Chapter 3: Have you ever heard a song that sparked memory so strong that you could almost smell it in the air?

5pm, I am rushing out the door of my office to catch my train. As I walk a couple of blocks to the train station, I pop in my AirPods and fire up Spotify. I put on some random 80’s channel and start jamming to the music, drowning out the sounds of the city. Down the stairs, I run, pay my fare, catch my train, and find a seat. In the back, by the window. Perfect.

Then it happens, a song sparks a forgotten memory. I am not sure why now as I have heard this song probably thousands of times, but this time it transported me back to my childhood.

I was probably 9 or 10 years old. My little brother was trailing behind me by 4 years. It’s 1980-something, and hairbands are ruling the airwaves (and Madonna of course). I had spent the afternoon trying to perfect tight rolling the bottom of my jeans like I saw others doing. Nothing was
cooler than big hair, florescent colors, huge hoops in your ears, your stonewashed denim jean jacket and of course, tight rolled jeans.

We lived in the middle of nowhere, not much to do but chores, climb trees, watch tv… you get the idea. A few miles from our home was the small town of Crystal, merely a map dot, but it still had a few things to do. I loved going to town and always envied the kids that lived in there. They got to walk to school every day, I had to ride the bus.

Most of my childhood, we did not have a car, but this was not one of those times. I remember we had a car, a really big car. Maybe it was a Ford LTD or an Oldsmobile Delta 88… all I remember is it could probably fit 15 people in it if we tried.

My brother and I used to fight over who would get to lay on the floor in the back. Not sure why this was so desirable, but I remember we always fought over it. Yes, we didn’t use seatbelts. This really wasn’t a big deal back then. We were not a safety-focused generation, I presume.

My mother’s friend, Dee, recently moved into a duplex in Crystal, with her boyfriend and child, so we piled into the car and went to visit. I never really cared much for visiting her. Depending on the day, she’d either be really cool to me or just horrible. She’d pinch me, punch my arm, not sure why, but that was just the way she was. She was a lot younger than my mother, but really the only friend that she had. There is a lot to explain about my mother. She’s not the typical mom. Actually, she never really did the mother thing well at all, but we will go more into that later, back to the visit.

It was late afternoon, in the summer. I remember that it was very humid outside. The smell of rain and worms lingered in the air. I knew we shouldn’t go because the house was dirty (as always), chores hadn’t been done, and my step-dad hated Dee. Actually, my step-dad just hated us leaving the house (he called it “running the roads”). But, a chance to get out of the house and go into town was not something I could pass up.

My mother, with all of her faults, was not a drinker, didn’t smoke or do any drugs. But this day was different. When we got to Dee’s, she offered my mother a wine cooler, then another, and then another. I remember the sunlight slowly dissipating, and it now being dark. I started to get scared because my mother was still drinking, and I knew my step-dad would be home from working in the fields, and there would be hell to pay. We still hadn’t had dinner, and it had to be well past 10pm. Finally, my mother decided it was time to go home.

My brother and I piled into the car with my then intoxicated mother. Def Leppard’s Love Bites was blasting on the radio. I was sitting in the front seat, helping my mother navigate the car down the country roads safely, well as safe as you can help your intoxicated parental figure navigate a very dark country road.

As we approached our home, I started having an anxiety attack because the lights were on. That meant that he was home. I knew I was going to be in trouble for letting this happen. Even though my mother was the adult, I was almost always the one in charge, and he knew it. I knew somehow that everything was going to be my fault. I usually would hide before he would get home, but there would be no hiding this time.

We turned the car off, and I helped my sleepy little brother get out and made the trek to the front door that opened right into the living room where he always sat. No sooner did the door open he started screaming, “where in the fuck have you all been, do you know what time it is?” My mother talked back and told him to fuck off, which was the worst thing she could’ve done as he then realized she had been drinking.

“You’ve been drinking? You dumb bitch. What in the fuck were you thinking?”, directed towards my mother.

He then turns to me, “and this house is a fucking pigsty you lazy son of a bitch. I told all of you motherfuckers to get this house clean today. What did you do today? Mother fucking nothing.” The rants went on and on until he was too exhausted to continue. We went to bed hungry and terrified, at time nightly.

Every night for years, I used to say the same prayer to a God that never came through for me.

“Dear Heavenly Father, I want to thank you for another day. My grandma always tells me that you have a special plan for me. But all I really want is a normal mom, in a warm and clean home, and to not be afraid every day. Please, God, give me a normal family”.