IBE The Days Of WanderingAddendum Houston
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I rode the train to Buffalo, and from there caught Amtrak’s Lake Shore Limited. I ticketed myself through to Fargo- I guess I wanted to see Kelly. She was really smart, logical, and lucid. She could help me here. Cheryl, too.
I had paid for coach. I didn’t have the money to pay for sleeper on me- perhaps I would upgrade to sleeper for the leg to Fargo. Maybe. I didn’t feel like luxury right now. It didn’t matter where I was. I just wanted to be left alone to think. To fucking think.
I couldn’t get myself to contemplate what had happened to Rachel. It was- it was the worst day of my life. I almost killed myself. I actually came close. I shouldn’t have returned to my father with that so close on my mind. I wasn’t healing; I was still broken from what happened that day.
But my mind was wandering around that area. I snapped to a happy memory from around then. It was my only happy memory from that particular period, really. The parallel between this moment and that moment were marked, another reason this story struck in my mind.
It also parallels the story of me meeting Rachel. I was inches from killing myself, from giving up on life. This time Kelly saved my life. She forced me to keep on going. It was scary, but ... I don’t think something else could have saved me. Not just the sex; she reminded me that I did good in this world. I need to keep being reminded of that with a trout across the face.
I was riding the Empire Builder. I felt absolutely miserable. Beside me in my seat was the only thing I had left from Rachel. The only reason I was still alive past Daphne waving good bye as I walked out to this train in Chicago. Thank god for Daphne. I don’t understand the loyalty I engender in people. I didn’t deserve her help in protecting me from the fallout of my killing someone- I get ahead of myself.
We pulled into Fargo, and I got off. I had called Cheryl to tell her we were coming, and to make the arrangements. It was quite a distance between Fargo and Cheryl’s house and it made sense to make advanced arrangements for pick up. Cheryl assured me we would be picked up in the Fargo train station, and we were.
When I walked out of the building, I was expecting to see Cheryl’s latest conveyance, a 1997 Volvo 850 Wagon, a stripper bought as a run-out when they replaced the 850 with the related S70/V70. I remembered that car- I had been picked up in it a few times. It had no options at all. No CD, no leather, steel wheels, crank windows. I can imagine why she got it at a low price. Stick shift. That was Cheryl all over. The comforts of life meant very little to her. She was a single mom raising a dozen kids. What money she spent, she spent on them.
But it wasn’t her car I saw that looked familiar- I saw a 1981 Mercedes-Benz 240D in that hideous mustard yellow half the old diesel Benzes seem to be painted. It was Kelly’s car. When she turned 16, she had taken some money she had saved up for many years, and bought herself a rusted out, worn out, beat up, clapped out Dodge Aries, also with a stick shift. I mean it was a clapped out example of the most basic version of one of the worst cars ever made.
And it’s not a safe automobile. When I saw it, I did some quick searching, and then drove with her in that heap of garbage into Fargo. I found that car for her. It had 180k miles on it, was a total stripper- not even air conditioning- and a stick shift. But it was also practically rust-free, and it was a Mercedes-Benz. Safe. I paid for it. And ordered her to get rid of that god-damned K-car. Preferably in a bonfire.
As much as her pride didn’t want to accept it from me, she took it. She realized that accepting it would make me feel better about her safety. I had my own ideas about certain things, and I’m very stubborn about them. Stubborn was a defining word about me, really. As Rachel would have said, “Who woulda thunk?”
As I walked towards the car, Kelly got out and, after I put down my package carefully in the back seat of the old sedan, she embraced me in a deep hug. It was a passionate hug, a warm hug, a lover’s hug.
“Johnny...” she purred at me, kissing me and squeezing me. I held her, although I felt some concern. For several years now, she had been acting more like she saw herself as my lover then my daughter. I don’t think she ever really absorbed that I saw her as family. I don’t know if I wish she had.
We put my- oh hell, we put my son in the back seat- she had a child seat back there, as she ran errands for Cheryl frequently, and I climbed into the passenger seat. She started the old diesel, and shifted into first and took off slowly. Not that the car could take off any other speed.
“What happened?” she asked me.
“Please, please, don’t ask,” I told her. I had told Cheryl that there was another child coming her way. I begged her not to ask the details. She had obliged. She knew better than to ask me. I told things in my own time; I always have. Kelly was more persistent but this time she was a bit more understanding.
I turned and looked at her. I thought back eight years, to when I met her. She had been a mess, then. Malnourished, skin and bones, dull hair, dull eyes, dull smile, and a Grunge band-fest worth of pent up anger. She was lost, completely lost. She had a hard childhood, her fucktard of a father killed himself drunk driving, and her mother had been brutally beaten to death on top of a heroin overdose. Undereducated, some people had taken her to be stupid.
