Searching for Change ch.2 (pt1)

 Chapter 2 (only but a memory)

“Things can only get better from here son,” were the words my father would always give me trying to encourage me as if I thought something was wrong with my life. Looking back at it he wasn’t very good at being inspirational but as a young boy those words meant the world to me.

My dad was a very intelligent man - extra emphasis on the was because that was all before he went to do psychological studies in Russia. He graduated from college with a Ph.D in neuropsychology because he was always interested in understanding the amazing dynamics of how the brain works.

“It’s the very thing that makes us who we are ,Lucas. Put your right hand in, now take  your right hand out, now put it back in and shake it all about,” he would say in a joking, manner grabbing my hand and doing the movements of the Hokey-Pokey with me . “Although you used your right hand..”

“I know I know dad the left side of the brain is controlling those actions,” I said with a dull expression on my face. This was at least the 100th time he told me this.

“Precisely my boy!” he said  with a golden gleam in his eye showing how much he loved his work but more importantly—how much he loved me.

He was due to leave tomorrow ,so he decided to spend some extra time with me today.

“Hey son, go grab your shoes; it’s time to go for a ride.” He stood tall with his chest sticking out as if he recently just got done lifting at the gym. I never really paid attention before ,but he was strong. He had nice broad shoulders that he would place me on every now and then and start spinning like I was on an airplane. He was about six feet tall and had a thing for wearing tailored clothes. That day he had on a light pink dress shirt with some black slacks and a pink and black striped tie  to complement his attire.

“Lucas, guess what little buddy,” he said as he grabbed the keys to the Porsche and we headed out the door.

“What dad? Tell me, tell me.”

“ You get to ride in the front seat today son.”

The car was already started before he even put the keys inside, I must say that was one of the features I loved the most about this car.

“Where are we going today dad?”

“ I don’t even know why you ask, you know I’m not gonna tell you,” he said with a smile.

The radio was synced to his phone so the song he was listening  to in his study happened to be on . He was the type of person that played a song over and over again if it was one he really liked. That’s JUST what he did with this one which explains why I knew the words. He looked at me and began to smile and nod his head to the beat ,so I knew what was coming next.

“Sing with me, Lucas!”

I didn’t like the song that much—well, that was until we began to sing in unison.

“Life is a highway , I wanna ride it all night long. If you’re going  my way. ..” we were interrupted when my dad ran over a nail and got a flat tire. I thought we were gonna be stuck there for a while trying to change the tire ,but he just pressed a blue button and the tire inflated to its normal psi level and we kept going as if nothing happened.

I didn’t realize where we were going until we pulled up and I saw the letters to the Popeyes flashing on and off, capturing the eyes of all the passengers. Now, you must realize that as a health fanatic, my father doesn’t eat fast food very often but, the first time he ever brought me here I was around six or seven. He told me, “ your grandpa and I never really spent much time together because of all the hours he would  be working at the shop, but every Tuesday he would walk into the door after a long day of work with his tool box in one hand ,and a bag containing Popeyes in the other.” My dad paused as he was recalling the details of this memory, showing me how close to home it was for him.

“No matter how hard of a week he had, the number of responsibilities he had to do at home, or even when he felt sick, he would always come home with this box of chicken and a smile.”

My father did not have to explain much more because that exhilarating feeling of excitement he felt, that bond between a father and a son is what I felt every time he brought me here after he told me the history behind it. You see it wasn’t the food or the fancy ride here, it was all about my dad. Despite how busy he might appear to be, he cared for me more than anything in the world. You know that feeling, right?

“Don’t get too full son, you know if you do your parasympathetic nervous system will kick in making you sleep…”

It was already too late, I was dozing off listening to his psychology jargon. Eventually, we got back to the house and he tucked me in bed giving him time to prepare for his big trip the next day.

“I love you , Marrisa ,” he said to mom, gazing into her deep blue eyes, right before he kissed her goodbye.

    “Son, take care of your mom for me but before I leave I have something for you.” He carefully opened up his briefcase and pulled out a peculiar shaped box glowing an aquamarine blue, as its shiny luster began to reflect off the sunlight. Inside the box was another box, and inside that one was one more just like it but smaller, this was his famous method of giving a gift.  Finally, he revealed the contents of the box to me. It was a golden dog chain with writing engraved on it, reading “ Always be inspired to make a change.” At the time, I wasn’t quite sure what those words meant. But this was a gift from my dad, my father, the man I idolized. I ever so carefully placed it around my neck and wore it with pride.

    My mom and I were dropping my father off at the airport to catch his flight to Russia where he was assigned to do research, but he couldn’t give us much more detail than that. He told us that he would only be gone for about a year and he would keep in touch diligently.  I knew this was true because my father never once lied to me.

    In the beginning he did just that, called at least once a day and on occasion sent a letter with a post card in it that always ended with, “Always be inspired to make a change. – Richard Williams.” As time went on, the calls became less frequent.

“Did dad call today, mom?” I would ask her with the highest expectations only to be shot down with a, “No honey not today, but I’m sure he will call soon.”

During this time, I grew closer to my mother. After school she would be there waiting for me at the bus stop.  As the bus would pull up I could see her autumn brown hair bouncing in the wind. Her smile would glisten while she waved, informing me of her location.  

