Home Free
They were on the road at last. Amanda had endured her mother’s pre-trip jitters, but the worst was yet to come. Being with her mother for 12 straight hours meant she would need to watch every move, keep herself contained and avoid making any mistakes. Although living with her mother meant walking on eggshells and fearing death always, being trapped in a car with her left little room for error. But at the end of the journey, she would be rewarded with two weeks of sweet bliss in the safe company of her grandparents, her aunts and uncles, and her cousins.
Leaving Salt Lake City, they entered the mountains almost immediately. The mountains were large, cavernous and dark. Amanda was always afraid of what ugly horrors could be lurking there. The pine trees flashed by, rising out of the snow. The sun blinked on and off as it was alternately covered, and not covered, by the passing trees.
Amanda knew this was all probably very beautiful, but she was too busy concentrating on her behavior to notice. Emma had already started her monologue, which gave Amanda a chance to go over the rules in her head. The rules didn’t make much sense and tended to contradict each other, but still, they gave her something to go by.
Amanda loved to talk, but in Emma’s domain, this was a precarious pursuit. Talking about herself tended to bring pain in one way or another. Emma would either imply that Amanda had said or done something mortally shameful, or she would start attacking some facet of the subject being discussed. She would point out, indirectly, the inadequacies of Amanda’s friends, or of her teachers, or in what she was studying in school. Amanda had just lately been developing the art of slanting her subject matter to fit her mother’s needs, to say things directly or indirectly to aggrandize her. Her mother loved that, being the empty fool that she was.
The second worst part of this trip was Amanda’s brother, who was sitting next to her. Her contempt for Brian was bottomless. He was every bit as mean as her mother was, and her mother gave him free rein to torment her. Emma idolized Brian, partly because they were so much alike.
Brian despised Amanda, because he had never been able to entice her to be bad. This would not only give him a companion in his evil endeavors, but it would alleviate some of his guilt. With the madness that pervaded their lives, he never understood how she managed to control her behavior so well. In the midst of everyone else’s maniacal behavior, Amanda acted as an immutable force in their lives, the one solid element that could always be counted on.
On Amanda’s right was her three-year-old sister, Julia. Amanda adored Julia, and did everything in her power to protect her from the rages of her mother and the battering of her brother.
Amanda sighed. It was so much work, living in this family. She had wondered a million times what it would be like to live in a family where people did normal things; where the father was strong, the mother nurturing, the brother protective, the sister sweet and lovable. Some of her friends’ families seemed to be this way, and Amanda could have died of jealousy every time she visited them. These friends always seemed unburdened and carefree; their lives innocent of the heavy complexity of Amanda’s.
They began the long ascent up the first mountain pass of their journey. Emma was big on turning every possible event into an educational experience for her children.
“Kids, look over there,” she said, pointing to the steep canyon on their right. “That’s where they found the bodies of those two little kids who were murdered. They never did find the killers, either. Can you imagine anyone killing young children like that?”
Everyone knew that this was one of Emma’s loaded questions. Any answer to that question would elicit an attack from her. They all dutifully maintained their silence, giving Emma license to continue.
“If only people like that would go to church and live by the teachings of Christ, they probably wouldn’t have the urge to kill people any more.”
Amanda sucked in her breath and held it. Did this mean that the only thing that had kept her mother from killing them was that she attended church? Amanda knew, and thought the rest of them surely knew, that the reins that kept her mother’s behavior under control were very precarious; that Emma’s behavior was largely contingent upon that of the rest of the family; that all of them were under a suffocating duty to keep from inciting her.
Amanda wondered often how long her life would last; if there might come a time when she could no longer muster the effort she needed to survive this existence.
At age three, when she had come face to face with the reality of her life and realized that no one was going to come to her rescue; she had started waiting for the day she would turn eighteen and be able to leave home. But now, at age nine, she didn’t think about turning eighteen so much any more. She thought mostly about the present, about surviving each day. The future had little meaning for her.
Her Dad spoke for the first time since leaving. “Do you think we ought to stop and get something to eat? We’re getting close to Little America.”
“Are you hungry already? We just ate before we left.”
“I wouldn’t mind taking a break from driving, and the kids might want something to eat before they go to sleep. It’s getting close to 9:00.”
“Well, I guess you know best,” she replied. “I just hope we don’t go to that greasy dive we went to the last time we were in Little America.”
“Maybe we could try the Pancake House that’s just off the highway. It ought to be pretty good.”
“Whatever you think, dear.”
