We Are Nomads: A Short Story!
We are Nomads
A Short Story by Mark Oglesby.
The modern day mini-van’s a marvel to behold; really! Not only will it give you the room you need to ride-share to work, a civic duty to be certain; it’ll also get the kids to soccer practice and all those other activities we find so essential here in our comfortable, American suburb: Civilization at its best! I’m Hal and I’m hurt! And here’s my tale:
“Everything’s packed?” Father just had a knack for organization and that’s what made him so indispensable at work. Unfortunately though, his corporate over-lords outsourced his division to another state thus ending any such mythological nonsense, at least on behalf of our family, for good. Really now? Bad’s a word we are required to use in our situation.
But what can be said? Boeing’s been down-sized here in St. Louis as cuts had to be made if the company’s to stay here in our city! Sorry! Soon to be: Formerly, “our” city!
“Momma?” Sally just wouldn’t let it go.
“Yes dear?” Mother’s tears ran like the mighty Missouri, a river we’d be crossing very soon.
“Do we have to leave? Beatrice wants to stay. She told me so.” Sally’s tears flowing like the mighty Missouri as well.
“She’s just a stupid doll Sally!” I didn’t want to be mean but what choice had I?
“Bea’s smart Hal! Smarter than you!”
“Children please!” Father starting the engine of our 2012 Dodge Grand Caravan; fortunately, paid for! Mileage? Suspect! Something we’d possibly regret in the very near future.
“A great adventure in the making!” Father being ambiguous as far as the diplomacy of the moment allowed.
“To infinity and beyond!” I was fairly undecided if this statement meant rage? Fear? Mockery? Sarcasm? Or outright contempt for my father’s failure to care for the health, welfare and well being of his family. Yeah, I was and still am frightened ever day and especially night in this, our: Voyage of the Damned!
“Was that a joke son?” Father was on edge letting me know that “now” was not the time for my normal derisive behavior. Truth be told? I’m a bit of a smart-ass if not a masterful PITA: Pain-In-The-Ass! But hey! Do any of you really understand what goes into being a masterful Pain-In-The-Ass? Doubtful to say the least!
“I’ll miss Ms. Arlene terribly.” Sally’s moan was so sad as we passed her elementary school here in Richmond Heights. “Will we ever come back daddy?” He was silent while possibly thinking to himself: ‘Heaven’s my family! Hell’s not being able to care for them!’ And so how did I know or suspect this? I’d heard him whispering it a thousand times leading up to our departure; seemed predictable to me!
“There’s your school Hal! Will you miss it?” Sally know, as everyone else in the family did, that I hated “my” school with a passion! That Saint Louis University High School had been a hell-hole for me. Look! Everything about it sucks! And yes, the jocks are so cruel; vicious pricks if you ask me. But still, it’s more than that! It’s the phony expectations they fill you full to capacity with as they expect you to dream dreams of successful triumph: ‘I am master of my own destiny!’ And other such crap, steaming piles of bullshit if you ask me? But I guess you’re not!
“What was that dear?” Mother never had the ability to cope with a clownish fool such as myself; above or below her pay-grade I’m not certain nor am I cognitive of such realities at least in the first person present case! “Nothing mom.” I look at my genius father and wonder: ‘What’s to become of us?’
“Dear?”
“Nothing mom.”
“Let him be sweetheart.” He know! He saw it coming but couldn’t accept the reality of the situation; in the obvious moment known as calamity! But again, what would it have mattered? Everything that’s happening would have happened anyway; couldn’t be stopped! We were doomed because of his arrogant notion of ‘moving-on-up!’
“It’s wonderful husband! I love everything about it. But can we afford the payments?” I heard them discussing the new house one night and I cringed. “Not a problem sweetheart. I’m getting that promotion and pay raise and besides; you deserve this!” Maybe she did and maybe she didn’t; I don’t know! Could careless! Give a hairy-rat’s-ass!
What was wrong with our old house? Nothing! Like the mini-van: It was paid for asshole! Like my room that I’d lived in my entire life: Safe and secure! There’s no way in hell he should have done that! But he did and I hate him for it! My heart broke as we packed and moved to that “wonderful” neighborhood and its pristine, picturesque setting.
“I heard Thompson passed his entrance exams.” So why’d he have to say that? Okay! Terry was the only person I liked at the almighty Saint Louis University High School, Jesuit paradise here in Saint Louis, Missouri, United States of America; planet earth in God’s good galaxy but damn! I never wanted to leave my old high school for that educational Garden of Eden.
“Notre Dame University! His mom must be so proud!” Mother wasn’t envious of Terry and his academic achievements; hardly! Rather, she was, again; unable to cope with a clownish fool such as myself still above or below her pay-grade I’m still not certain nor am I cognitive of such realities at least in the first person present case! “Like dad mother; Terry’s a genius!”
God did it not sting whenever I applied the term “genius” in reference to my father? Wanna know why? Okay, I’ll tell you! My dad didn’t know, and this started when I learned about the new house and school and all that upper middle-class crap, whether I was using it in praise or condemnation of him and his choices. Frankly, it bugs the hell outta him and I suppose he hates me for it as well? I’m not certain nor shall I ever be. It’s that bad!
“How long will it take to get to grandmas daddy?” Sally’s sweet if not sincere but she’s certainly unaware of the dynamics involved in family diplomacy; a skill set reserved for clownish fools and other such beings as myself, my father included!
