when tomorrow never comes - scribd submission chap4_our time in the gardens

7/31/2019 WHEN TOMORROW NEVER COMES - Scribd Submission Chap4_Our Time in the Gardens

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When Tomorrow Never Comes

Chapter 3

A Family is Born.

My parents met in Georgia. Mother was in her last year ofstudying to be a teacher; father had traveled to Georgia for training asa fireman. A friend offered my father a ride to Jimmys Soda Shopwhere my mother was sitting in a booth with three of her friends. Theattraction was instant; the engagement was brief. Very soon theyfound themselves snuggled down in a small but adequate apartmentoff of Sycamore Street near the waterfront; third floor in B section,closest to the sounds of the ships coming in and out of harbor. Thewaves would gently push at the docks, and the long shore men who

quite often found a ruckus in song and merriment while they worked.They were married in 61 and I came along four years later in 65.

And so the family began. In quick succession our family grew until allwere settled within the home they purchased in Charlestown around71. A perfect life; a good life; built and harnessed by the Americandream.

We were brought up in a religious setting; protestant no less,within the boundaries of a very large Catholic population. Both of myparents taught Sunday school on a regular basis. Mother was one tocoach and teach the youngest class just outside of the pre-school age.

Father, on the other hand, preferred more the high school groupings. Itwas not too far along in time that he would be recognized as a gifted,vibrant speaker. One who held peoples attention like a kite to a string;so much so that my father was often asked to give sermons wheneverthe minister was away from the pulpit.

I could remember how packed the church became on thoseSundays. The sanctuary would fill to the rafters; the air stifling withthe hand fans waving about frantically to keep everyone there cool;the choir so tugging on the necks of their robes to keep from overheating; the bad-tuned organ and off-key piano trying to play in

unison, but rather sounding like two dying quails after they had beenshot.

I would say over four hundred climbed into those pews when itwas established my father was to be speaking on a particular Sunday. Imarveled at their dedication, and how people felt my father was asgifted as a true witness for God. Mother had the measure to shy away

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from attention and would always have us ready early so we could besettled in the back of the sanctuary on the Sundays he would bepreaching.

After a few hymnal songs and a scripture reading my fatherwould gather himself up into the pulpit, pause majestically, hold both

hands straight out on the podium, send out a stern but yieldingexpression, clear his throat to gather everyones attention, and thenbegin about his saving of souls. The minister constantly remarked thatmy father had a second calling to speak for the Lord. My father alwaysconsidered it just a matter of saving the other half of the person, sincehe was in charge of saving those whenever their lives were at stake.

This just seemed the more natural to him.There was one Sunday which always stuck out in my memory

more than any other. It was a hot July, just after the Fourth of Julycelebration. Some were in travel but most stayed close enough to hear

my father preach that following Sunday. All were dressed in garb; tiesand suits, flower dresses and bright apparel that had been sitting intheir closet since Easter. I could see the church fill-in quickly whichbrought my mother to some worry.

Lorie had been dragging the whole morning and nearly keepingus from getting to the church on time. But there we were; in our politedress attire, hovering about the back of the church. Mother held myhand to her right side; the fussy Lorie to her left, with Amanda stillwrapped in her arms. Adam was still so young. We had a babysitterwatching over him.

I looked about and saw all the tallness of the people standing by,so smiling in the usual affectionate way. Some were giving out nickeland dime hugs on me which I detested then. But I did concede to giveout a return squeeze to keep my mother happy and not embarrass her.

The heat nearly made me sweat my hair into a drench; my greasycollar felt much more tight than normal by the thickness of the tie thathung around it. I fidgeted most of the time till we took to a pew threerows back from the rear.

Lorie made a jab on me while I sat all huddling next to mother;staring about the ceiling, eyeballing the bright images shining through

the stain-glass windows all along each wall. I turned and gave her backthe offense. My mother was not amused and so grabbed my hand andLories in a stern grip.

Children, she whispered strong and flipped her head back andforth, Ill not have this! Remember your manners!

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I could see Lorie bend past mothers waist, make sure I saw her,and jerk out her tongue on me and go, Naaaaahhh!

