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I spent one night, one really great night, with my staff. I had set up a routine where the staff of both restaurants
would work the other place every once in a while. They all seemed to enjoy the break they got from working the same place,
every day. I made sure that when we had staff parties I would bring everyone together just to hang out. None of this 'Let's
play a game' crap - I've worked in places where they did that and I know how boring those parties are.
So two days
before the final day, I got everyone together at a park outside of town. I had a little bit of cash saved up and a lot of
stock that wasn't going anywhere so I supplied the booze and food for 40 people. It was a great night. We sat around the
fires we built talking about our families, school, work, everything. A few couples went off into the night to say their 'goodbyes'
but most of us kept together. We were really like a family - we all knew details about each other that kept us close and
could relate to each other on various levels.
"Hey, Matt. Great party." Joe had been my kitchen manager for a few
years. I thought of him like a brother.
"Joe, my man. Goin' home?"
"Yeah. I'm spending the rest of the time
with my parents and girlfriend at the cottage. You?"
"Going to my parent's place. Jessie's gone somewhere. Haven't
heard from her in a couple of days."
"Shit. So I guess no 'last time' lay, eh?" Joe clamped his big meaty paw on
my shoulder. I wasn't ashamed that my girlfriend had left with all of her possessions a week ago and disappeared. In fact,
I was kind of relieved.
"Nah. No big deal. I'm hoping there's something on the inside for me, though." As soon as
the words left my mouth, I felt bad. No one in our group was chosen - except me. The look on Joe's face said it all.
"Yeah.
Um, look, man. I really appreciate everything you've done for me and for the rest of us. You're one hell of a boss. Even
if you can't dress worth shit." My sense of style was my own and I liked it - at least that's what I kept telling myself.
"Thanks,
Joe. You should get out of here and go spend some time with your family and Rose. Tell them 'hi' from me." I stuck my hand
out to shake his and ended up in a bearhug.
"No, thank you. Gonna miss you, Matt."
The time I spent with my
family was a little more tense - I've never really gotten along with them since I moved out when I was 15 - but it was nice
nonetheless. We had supper, looked over pictures, talked about old times... typical family crap. And rather than feel bitter
and oppressed, I was sad. These were the people I was most connected to on Earth. These were the people who I could turn
to in any stage of a crisis - and had many times before. These were the people who could bring back the memories of past
fun and tragedies.
"Matty?" Marty had another photo album in his hand for me to go through.
"Yeah, dude?"
Looking at Marty was like looking into a mirror - exactly like me at that age.
"Let's go through this one now. And
don't skip pages this time."
"Okay. This is me at the lake. See the fish? I didn't actually catch it - Dad did.
I tried and tried all weekend but got nothing. I was probably close to your age - maybe only 7 - but Dad felt bad and gave
me his fish to hold while he took the picture.
"What's this one?"
"This is me on the tractor at Gramma and Grampa's.
It didn't work, but I liked pretending that I was helping Grampa."
"Matt? I think Marty should head for bed now."
Mom had been sitting on a chair in the corner going through old photos, picking ones for me to keep.
"Mom? I think
he can stay up for a little longer." You'd think he had school in the moring.
"Hmm? Oh, yes. Okay, Marty, you can
stay up for another hour if you go change into your pajamas right now." Marty tore off to his room.
"Mom? Is something
wrong?" Like there was anything right.
"No, dear. Just remembering. Looking at these old photos bring backs so many
memories." I could see the tears in her eyes.
"What do you have there?" I got up to go beside her chair.
"Oh,
just some old pictures of when Alana and Marty were younger. Remember Marty's first birthday and how we were all afraid that
Alana would be a handful?"
"Yeah and she ended up helping out without asking. God, she's a great kid."
"Yes,
she is. Unfortunately, she's headstrong like you and it scares me. I guess we have nothing to worry about now." And Mom
broke down. I handed her one of the hundreds of boxes of tissues we had laying around.
"Mom, don't talk like that."
Like saying something like that would pacify anyone facing death.
"Oh, Matt. What are we going to do?"
"I
don't know, Mom. I really don't know."
So it was a sad, dark, depressing day when they had to leave. That morning,
Mom made the best breakfast in history. And because I'm a trained chef, I gave her a hand, but not with my usual 'I'm a professional
paid $50,000 to do this so I'm better than you' attitude. She cooked the way she knows best - rather heartily - and I helped
when she asked me to cut up, not chop up, the onions and tomatoes for the omelettes. We sat around the table, with tears
in our eyes, and made the meal last forever.
When the phone rang, no one moved. I looked at Dad, who looked at Mom,
and got up to answer it on the fifth ring.
"Hello... yes, this is the Pickert residence..."
Dad stood by the
window that looked out over his prized cherry trees and started sobbing.