She was not stupid. She was extremely bright. She was an intellectual. When she finally managed to put her pent up anger behind her, her strength and reserve served her well to put her life back on the right track.
I had spent many nights praying to whatever gods there were that she would turn out ok. And she had, but the only thing the gods did in the event was hook me up with Cheryl. Cheryl was a walking pool of warmth, love, and caring. When I took her to Cheryl, I had taken her to the only place that could have saved her.
Cheryl and her wonderful children had taken her in as their own. She had been about the same age as Kimmy, a little sister to Jason and Samantha, and so integrated with the others, it was as if she was Cheryl’s own child. As they had welcomed me into their crazy world, they welcomed her.
All of them immediately welcomed her as another sibling. Cheryl welcomed her as another daughter, no different than any other child living under her roof. They had nourished her and loved her. They had boosted her spirits, and given her a sense of self-worth. Kelly had almost forgotten her mother and father- she called Cheryl “mom.” Not in the affectionate way some step kids call a step parent, but with the same biological attachment known scientifically as net-natal bonding.
Anyway, under this love, warmth, and caring, she had flourished. She had really flourished. She was now just plain skinny. She wasn’t well formed in the feminine body department, and she wore glasses. Her blonde hair, always pulled back into a ponytail, was still a little dull. But that was who she was. A vivacious, hot blooded woman was just not who this girl was.
With her home schooling, she kept getting A’s on every state mandated exam. Her SAT score was a 1600. She had gotten accepted into North Dakota State at the age of 17, and was now a sophomore majoring in Math, about to start her winter break. She was content with her life, and proud of herself. She was almost arrogant, in that way of the academic.
Her IQ, according to the Mensa test, was in the top 1%. She had joined, and dropped it. She called it the International Society Of Intelligent Misanthropic Assholes. I have always found that assessment amusing. She wasn’t Mrs. Social Butterfly. Like a lot of Clan Mahoney, she preferred being isolated with her family to other people that managed to cross into her path.
She had overcome almost all of her demons. Completely. Cheryl had saved her life. Cheryl had engrained in her a certain attitude, a certain belief in the value of family. Coming from a family that was a picture postcard for dysfunctional, that was an incredible accomplishment. She had a work ethic, a feeling of self worth- as I said almost bordering on arrogance- a pride in herself, that she could never have found in the world she came from. I am so proud of her.
I’m proud of all my blood children, don’t get me wrong. But I was more proud of her. All of them were reasonably successful. But John and Susan have Jenny, a wonderful caring and loving mother. They had known warmth and love their entire lives. Cheryl’s and my children had Cheryl. Cheryl was the embodiment of warmth and love. My new son would also have Cheryl. They had nothing to overcome. They had the best mother in the world.
Kelly was different. She had led a terrible life, until we met. She hadn’t known love or caring. Kelly had put all of that behind her to accomplish, and accomplish, and accomplish. She came out of hate, and learned to love.
We got to Cheryl’s house. She must have had a dozen children living there at the time, and she warmly accepted my son into the family. All of the family gave me a warm welcome. I had made those kids so many toys over the years of Christmases spent in that house. All the birthdays I participated in. Cheryl kept telling me I was the closest thing to a father her kids had, even though I had barely ten years on her oldest.
Cheryl was willing to accept that my son, Joshua, was Jewish. It had been among his mother’s dying words that he be raised a Jew. She was willing to do her best to make that wish a reality. It was a hard task for her; she admitted that. She was essentially an atheist. But she was willing to do that for me- or really, for a woman she never met.
We sat down to dinner, a type of beer-and-venison stew. It was delicious. Cheryl was an able cook, and according to Kelly, Samantha was the capable huntress. She and her husband Jason went out on a hunting trip, and came back with several bucks. Kelly kept giving me looks. I had looked totally miserable. Truth be told, I was planning that when I left that house, sometime the next day, I would walk out into eternity. I couldn’t bring myself to live.
I was screwed up. I was surrounded by the people closest to me, the people who loved me without condition or reservation. The love was there, coming from all sides. This was my family. All the kids looked up to me as a father figure. Two of them were my blood children; one what I considered an adopted daughter, and the head of the household was carrying a third child. They all respected me for what I am, loved me for what I am.
I had been invited into this family; Cheryl had never invited another adult into her family besides me. I had my own room in this house, whenever I wanted it. I ate at their table more than any other. Worked on their farm. Helped teach the other kids. Helped raise them. Tucked them into bed. Lay with a few when they had nightmares. I had never contributed money; Cheryl always refused. But I loved them all very deeply.
If this place, the place where I was most wanted, most belonged, could not overcome my depression, my pain, my agony, I don’t know what could.