Naaaaahhh! I copied her tongue-for-tongue. My mother lookedstraight up and almost seemed to converse with God there. I shrunkback as far as I could in the pew.

God forbid, she growled, Conner; youre the oldest and hereyour sister is showing you the manners of a chimp! Look at you Loriebe a lady for a change. If you two cant behave? Ill have you afterchurch, standing in the middle of the kitchen, tongues out, with an icecube stuck between you!

I shivered at the thought, though I thought an ice cube aroundmy collar, at that moment, would be good.

Oh mother, I weakly objected.Dont Conner, she put her finger to me, Dont! I have already

had it out with your sister this morningone more word in either

direction? The ice cube is coming!We all drew somber and quiet on this last command. My mother,

through her love, discipline, and beauty, was always good on her word.I clapped my hands between my legs, being they were too short

to set back on the carpet floor; there, they just dangled about as if Iwere on a dock somewhere fishing (not for souls of course), whistling atune, and passing the earliest part of the morning away. My eyeswandered about. I caught the accidental glimpses of all the people Ihad seen from Sunday to Sunday. They were still very much strangersto me. Many would smile and tilt their heads to acknowledge me as a

polite gesture. I, in turn, would halfway grin and roll my look away.It was here that I felt such a strange occurrence; the need for

food. I had just eaten no more than an hour before. But still I had thosehunger pangs people always talk about; so much of an urge that Itugged on my mothers yellow-flooded dress to get her attention. Shebent her ear back behind my hand as I whispered so no one else couldhear.

Can we go to McDonalds after church? I asked.You just ate son.. she advised.I know, I kept to my whisper in my pause, But, but, I am really

hungry, my plea was so taken note of.We will see... she patted me on my leg as the service settled

into an introduction. Now my mother knew this was my most favoriteplace to eat. Even though to save money they would get one order;half the hamburger and fries for my sister and me. Still half ahamburger was better than none in my eyes. I made the valiant

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attempt to take my mind off the hunger urge that was surging in me.There, it happened.

As the silence went into a pause, a solemn prayer arose.Growl! my stomach went off like an alarm clock in the middle of

a library crammed full of studying students.

Growl! It went off again.This time as if I were a rooster in the middle of a sleeping hen

house.Some looked around with an expression saying, What was that?

My sister just giggled aloud until my mother brought her back in bay.We stood on the next hymnal. My head was mostly covered by

the back of the pew in front of us, yet I held to my song book and triedto mask the words on page 67 like everyone else did there.

Growl!I looked up to my mother, though she kept to her reciting on that

hymn and she sang while not stirred to look down on me.My father soon entered the pulpit, dressed in a purple robe that

shinned and nearly clipped the sun with its brightness. He had an openbible in hand and a forceful look in his eye. Then, without credence,the fire and brimstone sermon began. I tugged on my mothers yellowdress during an undetermined time in the sermon.

Mother, I whispered, Can we go to McDonalds after church?My plea was more to begging than anything there.Son, she appeared more pestered than ever, well have to wait

and just see...

I sitting, wandering about with my mind; hoping, even praying mystomach would keep quiet. As my father took a sip of water, and aftera long dialect of turning everyone elses stomach, there was a spot ofsilence that came over the sanctuary once more.

Growl! my stomach echoed throughout.This caused my father to stop drinking his water.Growl!Snickers rumbled in and out of the pews while the entire

congregation looked seemingly at each other.Somebody is hungry for the Gospel!

I just thought a McDonalds hamburger would do me some goodright about then. My father went to roaring through his sermon like alion casting eyeshots over his domain. At times he held that Bible onhigh and flipped it to and fro to get everyones attention on his word.

When my father expended all his energy he at last asked forconversion; those to step forward during the final hymn; to accept

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Christ as Lord and Saviour; to enter the bounty of Heaven that veryday and have your name written on the book of Life. The invitation wasopened and he instructed the entire congregation to rise. That oldwheeze of a piano started to play the hymn, and for all to sing aloudand rejoice.

We all rose in unison as my stomach rang out one final time, andso perturbed my mother that she tugged on me lightly to standstraight. I felt the push of that hymnal in my hands as I came to apause, sung a verse, and then pull on mothers dress with one, finalattempt.