"Yes, we'll be right over. Thank you. Good
bye"
Mom started crying and my sister Alana and brother Marty just looked at each other. At their age, they didn't
quite understand what was going on. I guess they never had a class on 'What to do in case of armageddon' in school.
"Well,
I guess we should be on our way." Dad stood by the kitchen table looking lost. I know that he was worried about what would
happen next. Hell, we all were.
Mom got up from the table and started clearing the plates. The kids started loading
up the dishwasher. I couldn't understand why they were going to the trouble of cleaning up - it's not like we were coming
back this evening. Mom had spent the day before cleaning the entire house. When I asked her why, she looked at me like I
was insane and said, "Well, dear, you never know what's going to happen. Maybe it's all a big joke. But no matter what,
I am not leaving this house in ramshackle condition."
My parents had packed one bag for each of them and had set them
in the hall. I grabbed mine - it wieghed a tonne. I had to pack in an authorized suitcase filled with what i was allowed
to take. It looked wierd sitting there with Dad's old army sack, Mom's paisley-print bag, Alana's backpack and Marty's superhero
bag. Mine was just this imposing, dark, heavy, plastic-encased box. We picked them up and headed for the car. The ride
over was full of deafening silence.
"Dad, Mom? Are you sure you have everything?" I was sure they had forgotten
something, but seeing as how today was likely to be their last day it was kind of pointless. Old habits die hard.
"Yes,
dear. We have all the paperwork you need and ... oh, Matthew. Why can't we go with you? What did we do to deserve this?"
My mother had a habit of crying at the drop of a hat.
I leaned forward and put my hands on my parent's shoulders.
"I was one of the lucky ones, I guess. But I'll never forget you. Any of you. How can I? You've given me enough photos
to start my own museum." And, as usual, my sense of humour has incredibly bad timing.
We reached the auditorium.
There were hundreds of families like ours lining up to enter. There were guards of some kind - they wore uniforms of some
sort, at least - checking everyone's certifications. I had a special certification that allowed me to stay for a couple of
hours after entering, but once the siren sounded, I had to get the hell out of there.
We walked into the auditorium
and sat at one of the standard banquet tables that filled the room. I recognized people from the neighbourhood, people from
work, even people I hadn't seen since the end of high school nine years earlier. People saw each other but didn't leave their
spots to go over and chat - there was no time for that. This was 'family' time. Every second counted.
Once we were
settled at our table, my parents pulled out a thick envelope. Before they could open it, I took a look at both of them -
a good, hard look, just so I could remember them this way. They were about to die and I wanted to know what they looked like,
looking at death. They looked older, more frail. I almost revelled in their grief. Sometimes I wonder if I'm sane at all.
Dad coughed a little. Mom wiped tears from her eyes. "Son, what I have here is the last will and testament of your
mother and I. It was notarized a week ago. You will be our soul heir and executor of the will. Although, after all of this
is done, I highly doubt anyone else will come forward and claim any of it as theirs."
All I could think was "Shit,
I'm in for some cold, hard cash. Cool." What I should have been thinking was "What am I doing here? Why are they doing
this?"
I took the envelope from them and stuck it in my pocket. No way in hell was I going to read it in front of
them - that's something I'll save for tomorrow. If there is a tomorrow.
That's something I had been thinking about
for a while now, especially in the last week. Because I was one of the 'chosen', I could escape whatever hell was coming.
But how could I be sure? There were no guarantees, no contracts signed, nothing. I was going on hope and prayer that I would
survive. What if it was a hoax? Would it be better to die alone, rather than with my family? Apprehension settled over
me again.
I felt a tug at my elbow. "Yeah, Marty?"
"Matty, can I come with you?" My little brother was born
just after I moved home. We were amazingly close considering there was almost 8 years between us. After I finished high
school, I moved out east for some college - waste of time - and after a year, I moved back home, broke. I approached my parents
with the plea of letting me stay with them for a while until I finished my classes at the local community college.
I
called them from the highway - I put a lot of faith in the hope that they would actually talk to me after so long.
"Hello?"
"Mom,
this is Matt." I could hear her gasp and sit down.
"Matt... how nice to hear from you." I could tell she put her
hand over the receiver and waved Dad over to her side so he could listen in.
"Look, Mom, I'm on my way into town.
Could I stop by and talk to you and Dad?"
"Just one moment, dear. Let me ask your father." She put me on hold and
I prayed that he would agree. He was the reason I moved out and if he said yes, I'd try hard not to bring up those problems
again.
"Matt, are you still there?" Dad had taken the phone. After four years, it was wierd talking to him again.
"Yeah,
Dad."
"You can come for a visit. But we don't want you here when Alana is home."
"Alana? Who's Alana?"
