The Saturday Boy Novel (Chap. 12)

CHAPTER TWELVE – WHY DID IT END?

 

 

AND THEN it was over. I felt like a piece of cheese no one really wanted. It was as if I was the last piece on the plate. Sort of dried up, all alone. 

 

Mom helped me handle it. Good ol' mom. She was always there for me during any sad times. Even though there were days I kind of forgot about her...when I thought only of dad.

 

She was always there, on the sidelines. And she helped me pick up the pieces.

 

"Hang in there Jason," she'd say. "I love you." Her words were like a salve drifting over my wounds.

 

I remember staring out the window a long time. And I sensed something was wrong, very wrong.

 

Dad was usually on time. But not last Saturday. He had been half an hour late. What could be the matter? I wondered at the time. I paced my room. My heart felt heavy. A whisper tugged inside of me.

 

"Oh no. No. It can't be." Everything is going just right. Dad and me, we're buddies. And mom and dad might get back together...just maybe.

 

I thought it was the way it was supposed to be.

 

Dad always said how important it is to be punctual. Now, where is he? I threw myself on the bed, noisily. I knew mom heard me.

 

I kicked off my sneakers. First one, then the other smacked hard against the wall. I sat on the edge of the bed, tore off my jacket, and threw it in the corner.

 

Where is my dad? I’m really upset. Where is mom? Usually she comes storming up the stairs if I make too much of a ruckus.

 

Whenever a friend and I made too much noise, mom would be up in a flash. "No wrestling in the house," she'd remind us.

 

Then I heard her coming up the stairs. It isn't her usual rushing, quick steps either. Is she talking to herself? No…it sounds like she’s sobbing.

 

Like an echo, sounds curled up the stairs and slammed right into me.

 

By the time she got to my doorway, I knew for sure dad wasn't coming. Scary thoughts danced inside my head. Maybe never again, they whispered.

 

Turning on my side I curled up like a caterpillar. I usually did this when I was afraid. I wanted mom to lie beside me and cuddle me like a teddy bear.

 

I was so confused.

 

I wanted to be alone. Mom knew it too. She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. When she left, there was an envelope beside my arm.

 

It had my name on it with a Toronto return address in the left corner.

 

Tears blurred my eyes. It was dad's handwriting. He had this squiggly way of writing, as if his letters were chasing each other. That's why I wanted to be like him. To be chasing after things and maybe, being fast enough to catch them.

 

Like my dreams, I really wanted to be a Forest Ranger. He told me to, "Go for it." But where is he now?

 

I picked up his letter. I knew the words would sting. I took the paper out of the envelope and read:

 

Dear son,

By the time you read this letter, I'll be looking out my window, thinking of you and your mother. I know I’m a wimp for doing it this way. It just couldn't work out, son, between your mother and me. We can't get back together. Three years away was such a long time. Who knows what the future will bring? All I know is the time you and I spent together was so precious. Thank you for loving me again.

Dad.

 

“It's not fair. Not fair at all,” came as a whimper deep within me. I crumbled up the letter and threw it away. Sobs shook my body.

 

Mom was at my side before I knew it. And her warm hand on my neck and face was soothing.

 

"Why mom? Why can't you both get back together? I love him so much mom." And we had a long cry, wrapped in each other’s arms.

 

It seemed as if my childhood evaporated like a fizzled out balloon.

 

I got up later and picked up dad's letter. I flattened it out, and smoothed the creases. It was the only letter I ever received from him.

 

And I wanted to keep it.

 

While mom fussed around the kitchen I put on my coat and went into the backyard. I sat on the swing and tried to think how mom felt when dad left her before.

 

She must have been sad like me. Or do grown-ups not hurt as badly? I was a kid and needed a father. She lost her husband.

 

Was I going to be like those other boys, the ones from the Big Brothers? And then it hit me, like a football tackle from one of my friends. The trip to Tatamagouche; was that why we went?

 

Dad tried to tell me something. Did he want me to have a Big Brother? No, that couldn't be it. What...what, then?

 

“I can still go on. I can still survive,” my mind said. Then it hit me. He must have known this was coming.

 

I sat on the swing and some of our adventures swirled in my head. It hurt to think of them. I put my hand in my pocket and felt Dad's letter.

 

I didn't feel angry, just hurt and sad too. Why didn't he tell me to my face? My tears felt like a dam bursting. They started all over again.

 

No, darn it...stop. But I couldn't. I let them come in wave after wave. Mom appeared out of nowhere, like a ghost.

 

She handed me a box of Kleenex and disappeared into the house. My heart was pounding.

 

I read the letter again, trying to figure out every word. I tried to place myself in my dad's head and watch his hand write these words.

 

Was he sad? Was he crying too when he wrote these words? He said he was a wimp. Why did he say that? My dad was afraid to tell me he was moving away? Why?

 

How would I have taken it? Probably let out a howl then bawl like a baby. Maybe that's why he couldn't face me.

 

He said I made him feel good. And he was proud of me. What about my fourteenth birthday coming up soon? Will he come back for it?

 

Will he even remember?

 

But he did write me a letter. Not like the last time he went away. This time he wrote me...me, a letter.

 

And I have his address. He did leave me something...

 

As I hung onto the swing rope I smiled at the silly way I acted trying to put on a squishy worm. Dad helped me get over that.

 

And the campfires in the woods; he trusted me to look after them. Even thought I burned my fingers.

 

Visiting the municipal dump in Portapique was smelly but interesting. I liked watching garbage bags split open after flinging them into the flames.

 

And that heap of wrecked cars with the picture of me beside a battered demolition derby car was neat. It must have won a few races at Maitland Raceway.

 

I barely noticed mom come into the yard. She left a plate of peanut butter cookies and a glass of milk. The cookies were my favorite.

 

I gobbled them up.

 

And chugged back the milk.

 

I remember our trip to the Truro Reservoir. It had been a dry summer and the water level was down. Dad walked with me all around the edge of the dam.

 

We saw deer tracks and old tires and I felt like taking a drink in the creek flowing into the reservoir. Dad said, "No." I felt his strong hands grip my arm when I tried to pull away.

 

"Don't be so headstrong," he growled at the time. "That's not clean enough to drink." He really cared about me.

 

I wish his arms were gripping my arms now. I miss him already. Would he come back?

 

Dad's letter cut like a knife. It was worse than when he left the first time. Then he was just a father. That was painful too, but not as much. Now I lost my friend and a dad.

 

I was getting chilly in the outside air. The wind seemed to pick up and blow right through me. I could see someone looking through the door window.

 

Watching me.

 

It’s mom.

 

My eyes are blurry with tears but I can still make her out. I begin to turn away but stop.

 

She knows I'm not a wimp. She knows I don't cry over just anything. She's my mom. She's all I have left now.

 

My heart is crying for my dad. But I’m glad mom is here as I bury myself in her arms.

 

I say over and over, "Oh mom."