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Join Date: Jan 2008
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Dvinity by Flaw
Divinity by Flaw
I had to get out of there. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the condolences, but it was all just too much. You always know these days will come; they linger in the dark crevices of the mind, but are easily brushed aside to make way for happy thoughts of frivolous childhood memories or the astounding beauty of one held dear. We'll deal with it when the day arrives. Well, arrived it has and even though I had given this day thought, I'm sure nothing could have prepared me fully. The services passed well, although I'm still not sure how it's possible to package a person's life into one three hour service. I spent most of the time mulling on this thought, the hours passing like seconds while my brain of mush searched desperately to find some reason for all this. Before I could come anywhere near a conclusion the service had come to an end, and I stood baffled as dozens of unrecognizable faces with voices of ghosts spouted all the cliché lines one would hope to avoid at a time like this.
"She was a great woman...you're mother...I-I'm not sure what to say, Marty, you'll get through this," stammered one zombie.
"You made her proud, you know? She left us proud. Happy and proud."
"She's in a better place now."
That's it, no more of this. One can only take so much. My mother's life, the most powerful figure in my world, reduced to this, tacky one-liners by innocent observers of my loss. They meant well, but that couldn't stop me. I lowered my head to the crowd and made a bee-line to my liberator. In large, indigo green, the "EXIT" sign beckoned me with open arms. I was hit by a wall of cold, the most frigid kind of the Western Rockies in Colorado. Clouds loomed and all this dreary weather seemed so appropriate. The earth was mourning. My world was in mourning. I was accompanied only by the clicking of my Sunday best shoes as I trekked to my rundown olds mobile, not quite sure of what to do next.
After a few hours of driving I slowly pulled into the cracking driveway of my mother's modest two-bedroom home, halfway conscious of how I arrived there. I slid the key into the door and slipped inside the cozy home. It was just how she left it; the weathered homey rug of the entry hall grabbed my toes and sent hundreds of memories splashing through my brain at an unimaginable rate. Her scent was everywhere-in the hand sewn pillows, the pink, twisted drapes which hung defeated in corner; no longer a caretaker to fluff them, bringing back a sign of life to the room. The light squeezed into the quarters through curtain covered windows sending eerie shadows of antique figurines cascading across the hall at angles and line structures unforeseen in the normal world, the world of the living.
After some time I made it to the bedroom, searching for something, anything of some importance. A family photo, favorite recipes, life accomplishments, childhood dreams, whatever it was my mother found most dear. After tireless hours, I stumbled across the gold mine. In the form of an aged wooden box with a tarnished golden clasp I found my mothers life box, the storage area for all one finds important in life. I fumbled through old photos, letters from friends and family, some first place ribbons which surely carried more importance in childhood ecstasy than could possible be found now. Her keys, earrings, handwritten wedding vows...divorce papers. Every piece telling some small story of life that when added up and jumbled together creates a view of a person from the inside. Dispensable tissue removed, leaving only the heart of the soul seen as vividly as the crescent moon in the clearest of midnight skies.
I soon found a journal which had not been written in for some years, but was kept by my mother during my early childhood. Curiosity bounding, I proceeded to leaf through pages until I came across something which intrigued me. I began reading.
June 23, 1990
We finally made it home last night after what seemed like ages. The trip was one of the most difficult of my life, but I now know it was all for the best. Hope has been restored! We're still having many problems, (Mark's drinking hasn't slowed and money is always tough to come by) but I know now it is all going to be ok. I was in the most difficult situation, but witnessed a miracle to help me out of it!
This all began as I was driving the kids home from Boise starting last week. Mark wasn't there, of course. He had to stay behind at the job site which was losing money anyway, so I had to make the eighteen hour journey with five children by myself (big surprise). The young ones were fussy, but in comparison to all else it was merely an inconvenience. By the time we made it to Oregon I was dead tired, but sprung right back into full consciousness when the engine lights started flashing like it was Christmas all over again. I pulled off to the nearest parking lot, and was scared stiff. Here I am in a foreign town with my children to protect, still hours away from home and now this. Needless to say, I have almost no cash on me (sixteen dollars) and the few credit cards I have are at their limits. It is getting increasingly difficult to live like this, but Mark just can't seem to make ends meet.
We stopped at a supermarket parking lot where I left the kids in the car as I went to go buy a few gallons of water to cool the overheated engine. I shook nervously wondering how I could get out of this predicament with such limited funds. "I wish I had just 20 dollars more. It's not too much to ask for!" was all I could think.
As I first began reading this entry I was viewing it as some memory of my mother's, but it was with that last line my mind began to wander. I was in that car and witnessed all the events she wrote of...all the events but one. I never saw any life changing "miracle" occur. I placed the journal on a dust-ridden shelf and recounted the event to the best of my ability:
My recollection of the story starts a few days before that of my Mom's. The crowds bustled and buzzed as I was pulled helplessly into store after store while Mom shopped for a few "last minute items".