Mother, I said as she bent to me, Please, can we go toMcDonalds?

It was urgent this time.Just wait, Conner, she urged, We will see.Can we go to McDonalds after church...Please?

I could see by her look on me with those gray stone eyes, she atlast thought and persuaded herself perhaps she should give it a secondthought after all.

Youll just have to ask your dadThe second verse began to play as I settled back into my hymnal.

I was not singing, but pondering the meaning of what she had just said.So far no one had come forward; the isles empty; my father standingalone at the front while I was peering around the mound of people infront of me. He had his head down as though he were trapped in histhoughts; standing there, and resting his chin onto the back of his right

hand.I wonder; hmmm, ask dad.I flipped the hymnal closed without another thought. I placed it

on the pew rack in front of me, stood out into the isle before mymother could even detect what I was doing, and so I marched forward.I would settle this final; once and for all.

I could see the sun glaring at its highest pinnacle point there. Thestrong cache colors were flowing through those windows like a dryrainbow without any water in them. I came from the outward seat ofthat pew.

I was amazed by those nearby who turned in curiosity andpaused from their singing, nudged one another, and whispered aboutas I ascended forward.

Look, the Fireman Pastors son, Look!Hes accepting Jesus, another woman gasped.

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Ministers son, I heard others say as I looked left and right at allthe heads that turned in my direction.

My father was the last to notice. I took a quick glimpse back as Idid and I saw my mother squarely with her stare cutting back at mewith a, When I get you home son?? Youll need Jesus to save you! look

on her face. She thrust such a heavy expression my way.I turned back and I saw my father taking full notice of me now.

His arms were spread as wide as the smile he held on his face. I wentto his waiting embrace; he leaning down and turning a receptive ear tomy lips.

Father? I whispered right next to his ear, Can we go toMcDonalds after church? I really am very hungry!

My father turned his face to meet mine, with so the strangest andoddest look, What?

Mother told me to go and ask you...

It wasnt bad enough that I had done the unthinkable there. Butto throw my mother into such a bad light and so suggest it was heridea would have only doubled my trouble.

Son! my father grizzled, Go sit in the front pew.I nearly froze at the thought of what would come next, stiff-

legged as I was on that pew. My father closed with a prayer and abenediction, and there seemed a sense of urgency in his words. Ihoped as I did he would perhaps say a prayer of grace for me in theprocess. None came.

The crowd mulled about as my mother came forward. My father

had already descended to the rear to greet those as they left. I lookedfor an alternate way out and I so found a side door when I felt the pullof my mothers hand grab onto mine.

Not so quickly young man, I knew her voice so well, That wasa mighty embarrassing stunt you just pulled.

I didnt mean anything by it, I cowered. I turned around to facemy sheepish look onto her gritty stare.

I think a nice hot bowl of cooked broccoli would suit you whenwe get home.

She knew broccoli was the food I detested more than any other.

Castor oil to me had more of a taste than broccoli ever could.Oh, I tried, but I dont like eating little bushes.It will suit you just fine, she pulled me closer, Its good for

you...But what about McDonalds?

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It was my one last gasp to speak on before I was required to saynothing more.

You should bring that up now.But she quickly halted my sentence with her eyes.One more word, she remarked, and it will be two bowls of

broccoli. Now get to the car and smile all the way out. Dont want todisappoint the Sunday folk.

I felt her hand leading me through the masses, smiling andconversing with those who were wishing her husband, my father, to bea permanent resident minister at the church; his gift for the oratory;his calling most profound; etc, etc. And at each stall step, my motherwas still continuing to hold my hand high by her firm grip; with mestanding in front, waiting patiently (or impatiently) for her nextmovement forward. I felt like a cattle head with a noose around myneck. And so all could see the grand embarrassment I was encased

with.Those before who thought I was accepting Jesus just then. And

how so I was the sparkle darling in their eyes; how so things do changequickly. I could sense the eyes of a thousand looks pressing on me;with all thinking I was the evil soul and miniature demon which hadbeen so irreverent by making my march forward during the invitation.