“Awhile dear.” Mom was never one to complain as she knew life to be bitter/sweet. And if the miscarriage all those years ago taught her anything? It was this! “Tears of joy, tears of sorrow. We cry them both all of our lives.” She appreciated my trying to comfort her at the time but she still couldn’t bare the loss of a child and asked me to go away: “Just for a little while.” Even at the tender age of nine I understood completely.
Besides! How were these two grown-ups going to explain to seven years old Sally that we “weren’t” going to grandmas? That our mother’s mother hated our father so much that she actually shouted into her phone: “Hell no!” when asked whether or not the family could come and stay with her at least for awhile.
“Hal?”
“What Sally?”
“What does ‘awhile’ mean?” Being in a totally sarcastic state of being I nearly asked that question of dear ole dad. But honestly! When it comes to Sally? Mercy’s the best medicine given the realities of modern living: Let her learn from experience: What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger! Yeah! I’ve read Nietzsche! And he just slays the shit outta me! Never said I was Fredo! Nor did I say I was Michael! More likely? Sonny’s character’s surely more in my wheelhouse: Batter-up!
“Dad?” Just couldn’t help myself in the moment! “What’s awhile?” Crossing the mighty Missouri river was extremely dangerous at this time in space as my father’s rage nearly saw us fly off that wondrous bridge and into that once again; mighty Missouri river! Kind of wished that would have happened! But it didn’t and so my tale continues!
That first night was the worse one imaginable; Sally cried and cried and cried! Can you blame her? From my perspective inside the cramped 2012 Dodge Grand Caravan; landing in the mighty Missouri River would have been a blessing if not a total mercy killing! Wonder what the tradition and philosophy of Loyola, not to mention Catholic theology in general, would have gamed from that scenario should it have materialized? Let alone, that which crossed my mind? We’ll never know! Or will we?
In any case! Sally, hurt and exhausted, finally if not mercifully; slipped into the darkness of frightening, horrible nightmares. I felt her toss and turn all night and I wept! I also realized that the hatred for my father grew with leaps and bounds as my innocent little sister was unable to stop her sorrowful moans. I stroked her silky hazel hair as I asked the great Catholic saints: “What does all of this mean?” They didn’t answer and so I expected! Disappointed? Hardly! I wouldn’t have liked their answers anyway!
“Husband?” was repeated often as my mother also tossed and turned that first night. Wonder what she would have asked those saintly souls should she have had the opportunity to voice her opinion, perhaps complaints as to the church’s teachings about a Catholic woman’s place in the social order of things? Hey! Did I not say: Never said I was Fredo! Nor did I say I was Michael! More likely? Sonny’s character’s surely more in my wheelhouse: Batter-up? Here’s most likely what they would have advised:
There are three principal branches of humanitarian vocation that falls to you as women, and as women of Catholic faith. And among the three, the family comes first in the natural order of things. It is even said that, charity begins at home. Basically, a family consists of married male and female adults and their offspring. The question is now; what is the duty of Catholic women in the family? The answer is that, Catholic women have psychological and religious vocational duties to responsibly carry out in the family. Catholic women have the vocational duty to create psychological security in the family. The psychological security is created by pure marital companionship. The Catholic women should acknowledge the fact that, pure marital companionship with their husband generates such binding power of love that, as a necessary result, binds their children in harmony, and, by such, the natural unity of the family is secured. Family psychological security is the fountain of family unity.
But again, merely speculation on my part! I digress! Sorry to say: It happens often!
“My fault!” was repeated by dad over and over again as he also tossed and turned that first night; guilt I imagine? Yeah, his son’s sarcasm in the middle of the night at a truck stop outside the city of Terre Haute, Indiana in the United Sates of totally falling apart, maxed out, pathetically abandoned, fatally wounded, horribly calloused, indignantly wronged, ill-treated if not psychologically abused: America! Have a blessed day and all that jazz!
You’ll have to forgive me, can’t stop the Catholic upbringing even if I tried but I’m so worn out and wasted-on-the-way from staying up all night to keep watch over my family as once again; one never knows what might happen at a truck stop outside the city of Terre Haute, Indiana in the once again United Sates of totally falling apart, maxed out, pathetically abandoned, fatally wounded, horribly calloused, indignantly wronged, ill-treated if not psychologically abused America! Have a blessed day and all that jazz!
And so this first night would be repeated over and over again as I learned how to stay awake at night continually watching over my family whose nightmares persistently grew to magnitudes of outright horror. And it was my overall loathing for my father and his inability to stabilize our situation, to soothe the transition from home-owners to homelessness that I finally give in and left!
“Need a lift buddy?” the voice was coarse if not kidnapped; the declaration of one who’s smoked his entire life. “Get on in!” and off we went! To where? Anywhere away from this nowhere which had become my life? My family?
Don’t rightly know as we separated after it all exploded that one morning at a truck stop outside the city of, file-in-the-blank as the Johnny Cash song goes: I’ve been everywhere, man I’ve been everywhere, man Crossed the desert's bare, man I’ve breathed the mountain air, man Of travel I’ve a’had my share, man I’ve been everywhere in the United Sates of still totally falling apart, maxed out, pathetically abandoned, fatally wounded, horribly calloused, indignantly wronged, ill-treated if not psychologically abused America! Have a blessed day and all that jazz!
Dad just couldn’t tolerate my accusations concerning his failure as a father; couldn’t hold back after listening to Sally moan every night long as well! Mother? She was a Catholic wife who knew her duty and stuck by her husband; her son be damned no matter the cost! And she was right, and I knew it. I kissed Sally goodbye and hit the highway which hit back; oh the irony of it all!
“I’ll miss you Hal!” she cried as I walked away. And there you have it! The nomadic existence which has become: AMERICA!