At that moment I felt like I had sated my obligations. I had fulfilled the promise. Joshua was in the hands of a loving family; a family that would raise him with all the love, caring, education- all of that. The best I could have ever hoped to be provided for him. I had no more reasons to live for. My children were all being cared for. The love of my life- my soul mate- was no longer there. Susan had fucked me over. What else?
Yes, of course this thinking was extremely selfish. But life had suddenly become more of a burden than I could carry.
As the meal ended, Cheryl’s children, as always, fell all over themselves to pay Cheryl back for the meal by washing dishes, clearing the table, and cleaning up. Cheryl took my hand before I could help them and led me into her study. She looked old, but happy. She was 43, now. She looked like a woman who spent her whole life raising a dozen children. Happily, but still. She outright glowed with the happiness that her current early stage pregnancy gave her. I loved her. Not like other women; it was different.
I’m not going to say her love for me wasn’t strong; I knew it was. But her love for me was different than that of others’ love for me. We didn’t want to marry each other. Our sexual attraction for each other was not magnetic. I wanted to make her happy, to make her feel good. She wanted to do the same for me. If she wasn’t Cheryl I wouldn’t feel it.
She was the adult in my life. My actual relationship with Jenny was infrequent. Rachel and I were mature in a certain way, but we were children. We couldn’t accept responsibility for ourselves, let alone for others. That was part of the problem with us. I don’t think we would have ever been able to raise Josh properly- I would have probably convinced her that we should move up here after we married.
My relationship with Cheryl never had an incestuous quality to it, but the English language makes it difficult to explain it any other way. If I there was such a thing as a mother in my life, she was it. I think she loved me both ways- as a lover and as a younger immature person she had responsibility for- a son. It had developed that way as time went on.
I knew as soon as she dragged me into her study, I was being called into mom’s office. I was going to the principals office for a talking to. I was going to be told that I was acting like a jackass. I was right. I didn’t realize how convincing she could be; I had underestimated her love for me, her need for me to be in her life.
“Johnny,” she started, “Oi nu waaat so’tiz yer are tinkin. Please don’t.”
“But...” I said, “I have nothing left to live for! And who would know?”
“Awl of us ya twit!” she replied fiercely, “Yer kids, moi kids, bleedin’ me, and speshullay Kelly!”
I looked at the floor. “Especially Kelly? I don’t understand.”
“She bleedin’ levs yer,” she replied. “Weh awl luv yer, me, moi kids, yer kids. Buh Oi cuh lev with yer bein’ gawn. Oi be bereft Oi woul be, but Oi would live. Da laddies, tuh. Buh Kelly cuh nawt make it pass tha’. She truly bleedin’ levs yer.”
“I know,” I replied, “But she has you-”
“She canny bleedin’ ride me, or ‘av bleedin’ laddies wi’ me, or bleedin’ marry me!”
I could have been knocked over with a feather. I had known Kelly had feelings she shouldn’t for me. I didn’t know that Cheryl knew that- I should have known better. I certainly didn’t think she would be pulling me into a room to encourage me to let Kelly’s feelings run wild.
“Cheryl,” I roared, “She’s practically my daughter, for fucks sake!”
“She is not yer bleedin’ bottle av water,” Cheryl bellowed, “She’s ah bibe whose life yer saved as a lassie. She’s bleedin’ wanted yer for years. If yer disappear it ‘ill bleedin’ kill ‘er!”
“Bottle of water?” I retorted, “What’s a fucking bottle of water got to do with this?”
She was turning bright red, by this point, and she slapped me backhand across the face so hard I fell on the floor. I tasted blood where her knuckle cut me. I was stunned.
“Yer bleedin’ lass!” she stormed at me, “Yer are gonna take de trip yer keep promisin’ ‘er, or cor blimey Oi’ll kill yer before yer deh! Yer are such a selfish preck sometimes. Oi put up wi’ al’ av it. Oi understan’. Oi luv yer ta death. But Oi ‘ill in me rin’ let yer ‘urt dat lassy! Oi picked ‘er up from de groun’ an’ yer, Bejasus damnit, are not gonna clod ‘er back down again!”
I was having the fear of god put into me. This wasn’t just an annoyed Cheryl. This was a mother bear protecting her cub. If I didn’t promise her something I wasn’t prepared to do, she’d probably kill me. I scrambled to my feet again and tried to run for the door, but she tackled me to the ground.
“JOHNNY!” she screeched, “Yer are not gonna leave withoyt dat lassy. Yer ‘ill promise me. Yer ‘ill bleedin’ promise me! Yer ‘ill travel wi’ ‘er for two weeks at laest. On yisser bleedin’ ‘onor, yer ‘ill promise me!”