They stopped at the restaurant. Amanda was cautious, as always. She never knew how her mother was going to act in a public place, and she wanted to be sure not to set her off.
She knew what she would need to order. It was always safe to order pancakes, although what she really wanted was bacon and eggs. But if she ordered bacon and eggs, she wouldn’t be able to eat it all, and her mother might make a scene. Considering the level of Emma’s tension, it was clearly a night to play it safe.
The hostess seated them at a booth by a window, and the waitress brought their water in plastic fluted glasses. As she set the glasses down, the water sloshed over the chipped rims, leaving each glass to sit in its own little puddle. They opened their menus, each pretending there was a decision to be made. Emma said, “Wouldn’t you think they would bring us a booster chair for Julia; she can’t even see over the top of the table.”
Amanda stared at the picture of bacon and eggs on the inside of her menu, but her response to the waitress’ request for her order was, “Um, I want blueberry pancakes and milk, please.”
“Okay, sweetie,” the waitress replied. Amanda loved it when nice ladies called her sweetie. It always made her wish she could go home and live with them.
Brian and her Dad ordered bacon and eggs, and Amanda was careful not to look at their food as she was eating her pancakes. She was quiet, as she was concentrating on trying to eat as much of her meal as possible. Her pancakes tasted pretty good; she loved the flavor of the blueberries as the juice from them squirted into her mouth.
Emma’s scrambled eggs and hash browns seemed to calm her. After they began driving again, Amanda soon fell asleep. Her mother had let her get in the front seat so she could lie down. In the ’60 Chevy Impala, there was plenty of room for her to do that with her head in Emma’s lap, her legs curled up, her feet just touching her father’s thighs.
Amanda craved this kind of contact with her mother, and this was one of the few times when it was safe for that to happen. She dozed off to sleep, imagining, as always, that her mother loved her.
She would wake every so often to the steady movement of the car traveling on the pavement; the quiet, even hum; the comforting endlessness of it. Her parents would speak occasionally, wondering when they should stop next for gas or food, or calculating their arrival time in Denver.
Amanda loved these nighttime drives. Her father was there, and for this short time, she was safe from Emma’s secret visits to her room. For right now, there was nothing to fear. She loved the quiet darkness, the soothing motion of the car, the sense that they were going somewhere. And always, there was the possibility that someone might rescue her.
Amanda awoke at a point somewhere between daylight and dawn. It was beautiful; the clean, crisp mountain air, the sun rising over the mountains. They were an hour and a half from Denver, and they were stopping in Winter Park for breakfast.
They got out of the car to stretch and drew in the smell of mountain pines. The morning light filtered through the trees and bathed the early June grass in a soft glow. Birds darted in and out of the trees, chirping and joyful. Amanda felt this was going to be a good day.
She had cereal and toast for breakfast and a bite of her father’s waffle. The taste of the butter and maple syrup on the waffle felt almost as good as love itself, or the way Amanda imagined it might feel.
She got in the back seat, full and content. Her mother had been surprisingly calm this trip; it was a time to savor.
They began the descent into Denver. With half of her mind, Amanda watched the scenery; with the other half, she reviewed her situation. This place in her head, where she perpetually calculated the status of things, was where Amanda spent a great deal of her time.
She was home free, she felt; they were almost there. She imagined over and over the moment when she would feel her grandmother’s arms around her, when she knew that for the next two weeks she would be safe. In her grandmother’s house, there would be food to eat; the kind that warmed and nourished and loved her, like the maple syrup. In her grandmother’s house, her mother would be under control.
Amanda knew that in these two weeks, she would have to store up enough of her grandmother’s nurturing and sustenance to last her for an entire year. The memories of her grandmother were one of the things that kept her going during the lean times in Salt Lake City.
They were taking the exit off the highway now, sailing the short blocks to her grandmother’s street. They turned onto the street; only three houses to go.
Then they were there. They pulled into the fan-shaped driveway, past the immaculate, bubble-shaped shrubs. The front door of the blond brick ranch house opened. Her grandmother stepped out; her grandfather followed. Her grandmother was on the flagstone sidewalk; Amanda was still in the car, sandwiched between Brian and Julia. Only Julia and the grass between the sidewalk and the driveway separated Amanda from her grandmother.
Her grandmother looked the same as always. The big, lopsided smile on her face; the wavy gray hair, slightly askew. She was wearing her standard print dress, her apron, and her black tie platform shoes. Her body; five feet of welcoming comfort. Julia had gotten out of the car. Amanda gently set her aside and headed for her grandmother’s arms.
She had survived another year; and she was home.