Spare the rod, spoil the child, I overheard one elderly ladywhisper out to my mother as we passed by.

To my most grief-stricken self, I soon found my father standingtall before me; right near the vestibule. His robe made him even more

of an authority in my eyes and I nearly crumbled under the weight ofhis downward gaze.

Youve got a spirited one there, an old man poked his arthriticfinger over my shoulder, laughed a chuckle or two, and went out thefront door.

I looked about right on the outskirts of the tall wooden heavydoors. There to my amazement was Lorie cackling and carrying on likea liquored-up child; waltzing and prancing about in a stupor; pulling upher dress in the front while she was marching with the other girls, andseeming as if she were a go-go girl dancer on stage. All the while some

of the most elderly ladies stood close by with such a shocked andincredulous stare that they were nearly fainting and huffing off in afermenting stew. Their eyes nearly bulged out and fell onto thesidewalk at such a sight; my sister had been the sure leader of thatparade pack.

Oh My! mother hurried out to Lorie, Lorie James!

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I made a try to follow mother.Not so quickly Conner, father grabbed me by the shoulder and

pulled me to his side, your mother can handle the situation rightlyenough. You can stay here.

I did as he imposed while I watched the array of stares plopped

down on me during the congregations filing out one by one. Theymade consistent comments on how wonderful his sermon was and howthey could not wait for him to get back into the pulpit soon.

Needless to say I did not have my trip to McDonalds on thatbright Sunday day. Yet I spent two hours at the kitchen table tryingwith all my powers to devour a FULL bowl of heated Broccoli. As so itgoes on the appropriate punishment with the crime I had committedduring that particular Sunday day.

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Early in my youth, father would often take elongated trips outwest. Especially during the late summer heat months when there wassuch a lack of rain and the risk of uncontrollable forest fires was greatin the nations western parks; most notably in Yosemite and

Yellowstone. He would often seem to wrestle with himself in his sleepwhenever he heard of the national parks being endangered by forestfire.

I believe the forest fire was his haunting ghost at night. He would

toss and turn for hours before falling asleep, grunting and swayingthrough the long hours. Sometimes the sleep would never come and Iwould find him awake; watching the late hour news on our oldnineteen-inch black and white television. It sat propped on a cart in theden. The shallow reflections mirrored back on his blank stare from theset itself. He was like a man who had been pulled into another land;wherever the news cameras would take him.

It wasnt long after this that he was off to the western states toassist in fighting the fires. He felt so compelled to do his share as heput it, leaving us for weeks on end, perhaps even months at a time. No

sight of him; little word, if any. Our family was fractured during theseendless days and listless nights. Part of ourselves gone with him; ourhistory stalled, the family broken from itself with everything on hold tillhis eventual return.

My mother felt the most anxiety from it all, though she neverappeared to falter from it. She took it upon herself to play the dubious

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role of both mother and father. And so she might put on one hat thenthe other when it was necessary.

Through the birthdays, the holidays, the bumps and bruises fromschool, the temper tantrums, and the major tests we all feared at thistime in our lives- to this, she seemed to correct everything and place it

all in the appropriate order.But there seemed a longing which was lost there; like a bird that

had just awakened from a bad dream, only to discover it had only onewing to fly with and could not remember how the earth looked fromthe skys point of view. And I to see how helpless this tiny bird was inits struggle to fly out into the skies once more; crying, silently for somemeasure of hope or goodwill to intercede. Where the laws of naturewould somehow have grace on its shoulder and alter the seemingcourse of things; while at last giving this bird a new wing to fly with.

Each summer felt longer than the last. It seemed to be as some

right of passage for him. My father would head west in his dire need toassist the lands we had never seen, or only knew of from pictures orlectures in school. Our normal ritual for bed felt all the more hastened,as if mother had a need to have time for herself; to escape even for atime when we would settle into bed, and until she found resolve todrop off to sleep. I somehow knew mother was trying to drown herthoughts in the four corners of her bedroom.