"Martin Scott Appleton, get a move on, mister!" Mom demanded. Shopping was the effervescent foe of every eight year old boy in the country. At bed time young boys are rowdy and playful, energetic and animated, but a short trip to the mall or any convenient store where merchandise is not centered around toys, candy, or sports and these firecrackers are reduced to bumbling, lifeless shells of their once vivacious selves. I was no different. I slouched along, waiting patiently for the moment I knew was coming. Soon, Mom would find something intriguing and her attention would be averted for the slightest moment. This is when I would make my move.
It didn't take long. As soon as Mom loosened her grip to take a look at some necessary item for our trip I knew it was time. Stealthily, I slipped my fingers out of her grasp and eased into the fog, undetected. Freedom! No longer would I be dragged around this store against my will. It was time to do some exploring. Saturday afternoon at this local shopping center must have been some sort of ritualistic gathering I presumed. Throngs of people roamed aimlessly through aisle after aisle with eyes like saucers. I was amused by this confusion for some time, but after a while it too grew stale. I needed action.
With a newfound bolt in my step I bombarded around slipping in and out of crowds searching for my next big adventure. I turned to the right and found it in the form of yellow tape, orange cones, and a caution sign. A portion of the store was closed off due to a leaky roof. Like a detective at the scene of a crime, I stooped under the caution tape and started exploring the abandoned section of the department store. White painter's buckets where strewn across the smooth tile floor catching the murky water as it made it's descent from the high, arching ceilings. I careened around my private space with squeaky sneakers until my eyes fell upon my biggest discovery of the day. Sitting on the cashiers table in broad view was an open cash register fully stocked with more crisp, green bills than my eight-year-old eyes had ever seen.
Mounds of cash surrounded by shiny coins called to me; deceased Presidents begged for me to take them. I scurried to the counter unable to control my heart rate. A decision had to be made, and it had to be made quickly. I had been raised to know right from wrong and that I did, but something deep inside me overrode this training and, before I knew it, I was easing my fingers beneath the cold, metal prongs and sliding out two firm bills. My eyes darted around the room, searching for any unwanted witnesses. With the coast clear I strode towards the crowd scratching my arms uncontrollably as round beads of sweat gathered beneath my hairline.
I remember the drive home. I laid sprawled in the backseat as our van pushed relentlessly into the night. Billowing clouds of gray drooping lower and lower towards the earth until everything in site was encompassed in a sea of nothingness. A very cool experience for me, but another straw on the camel's back for Mom. With a frightened heart covered discretely by a firm brow she maneuvered us deeper into the night, hoping for the best. With my mind at rest I sank into a deep sleep, dreaming of what I would do with my new, sordid, forty dollar fortune.
"Oh, no. Goodness, no," pleaded Mom. Her words shook softly as she was no longer able to hide her fear.
"What is it, Mommy?" questioned my sister from the frontseat.
"Go back to sleep, Kaylee."
"But what is it? What's wrong?"
"We're pulling over for a rest, that's all. Now I want you to go back to sleep...can you do that for me?" begged Mother.
Awake now, I kept my consciousness to myself and gazed out the window, wondering what could have shaken the rock that was my mother. Slowly we pulled into a local twenty-four hour store in some undisclosed town in Western Oregon. With the stop my siblings and I were awakened and quickly informed of our troubles.
"There's a problem," Mom said, "The car, I don't know what it is..." her words trailed off as she clumsily fumbled through her wallet. As she peeled open the cash compartment her face dropped and one could almost hear her heart skip a beat.
Unbeknownst to my young mind, life for Mom had been quite a struggle for the past years. She had five children, raised exclusively by her. Dad was gone often, dismissing all parental duties without a second thought. This would have been manageable had he contributed in some way, but constant failures led to his demise. He was consumed by drinking and although he spent countless hours away at "work" he never seemed to bring home the dollars to get our family out of the rental home or to chase away creditors for extended periods of time. This was not the life my mother had imagined, but it was the only one she had.
"Is everything okay, Momma?" inquired Kaylee, "Why are you crying?"
"Mommy's just nervous that's all. We're having car troubles, sweety, and I don't have any more money. I'm going inside to get some water to cool down the engine. Oh, if only I had twenty dollars more, then maybe things would be different." I watched painstakingly as she trudged, defeated, to the market.
There was a low buzz in the van as five children attempted to dissect the complexity of a situation with such limited information. Being children, Mom was always able to keep problems hidden, so my siblings and I never had anything to worry about. Now there was this. No one was quite sure of what to do, no one but me. "If only I had twenty dollars more," the words rang in my ear and sent waves through my body. I knew what had to be done; I just didn't know how to do it. I wanted to help Mom, but I also wanted to avoid having to explain where on earth I came up with two beautiful twenty dollar bills. After a few minutes of contemplation I patiently awaited for my time to strike. Bills poised, I waited for Kaylee's attention to be diverted. She was occupying the front seat and I couldn't have her spot me.