“Wash your hands Tiger. Dinner's ready,” she would say in such a sweet elegant voice. I’m not sure when she started  or why she called me Tiger but she was the only person who did. It made me feel special, like when the waiters at a restaurant stop everyone to inform them that it is your birthday.

“Today I’m going to try something new just for you Tiger. I am going to make some lemon pepper chicken with mash potatoes and green beans. What do you think about that hun?”

“Mom,” I said in an exasperated tone. “ You know how I hate trying new things.”

Regardless of my comment she continued to cook this gourmet meal. I can still smell that food to this day. It was like walking into a Popeyes but three times better. Never had I tasted a meal so delicious and to think she made it especially for me, this is by far the greatest meal she has ever made.

We ate together in the dining room just like we used to do when dad was here . At that moment I began to take in how elegant of a setting this was. The red oak china cabinet that stood to my left, the grandfather clock that would chime every 15 minutes reminding us that the moment we are living right now we could never get back. Sitting at the long mahogany table that seats 12 you can see the piano in the master room with the light from the chandelier reflecting off. Making it glow like the moon glows in the night sky.

My mom just came back from the kitchen with some strawberry ice cream for the finishing touch of this cuisine dinner.

“And here’s for my little Tiger,” my mom said as she scooped the ice cream into a plastic bowl. “ If you could have any flavor baby what would it be?”

“The flavor you have is fine mom, I love strawberry,” I said excitedly with my eyes almost as big as the scoop that she provided. I saw my mom’s hand trembling as she was serving but it made sense, I mean I tremble whenever I’m cold as well.

“I know you don’t get dessert often my love but it goes with the occasion.”

“What occasion?” I said looking confused.

“Well baby, just look at the ice cream my dear, do you see how delicious it looks?”

“Yes mom, but what is the occasion?” I repeated this time with more urgency.

“Well Tiger you know how great it looks now, but what happens to ice cream over time?”

“Umm? It… I’m not sure, it it..”

“It melts,” my mom interrupted.

“Well ya mom, I get that. Big deal, eat it before it does.”

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              She grabbed my hand, her hands were cold presumably from dealing with the ice cream. She looked me in the eyes and had a stare. Not a gleaming stare as if she were daydreaming – no it was far more profound. Although no words were said for a couple of minutes I could feel my mom. It was an unspoken silence that was traveling through the room and it echoed loudly.

Tears began to flow from her eyes like I have never seen before. I did not know how to act at the age of twelve, but I did the best I could.

“It’s ok mom. I miss dad ,too, but I know….”  

“Lucas,” there was a brief pause. “I’m melting!” she said as she left the room crying hysterically.

I’m not quite sure what happened next. It happened all so fast. What was she saying? I was confused. It didn’t make any sense.

“Mom, mom!” she had collapsed on the hardwood floor and she wasn’t responding to her name.

In the beginning, I panicked I wasn’t sure what to do, but I remembered my dad telling me in fast paced situations to slow them down with my mind by taking a deep breath. Then I knew what to do.

Riding in the Ambulance car I had my hands over my face crying because I didn’t understand what was happening.

Ruby the woman from across the street worked with the emergency team and asked me why I was crying.

“What’s happening, what’s going on, she said she was melting I’m not sure what she meant by that .”

Ruby didn’t have any kids of her own but I remembered she knew what it felt like to lose. She never had too many people come in and out of her life ,but her younger sister Rebecca was her entire world. They looked so similar both with bright red hair, a round face and plenty of freckles between the both of them. One day Rebecca was robbed and killed for reasons no one ever figured out, nor was the perpetrator ever caught.

I could see Ruby’s eyes began to tear up as if she was reliving that day vividly. “She, she didn’t tell you did she,” Ruby stammered trying to hold on to her composure.

“What? What? WHAT! please someone tell me what is going on!”

I looked over at my mom. Even in this state she looked so beautiful. I grasped her hand and even after an hour they were still  cold. She tried opening her eyes but I could see the strain that it put on her so I just rubbed her hand and said, “Take it easy mom get some rest. Before dad left he told me to take care of you,” a tear began to flow so slowly down my face and my voice cracked. “and I’m going to do just that!”

Turns out last year my mother was diagnosed with a rare cancer that attacked her heart. Well, only in the physical aspect because her spirit never wavered. I mean, I saw her every day and she didn’t even seem like she was –   melting.

I began to think about how through it all, she would still pick me up from the bus stop with that smile on her face that made me forget about anything that brought me down. I would sit on the bus looking out the window as cars passed by and my spirits would be elevated as we got closer to my house, for I knew my mom would be standing at the stop with open arms.

“Tiger, Tiger,” she would say in a low sweet tone as the bus drove away. “I know your dad has been quite busy lately but I want you to know just as a factorial grows in an exponential rate,” she was always a huge math geek, “my love for you grows more and more each day and it will never cease.”

Sitting in the waiting room I begin to think about that grandfather clock that stood ever so tall in the dining room and how it would chime every 15 minutes – reminding me now more than ever that time was not inexhaustible.

Mom showed signs of improvement during the first two weeks after her hospital visit, but that quickly began to fade away. I did my best to stay strong for her but as the days progressed holding on looked like an impossible feat. Mom’s skin began to get very pale almost resembling the snow that would fall outside in the winter. I could tell she wanted to show vitality, but soon her smile began to dim.