I rolled over and I looked into her eyes. I couldn’t imagine her this angry. Not in my wildest dreams. But she was beyond angry. My face hurt. My body hurt. All of her had tackled me to the ground, and it hadn’t been a friendly tackle. But she got through to me.
“I promise. I give you my word of honor.”
She calmed down. A little at least. She had the kind of rage that came from pure love of two people and their getting hurt.
“Kelly!” she called out.
Kelly came in the room looking a trifle scared. The house was not sound proof, and a sound proofed room on mars could have heard her screaming at me from here anyway.
“Are yer al’ packed yet, dear?” Cheryl asked.
“Ye-yes, Mom,” Kelly replied.
“Then off with yer!” she beamed.
Kelly and I got into her car without a word. I got in the driver’s seat. It had been a while but I still knew how. We drove the slow and meandering route back to Fargo, and then merged onto I-29 going south. It was an awkward silence. We didn’t know how to break the silence.
The words Cheryl said had been heard throughout the house. I’m sure Kelly’s desire to sleep with me was not exactly something she told to all and sundry. I knew that the kids saw me as a sort of father, and they considered Kelly their sister. It was a surreal experience. I’m sure she was more than a little embarrassed.
She also knew, to some extent, the depth of my demons. She had seen me rant and rave about things that most people would consider nuts. She knew my deep lack of want for attachment, for chains to be placed on me. She knew what Rachel meant to me; I had told her. Cheryl knew, too, but Kelly was the person I talked to about her at length to. The fight I was having with myself over how to overcome that gap of attachment between us.
I had mentioned to Cheryl that Rachel was dead, but had told nobody else. Kelly knew that I was fucked up at the moment. She knew her mom thought I was suicidal. I’m sure Kelly was scared that I would remain suicidal. She knew my metal sanity could not always be kept in check, no matter what I wanted to do.
I wasn’t sure how to tell her what had happened. I didn’t know how to get her to understand that I felt there was a hole in my soul. One that nobody could plug.
When we got to Watertown, South Dakota, about three hours later, I pulled off the road and into the parking lot of a Country Inn & Suites. I tried to get us a one bedroom suite with two queen beds, but Kelly put paid to that by demanding a single king. I looked suitably embarrassed, but paid for the room, as always, in cash. She gave the last name as Mahoney, Cheryl’s last name.
Besides the discussion with the desk clerk, and some navigational discussion, we had not yet said a word to each other. That was not normal. We often gossiped like little girls. Talking with her was one of the highlights of my time in North Dakota.
When we got into the room, Kelly looked at me awkwardly. Then she took off her shirt, her no-nonsense bra, her Reeboks, her socks, her baggy jeans, and finally her panties, very rapidly. The look in her eyes were that of a deep challenge.
I looked at her in stunned silence for several moments. I noticed her features. She had smallish breasts, and pale skin. She didn’t do too much work outside, but that’s not shocking- she’s a book worm. She was skinny, but not so skinny as to look underfed. She was attractive, in a plain way. She was a little androgynous physically. The look in her pale, dull blue eyes was harder than I thought she could make it.
I didn’t really physically respond to it. She’s my daughter.
“It’s time for bed,” I told her, “We have a long ride tomorrow.” I tried to ignore the elephant she had just slammed down into the room with a resounding thud. I didn’t know how to handle this.
With that I went into the bathroom, and changed into my boxers for bed. When I went back out, she was laying on the bed, face down, crying. She looked vulnerable. Her body was racking with sighs of anguish. She looked defeated, destroyed. She had taken off her glasses and thrown them on the floor. I went to her. My heart was breaking for her. I didn’t know how to get through this.
I loved Kelly very much, maybe enough to live for her. When you save someone’s life, you become responsible for them. But I couldn’t see myself having the kind of relationship she wanted with me. I assumed that my unwillingness to take that step was why she was crying so hard.
I was very uncomfortable with her nakedness, but I let her head rest in my lap, and stroked her hair.
“You-you don’t care about me!” Kelly cried.
“I care about you very much, Kelly,” I replied.
“You don’t love me,” she insisted.
“I love you with all my heart,” I insisted.
“You don’t love me enough,” she said, shaking ... quivering really.
“I love you endlessly, Kelly,” I said, “I love you as if you were my own daughter, I have told you that. I just don’t love you the same way you have a crush on me.”
“You are so dense. That’s not it at all,” she sobbed, “Yes, I want you to want me the way I want you, but I can live with that! You want to fucking kill yourself, and I can’t stop you!”
“Do you even understand why?” I asked her.
“No,” she sobbed, “I know what mom said, and I know when I am looking at you. You look like the life has gone out of you, Johnny. You’ve always been up and down, but now you look gutted. I can’t even imagine what did this to you.”
I turned her face to look at mine.
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