"Thanks God" - Submission #42

The day of my departure finally arrived. I was moving to California. I was leaving a family, a town and a period of my life that had pushed me to the brink.

Would this move facilitate the remedy that I had so desperately sought, or would it just transfer my struggles to another geographic location?

I slept very little the night before I left. Despite the fact of a late afternoon flight, I was up early the next morning with my suitcases packed and sitting at the front door. I sat in the living room and watched the clock. Time slowed to a crawl.

Eventually, I heard some stirring in mom and Jack’s bedroom. Muffled voices, some crying and the sniffling from a runny nose. Their bedroom door opened, Jack, my step-dad, walked out and shut the door behind him.

He stood there for a moment, looking at me with a half-smile on his face.

“Let’s take a ride.” He said.

Odd. Very odd. In the four years he’d been married to my mom, he’d paid very little attention to me. I don’t recall too many conversations with him at all. But apparently now... he wanted to talk.

We got into his Buick Electra and headed west on 2^nd Street… toward downtown.

Occasionally, he’d look over at me, as though he were about to say something. I’d look back at him in anticipation, only to have him smile and turn his eyes back toward the road in front of him. He seemed to be searching for the right time and the right words. I think we both felt awkward. We had never forged the type of relationship that would make this type of conversation, comfortable.

He turned south on Main Street. We passed the post office and drove over the bridge above the railroad tracks. I looked out my window as we passed the houses of several of my friends. We turned into the entrance of Edgewood Park. I couldn’t help but think of all the memories I made at that park. So many football and baseball games played there. The dances at the log cabin where I awkwardly tried to show my moves… but only after consuming alcohol or smoking weed.

Jack pulled into a parking space by the tennis court and turned off the engine.

He looked at me with serious and sober eyes. “You know you’re breaking your mother’s heart, don’t you?”

“Yes.” My eyes looking downward.

“She cried all night.” He continued, “She’s still crying.”

I nodded my head as I bit my lower lip. I was uncomfortable and struggled for an acceptable response. I avoided eye contact.

I’m sure that a portion of my mom’s sorrow had to do with the fact that I was leaving home at the age of 16 and moving across the country. She was also fighting the guilt she felt for being so disconnected during the years that lead up to this point.

She had, for all intents and purposes, abandoned me shortly after my dad’s death. She traded her role as my nurturer, my comforter, my protector… in favor of a selfish pursuit of a companion… a fact that, years later, she would readily admit to and desperately seek forgiveness for.

Jack seemed to run out of words. He turned the key and the Buick roared to life.

That brief conversation was a mere formality. Jack knew it wasn’t going to change anything, but he needed to check that box and tell mom that he tried.

As for me… I just wanted to get to the airport.

 

I will never forget the feeling of elation that started in my head and rapidly moved all the way to my toes as the aircraft cleared the mountains and began to descend into the hazy LA basin. Through the ever-present smog, I could see the maze of housing tracts and the grid patterns of streets and freeways. Eventually, the Pacific Ocean appeared in view and we flew low enough to see the palm trees.

Oh… the palm trees. Why did seeing those palm trees trigger such joy in me? Maybe they became the symbol of my escape and my new-found freedom. Whatever the reason… palm trees, to this day, make me happy.

This was back in the days before TSA and security checks in airports. Back when you could walk into the terminals where passengers were exiting the airplanes.

I walked off the plane and Bill was there to meet me. Big grin on his face. He was just as excited as I was.

We made our way to the baggage claim, talking a mile a minute. We grabbed my bags and headed to his car.

We worked the LA freeway system from the airport to Norwalk. The 110 to the 405 to the 605. Did we run into any traffic? Of course, we ran into traffic. We were in Southern California! But I didn’t mind in the slightest because my brother and I were engaged in nonstop conversation. We were talking about all of the things we were going to do… baseball games, the beach, Disneyland. And those were just for starters.

Just days before I arrived, Bill and Janet had moved from a one-bedroom apartment to a two-bedroom apartment in the same complex. It was directly across the street from Baptist Community Bible Church, where Bill was the Assistant Pastor and his father-in-law was the Pastor.

That church would become the hub of my activity. More on that later.

I will never forget walking in that apartment door for the first time. The first thing that caught my eye was a stool, sitting in the middle of the living room. On that stool was a towel and a pair of scissors. I knew immediately what that meant… Bill was dead serious about reducing the length of my hair and apparently it was the number one item on the agenda.

But you know what? I didn’t care! I was still riding high on elation and there wasn’t a thing that was going to knock me off course. Cut it off! Cut it all off!

Janet came bounding out of the bedroom with a squeal and gave me a big hug. She was such a sweetheart!

Within minutes, I was sitting on the stool, watching my golden locks tumble to the carpet below. Janet snipped away as she chatted.

She held up a mirror and said, “All done! You look so handsome!”

For the first time in a long time, my hair was off my
ears and above my collar. I guess this was the prescribed look for my new life. “A small price to pay,” I thought.

Janet went to bed. Bill and I stayed up and talked until the wee early morning hours.

I took a shower and then went to bed… in my new room.

I remember lying there in the quiet of the night and in the solitude of darkness… with a feeling of contentment and peace that I hadn’t experienced in quite some time.

I opened my eyes and looked toward the ceiling with a heart filled with gratitude, I said two simple words. “Thanks God.”