One middle summer eve, after being tucked into bed nicely forour evening sleeps, my sister Lorie was in her own room. The lightdarkened and the door went ever so slightly ajar. She had fears of

being totally isolated at any one time and she always insisted the doorto her room be lightly cracked during all segments of the night.Amanda and Adam were still quite small, and so in the room nearestthe master bedroom.

I, watching the breeze drift through my curtains, and having noconscious reason to sleep, could in fact not sleep at all. I was tossingonto my back and gazing up at a dark and empty ceiling.

A dim light crept through underneath my door and it kept myroom from what would otherwise be in complete darkness. It remainedin a flicker deep within that night. I spotted my watch every twenty

minutes or so, read the lit-up dial through these intervals. Midnightcame and went; then a quarter till one. I heard the grandfather clockchime on through into one, then ring out a quarter after when I couldno further lay in my bed than sit up and read, or do something moreuseful with myself.

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I crawled from my bed and I sounded off the creaky woodenfloors below as I stepped on them. The gentle hush of a whisper windtossed in from the outside like a tiny rock that hit the floor about me. Ifelt a slight chill even in that heat as the damp air forced its way intomy room. I huddled to myself, scooted quietly through the door leading

into the long and narrow hallway. I looked for the origin of this weaklight which kept homage with some fading tint, yet somehow I knewinstinctively where it was coming from. There, simmering throughbetween the door and the floorboards just below, this single light wascoming from beside my mothers bed. I cautiously moved down thathallway.

I came within earshot of her room and I could hear the faintechoes of a sniffle, a ripple tear, a sweet but complacent cry, and thensilence before it began all over again.

Her door was cracked and this bedside light showed me her faint

silhouette as I approached; a kind and giving mother sitting up in bed.She appeared to be matching wits with her solitary despair andindividual dilemma. She was wilting beneath the struggle. Herexpression appeared locked into a face I had never seen before fromher; a face of some level of realized delusion; a thought whichextended a thousand yards long and so kept her mind in turmoil; astare so distant that even the horizon could never hold it. Heremotions were on a rampage, as though it were a curse with no reasonto exist, but was haunting her much the same. As I think on it now itseemed to me to be the shadow of some misguided truth that had

captured her thoughts within her eyes and her expression. One sopowerful it would not let go.

I stepped back for a moment and I watched this unseen beingwrestle her. It was like some lost and forbidden spectre that had justhit her hard, and so settled in for that battle during the long night.

I knew she had been up the entire time; the wrinkled eyes; theheavy gaze that wished and desired to fall into a peaceful sleep. Icould see she felt no recourse; trapped in a world which frightened herso. She shivered. I paused but yearned to comfort her. Still, I remainedlike a hush with no breath in it. The silence numbed me as I watched

her further.She buried her face in a tissue already drenched by her former

tears; but so worn and tattered from its constant use, it had now fallenapart all over her nightclothes. These sorrows were for father. Hisabsence was as if it were an unexpected push in her back while shestood looking out from the highest point of a cliff; overlooking some

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boundless, emptied-out, roaring sea. Now she felt the falling of herself,and then drowning into the ocean of her own tears. This convergence;this manner of her trauma exposed to me a mother I had never knownor seen till that time. I so made war with myself as I watched her; fearbattled my desire to give her what she needed most- comforting.

I stalled for just a moment when I pushed the door free. Shewatched me enter without a second to re-collect herself.

Mother? I wondered aloud as I stood silent in her doorway. Iheld an obvious, dumbfounded expression on my face.

No, no, she rushed about as though the light exposed her for allthe world to see, You cant songive me a moment.

Mother? I softly pressed forward; my eyes sat affixed on her.She shivered more so now.

Mother...I hate sad endings... I could see the television was on but mute

beside me, they can be tiresome, but also have a poignant meaningto them.

Are you alright?There was concern in my voice.Theres nothing wrong.She collected another tissue.Whats wrong? I took another step to the foot of the bed,

Theres no sound to the T.V.I didnt want to disturb your sisters and brother, she tried, but

failed to hold onto her tears. They were all but dripping down each

cheek like a constant stream of water running down a window, theyrehard to get back to sleep if they should wake up.