"I think Mom's sad because you always sit in the front, Kaylee," accused Kevin from the backseat.
"Shut up, Kevin. You're not old enough to sit in the front."
"You said, 'Shut up'. I'm tellin!"
"You better not you little worm! Mom has enough to deal with right now," Kaylee was growing irritated and her attention was fully focused on the argument. Casually, I eased forward and picked up a notepad from the center consol while at the same time dropping the two folded bills into open view for discovery. With the surprise set, I eased back into the dilapidated bench seat and waited, arms crossed, portraying as much nonchalance as possible.
After some time, Mom exited the store. This time she was flanked on either side by two gruff looking men in tattered flannel shirts and metal toed, mountain shoes. They all three eased their heads under the hood and the men tampered with the engine. They added water, checked gauges, performed séances...I'm not really sure. My breaths were short as the fear of being caught still lingered deep in my bones. Finally, they managed to get the van started. After thanking the helpful men, Mom was back in the car, empty pocketed, hoping we could make it the rest of the way.
"What on earth?" Mom exclaimed.
"What?"
"Whose is this? Where did this come from?" Mom held up the bills in complete astonishment. The car was silent and I was thankful for the darkness as blood rushed to my cheeks and I could feel my face redden. "No one knows how this money got here?"
"I was sitting here the whole time," answered Kaylee, "I dunno how it got there."
Mom made her rounds through the vehicle, but every answer was the same until Kevin added his ideas.
"Maybe God put it there," Kevin suggested.
I saw an ease in Mother's face as she leaned back in her chair, eyes transfixed on the road ahead.
"Ok, go to sleep, everyone," she said. There was a calmness in her voice like none I had ever heard. A calmness only attainable by one who understands the most beneficial truth of all. A truth so heart warming it is all one needs to stay living in the most dire of times; the knowledge that no matter what has happened, or what will happen, everything is going to be all right.
I got the journal again, picked it up, and continued reading.
When I first saw the money I was in disbelief. I questioned the kids, but they had no idea where it came from and neither did I. The only logical explanation would be to think the two men who helped me with the car had compassion enough to leave it for me, but even that is far fetched. Either way, I now know it was something beyond the realm of human action.
Times have been hard, but with that miracle I believe someone or something was speaking to me. At times we can feel lost, abandoned, and alone, but there is a plan. Someone is watching and helping along the way. I now have nothing to fear, and will no longer live my life questioning whether I will be able to exist next month or next year how I have existed thus far. The peace I feel is unexplainable and I know there is a goodness in this universe beyond myself. I had questioned life and questioned the existence of something more than the thoughts in my mind, but after these experiences I will no longer be able to view things how I did before...scared, frightened and hopeless. My life is forever changed for the better!
I closed the book and gazed out the dew covered window with a tight feeling stemming in the base of my stomach. The memory I have of that day is something I hadn't thought of in nearly twenty years, but I now realize how important the memory was for my mother. It was a defining moment in her life. A time when she realized there existed something beyond her own mind, something which could keep her safe for eternity.
I left the house and walked down the street just as clouds loomed overhead. In a flash, drops the size of acorns plummeted from the heavens and splashed everywhere the eye could see. I wasn't sure what to feel. I felt like a fraud, a fake, someone who didn't deserve to be in this tawdry universe. I had duped one I cared so much for; I had hand molded my mother's beliefs system by the way of thievery and dishonesty without even knowing it. The rain consumed me, but I continued walking as the water soaked through my pullover and iced my nerves.
After hours of dampness, a cool breeze commenced. First slowly, then picking up in ferocity. The trees shook violently and leaves were shaken from their stems, cast away forever to dance freely in wide open spaces. The clouds parted majestically and light burst through the openings sending rays of hope and truth surging across the land like bolts from the hands of Zeus. Fire from the sky warmed the earth and dried it to its core. With the weight of the water lifted from my brain, I was finally, for the first time in the past three days, able to think with an ounce of clarity.
We wandered through life like lost puppets, searching for something beyond ourselves. Many never find this hope; they think it is for others, they think it is for the "happy" people. What is this thought? It's the freedom to know you're all right. It's the knowledge that there is a plan, a method to the madness. Before her death, my mother was lucky enough to find this serenity of mind.
I walked to my car and slipped inside. The wonderful smell of a fresh rain consumed me and I was finally ready to go home. On the drive I noticed again how beautiful the world appeared to be. Majestic mountains protrude from a green base, reaching towards the angelic skies. I'm happy for my mother. Happy she found what she needed in life, regardless of its validity. I gripped the tackiness of the leather steering wheel, eased my foot on the gas pedal, and headed in the direction of home, anxious to gain my moment of truth, longing for my moment of undeniable divine intervention.
I would really appreciate any critique you guys have on the plot as a whole. I plan on entering this into a writing competition at my school and it definitely needs some tweaking. I wrote this in 7th grade, so feedback would be great on what needs touching up. thank you!
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