollered. I swear, that woman would drive anyone to booze. No wonder my father had left. “I put in applications everywhere. Is it my fault that no one’s hiring? God! You blame me if the sun doesn’t shine.”
“Listen,” she said, “you and I both know you’re not going to get any of the jobs you applied for. You got through high school by the skin of your teeth, and no one with any common sense is going to hire you.”
“Thanks, Ma,” I said. She didn’t even care that she was hurting me, didn’t even care that she was being so mean. “That’s a real nice way to talk about your own daughter.”
“Facts are facts,” she replied. “The sooner you wake up and smell the coffee, the better off you’ll be.”
I stood up then, still in my big T-shirt I’d worn to bed last night, and I folded my long, skinny arms across my chest. I stared right at her and asked, “What in hell is your point?”
“My point is that you’re coming to work for me.” She twisted her mouth into a spiteful smile. She had laid down her trump card and was waiting for my move.
What do you say to that, missy?
I knew exactly what she was thinking.
I just laughed, a short bark of a sound, and said, “I’m not cleaning up other people’s shit.”
I got nervous right after I said it; I knew I’d stepped way over the line. “You listen here,” Ma hollered, coming up close to my face. “My cleaning houses has kept a roof over your head and food in your mouth. And seeing as you’ve got no better prospects, you’ll get off your sorry ass and help me.”
“What if I don’t want to?” I wasn’t willing to give up yet. It wasn’t in me to back down from a fight so easily.
“What if I don’t want to keep feeding you and housing you?” she shot back. “It’s grown-up time, time you start contributing. Besides, I could use the help.”
The only sound I heard then was Ma breathing hard through her nose. She backed away from me a little and lowered her voice, her tone almost gentle for a change. “Listen,” she said, “you damn well have to do something with your life, and it looks like I’m your only option. Get dressed and come on. You’re starting today. We have three houses to do.”
Now, I knew this could go one of two ways. I could say, “Are you fucking crazy, you lunatic bitch?” or I could say, “Okay. You’re right. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do with my life, and cleaning seems as good a job as any.” I compromised by rolling my eyes to the ceiling and saying, “Just so you know, I’m only doing this until a
real
job comes through.”
“Save your threats and promises, and go on and get dressed.”
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, striding to my bedroom. I looked through the piles of clothes on the floor until I found my favorite denim shorts and Black Sabbath T-shirt. Ma hated my concert T-shirts; she always scowled and said, “Why do you have to wear those shirts with creepy-looking weirdos on them?” Just because I was helping her at work didn’t mean I had to dress to please her, though. She could just look at me in my concert T-shirt all day. I hoped it drove her crazy and she ended up in the loony bin.
I came back into the kitchen and stared at Ma without saying anything, following her as she headed for the door. As she plopped herself into the driver’s seat of her car, she sighed as loudly as she could, acting all put-upon even after I’d agreed to go to work with her.
“What now, Ma?” I asked, throwing up my hands. “What are you huffing about, acting like a martyr?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied, starting the car.
“Huuuuuhhhhhh!” I imitated her sigh and glared at her. “That’s what I’m talking about! What the hell did I do now to set you off?”
Ma just put her lips together tight, like she was afraid if she opened her mouth, she’d never stop screaming about how I disappointed her every day of my life.
Neither of us spoke a word until we were pulling up a long, hilly driveway practically the length of a road. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said. I couldn’t believe she would do this to me.
“What?” asked Ma, all innocent, like she didn’t know. She turned off the ignition and slid the keys into her brown suede shoulder bag. As she heaved herself out of the car, I thought about sitting there and pouting, but I knew it wouldn’t get me anywhere. So I got out of the car and followed her up the stone walk lined with flowers of every goddamn pastel color ever invented.