I saw her pat the foot of the bed. This was an offering to me toclimb aboard. It was not often that she would do this. I moved to herside, felt her arm kindly reach over me when I bent lower to meet withher embrace. I placed my hands just underneath her chin and I felt herhug grow tighter still. I could sense the side of her cheek bending downon the top of my head.

You will be very good about this Conner, she proposed, andnever tell your father.

Why are you crying? I knew the answer already.Because, she responded, we cant go through our entire life

without crying some. Its been awhile for me. Without the tears, thejoys will never follow.

Its about father... I said.She pulled me tight.

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Some days will go quickly; some days will grow longerthis dayhas just been one of those long ones, I could feel her cheek turn upinto a tiny smile, Like when you have to go to school, knowing youhave a hard test ahead of you.

I dont know about that...

I had never been to school and had a test. I was still too young forit.

Oh, she grinned more widely there. She cleared her throat asshe went, well, imagine having to sit through a very long sermon inchurch. Not one of the times your father went into the pulpit. But justimagine, going into church on a hard pew without any cushions. Andthe minister preaches what seems like a Bible full of lessons.

Yeah, I giggled, I know about that one.Well then, she said, You know what it is like.When will father be home? I asked.

I dont know son, she answered honestly, When all the firesare put out, then I guess he will come home.

He sure has been gone for a long time.Long enough, I know, mother said. I looked up to her gray-

stroked eyes, but no longer than it has been before.I pulled up the McNally map my mother had sitting on the bed

with her; the leaf bent over was on the state of California.Is this where father is? I questioned.California? she inquired, watching me point to that map.Yes Conner, hes there.

How far away is it?Very far, she replied, a long ways away.Can we go see him? I seemed to have a continual question on

my mind, Maybe tomorrow?No son, her chin wrinkled a bit on that thought and I felt the

tears would begin again.Not tomorrow. We will have to wait for him to come home.I miss dad, I wondered, which nearly crushed her.I know Conner, she wept a tear on the top of my head as I

played with her map book, So do I.

I could feel her kiss the top of my bushy head.Suddenly, little Lorie appeared in front of us. Her tiny gown was

pulled up as she wiped the sleep from her eyes.What are you doing up? mother asked.Couldnt sleep, she wined back, I had a bad dream.

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Then come to bed, she offered Lorie. With a pat from mothershand on the bed, she vaulted forward and landed on the same side Iwas on. Lorie gave me a slight push.

Move over, she demanded, I like being on this side of thebed. I decided to only do what she asked, considering I wanted to

cause no trouble for mother in her state. I climbed to mothers otherside; she being wedged between Lorie and I.

Do you suppose we can all sleep in this bed? mother asked onboth of us. She shifted her return gaze on one, then the other, Dontyou suppose?

I suppose, I said.I suppose, Lorie echoed.Then turn off the television; Ill get the light.And within an instant everything was off. We climbed beneath the

covers and we said our nights and sweet dreams. I found the

darkness to be so settled into a stillness that it allowed all of us to fallinto a deep sleep quickly.

I was the last to slide off into my own dreams, as my mother andLorie were nearly asleep within the first few minutes. I took a peek atmy watch. The hour read upside down on my wrist as I had hastily putthe watch on backwards. I thought it read something like a quarterafter seven, though it was actually a quarter till two in the morning.

My mother was always an ardent proponent of teaching. Thisbeing her trade, she preferred her children to learn as quickly aspossible. From early on she gave us all the loving care. She would

always read to us and allow us to participate with her reading. Ilearned rather soon; talking by one, reading sentences by two-and-a-half, telling time a year later. Lorie however was more resistant toteachings than I, and consequently was on a slower pace.

There, in the vast well of that dark night, I felt very close to mymother. Her raven hair flopped about the pillow when she softly turnedfrom one side to the other. Her motherly love always appeared tooverride all other concerns. The gentle sway of her manners andgenuine love to all her children carved out such a secure blanket for usthat nothing seemed to interfere with that increasing bond we held

together.It was in that moment I felt content enough to fall into my own

sleep. My mother now found more comfort in a cramped bed of threeinstead of a semi-empty bed of one.

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when tomorrow never comes - scribd submission chap4_our time in the gardens

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