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Home for Christmas
A story in Six Installments
Based upon the real-life experiences of a Rhode Island Family
Interviews by Paula Andreason of The East Bay Coalition for the Homeless
Written by The Rev. Dr. Leslie S. Simonson
Interim Pastor - Hope Congregational Church,
United Church of Christ East Providence, Rhode Island
Chapter Three - The Unraveling
One whole week went by without much of anything happening. That was such a blessed relief, thought Mona. It was a very mild December; another blessing. Every penny saved on fuel and food was more to repay the hospital, to get her children perhaps one new piece of clothing for Christmas, or to put aside for the baby's arrival. Joel was on the road and away from the family more than anybody wanted him to be, especially himself. But the stores were adding stock daily to their holiday inventory and it was welcome work for truckers. Hauls more often. Overtime hours. Sometimes it felt like his arm and side would never stop aching and throbbing. But the doctor had given him pain medication that did not make Joel drowsy at the wheel. That counted up to be blessing number three.
"Only two more weeks of school until vacation!" Johnnie was crossing one more day off the kitchen calendar after he'd wiped the crumbs of toast into the sink.
"I can work on Christmas Eve, until the store closes" said David.
"Didn't you say you had the 8 to 2 shift?" Mona asked.
"Yes, but Pete wants the night off to be with his girlfriend's family. I can get a couple of hours break and work his shift, too, from 4 to 10 o'clock closing."
"Grandma was hoping we'd all go to church again, together, on Christmas Eve."
"Rhaenna, mind your own business" David retorted.
"Making Grandma happy is my business. She spends most of her life trying to make us happy, you know."
"And that's no easy trick" their mom replied. "I don't think your boss can allow you that many work hours at your age, David."
"Not on a school night, he can't. But it's not a school night, Mom. Besides that, he doesn't have to know until it's a done deal." David followed Rhaenna to the sink, scraping and stacking the breakfast plates.
"Mom, have you seen my Bruins sweatshirt?" Johnnie yelled from the other end of the apartment…which was not all that far away.
"It's in the dirty laundry, son. Get another one."
"I don't have another one that fits!"
"You can borrow mine, Johnnie" offered Rhaenna.
"I don't wear girls' clothes! What a dumb idea."
"It was just a friendly offer," said Rhaenna. "And anybody can wear Navy blue. Forget I even mentioned it."
"School bus down the block!" called Anna, from her lookout spot by the window. "Stop your noise and get moving out the door!"
"Bye, Gram."
"Bye, Gram."
"Bye, Gram."
A sudden peace descended upon the small kitchen as the two grown women poured another cup of boiling water into their respective tea bags. Mona went over her day's plans with Anna, noting them for her mother one by one. Laundromat had just moved itself to the top of the list. She gathered up the stack of quarters, loaded the wash into Anna's grocery basket on wheels, and then started off down the street. Getting there early made all the difference in how long the job actually took.
So Mona was already around the corner before the phone rang.
And that was a very good thing.
By the time Anna finished the 'conversation' with her landlord, she was in tears. And it wouldn't do for Mona to see her mother, the family's official coach-and-cheerleader-combined, in tears.
Anna poured herself another cup of tea. This time, with a fresh tea bag in it, and reached for a tissue. She forgot they didn't buy tissues any more. Too expensive.
She went back to her bedroom dresser for a handkerchief.
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At Brookhaven Elementary, Rhaenna's teacher was in conference with the principal. "That girl is sharp. No doubt about it. But her grades here are nothing like the ones on her record from her former school." Mrs. Dunn was worried. "Her homework comes in three-quarters done, some days. And she looks out the window an awful lot, just staring down the street. She's no trouble or anything like that. Almost the opposite. Increasingly withdrawn. But her former teacher describes her there as outgoing and friendly, a class leader. Something's not right. But when I try to talk with her about it, she just gets flushed in the face, and insists she'll try harder, but doesn't want to really talk. Any advice, Ms. Carlson?"
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At the Junior High, it was barely second period of the day. And David was falling asleep over his books. Mr. D'Angelo was also worried. He'd already heard every excuse there was going. The room was too hot. The air was too stuffy. "I already know these French verbs. It's boring." Simple truth was this teenager's not sleeping well enough or long enough at home. "He's hitting a growth spurt, probably, and is just plain tired all the time." But aloud, the teacher called out, "Mr. Carpenter, sir. Are you with us this morning? The verb, please, for 'wake up', if you will."
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Johnnie was in a bit of his own daze as well.. He missed his Dad so much. He was tired of being 'grateful.' He was tired of feeling guilty about faking grateful. He was angry; that's what he was. Yes, he was glad that Dad was still alive. Yes, he knew that it could be so much worse. Yes, yes, yes. He knew all the right things to think. But he was still angry. Because he was lonely. A new kid in a new school. With a dad who was always somewhere else, "on the road", "making a living", "trying to catch up." And because he had this big brother who was increasingly bossy at home, as if he had a right to that, as "the man of the house" when Dad was driving truck. And because they didn't have a home anymore to call their own. And because there would be a new baby soon, and he wouldn't even have that anymore either…the right to be the baby, and feel young, and frightened and lonely. Johnnie didn't have the words for all this slosh of emotion rolling around inside him. Besides, nobody was asking. "Nobody really cares" he thought to himself. "Nobody cares at all. It makes me really mad." He tapped his left foot against the chair in front of him, to make somebody else mad, too. It was better than being lonely. He chewed his pencil. And he scowled.
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At 10 a.m. Joel phoned "home", to check in after an overnight run to Albany, New York. "It's snowing up here, Anna" he said wearily to his mother-in-law. "The Interstate needs more plowing than it's getting, but we made it safe and sound. Tell Mona not to worry…. Anna, are you all right?
You sound a bit congested and this is no time to come down with a winter cold, so close to Christmas….
Who called? Well, what did he have to say for himself? I'm sure he got the rent check on time. I mailed it myself, like you asked. What do you mean, 'complained.' Who complained? Well what business is it of theirs if we're a little overcrowded? No, Anna, you surely can't mean it…… He wouldn't do that to you, after all these years….
I won't hear of it. Not a word. We'll be the ones moving out, if that's what it takes. Not you. No, Anna. Listen to me. You will not be evicted. It will not happen that way. We'll find someplace, I'm sure…..Tell him we'll be out right after Christmas, by the end of the month. Lots of places change hands in January. New year. People look for new places. So will we.
Anna, please don't cry. It's not your fault. It's not anybody's fault….
I'll be back in three days. We go from here to Rochester and then to Jersey City and then back to Rhode Island.
Give everybody a hug for me. I'll be home as soon as I can. We'll get this all straightened out, don't worry.
I love you, too. You've been our haven in a storm.
Okay now? Are you okay? No, don't tell Mona 'till I get home. Just assure the landlord we'll find another place. My shoulder's doing much better thanks."
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It was a lie. But it was what she needed to hear. That something was 'much better'. Anything. When really, it was much worse. The downward spiral was out of control. Spinning and twisting and pushing him past his limits. Just like the pain that still twisted down his neck and shoulder, where the stitches had been sewn in deep…down through his ribs to his cramped-up hip, to both knees which had borne the brunt of his fall to the ground. Joel felt the sequence all over again…that 50 lb. barrel making its descent from overhead. He could see it coming. But he couldn't stop it. And he couldn't turn aside from it in time.
He lived it all over again. The accident. They call them "accidents" because they're nobody's fault. But everybody still gets hurt in them. "This one," said Joel to no one in particular; no one was there to listen. "This one is taking my whole family with it, driving every last one of us right into the ground."
To Be Continued...
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