"Your
sister. Now, we can arrange to send her to Gramma's for the afternoon tomorrow - around one o'clock. Is that a good time
for you?"
"Yeah, Dad. That's a great time."
"How far away are you right now? I can hear the highway behind
you."
"I'm an hour outside of town. Don't worry - I'll stay with Ty's family tonight. They're already waiting for
me."
"Yes, I think that would be best. Call before you come over tomorrow. Good night, son."
"Good night,
Dad."
I turned my cell phone off and sat in the cab of my truck going over the conversation in my head. I could take
solace in the fact that he did actually talk to me, rather than arrange everything through Mom.
What bothered me
about going to meet them tomorrow was it gave them time to prepare to turn me away again. I didn't ask them outright on the
phone to move back home, but I think they got the impression that's why I was calling. They would have known that I was leaving
college and coming home from Ty's mother.
I spent the night in the company of Ty's family. A typical farm family
with lots of kids, I was well-fed and told to take a load off. I was guest in their home, I shouldn't have to help with
any of the chores. But I was too wound-up to sit by and wait for things to happen, so I got up and went to help do the chores.
I had spent a lot of time at the farm during the summers so I knew the general things to do - feed the chickens, water the
cows, try to find all the kittens in the barn to make sure they were still alive - and at a time like this, I needed to do
somethign to take my mind off the next day.
I called my parents at noon. My mother answered.
"Oh, hello, dear."
"Hey,
Mom. I figured I'd call now rather than right before I left to give you guys time to prepare."
"Prepare for what?
You're coming over for a visit. There's nothing we'd need to prepare for."
"Yeah, Mom. Look, I'll be there at one
sharp, okay?"
"Yes, dear. Alana will be at Mother's by then and your father should be home from work in a few minutes,
so it should be fine."
"Thanks, Mom. Talk to you soon."
I hung up the phone and sat down at the kitchen table.
Ty's mom was sitting there with her usual cup of coffee and a crossword book.
"Looking forward to seeing your parents
again, Matt?"
"Oh, yes, Mrs. Howard."
"You can call me Carol, son. You always have."
"I know. I'm just
really nervous. What if they don't let me stay?"
"Oh, Matt. Your parents still love you. Even while you were at
school, they were always asking me about you and how you were doing. Whenever I ran into Cynthia at the market, she'd ask
if you were eating properly and how your classes were."
"I know. Ty told me. But they can't forgive me for leaving
with no notice that easily."
"You never know, Matt. They've got a little one now and they might need some help."
"Yeah,
Mom kept mentioning Alana. How old is she?"
"Four. Cute as a button. Looks like your mother. Such a sweetheart,
too."
"Look, Carol. Thanks for putting up with me. I will be back later, hopefully not for long. Not that I don't
enjoy being here, but you know..."
"Yes, dear. I do. Good luck."
I drove to my parent's house. They'd always
lived in the good section of town, even as it expanded. I'd grown up in this house - and loved it. It was old, but quaint.
I remember playing in the yard with my friends in the treehouse my dad built and climbing the old oak we had in the backyard
so I could sit on the roof in the summer and look at the stars.
I pulled into the driveway I helped pave. Getting
out of the truck, I noticed that not much had changed since I'd left four years before. The paint was still peeling, the
shrubs still needed to be trimmed, the tire-swing still hung on the oak. It was like I never left.
"Hello, Matthew."
My dad came out the front door and stood on the veranda. I could feel the tension close around me like a cocoon.
"Hi,
Dad. How are you?" What else could I say?
"Good, good. And you?" Dad hadn't moved from his spot.
"Not
bad. How's Mom?" I stayed beside the truck.
"She's doing well. Is that your truck?" I could tell Dad was stretching
for something to talk about. Why not play along?
"Yeah, I picked it up when I was at school. It's not much, but it
gets me from point A to point B. Usually in one piece, too." Come on, Dad, let me into the house. He was blocking the doorway
like a linebacker.
"Looks like you've worn it in quite well. How is it for gas?"
"Not bad. Dad, look, let's
stop the idle chit-chat. Can I go into the house or not? Am I going to be grilled about the damn truck all day or do I get
to visit with you and Mom?"
"No, Matt. You and I are going to have a little talk first. Your mother and I are fine
with you coming back into our lives. Your mother is beside herself with joy - her boy has come back to the nest. I am not
as thrilled as your mother, but I am happy you are making an attempt. You left this house four years ago and made it very
clear in that time that you didn't want to be part of this family again. I don't know what you're doing here today, but I
am willing to let you speak your peace. But so help me God, if you upset your mother..."
"Okay, Dad. Get off my back.
I made a mistake, you made a mistake. Get over it. We're both adults. Can I go inside the house now? Or do you want me
to keep yelling at you across the yard so all the neighbours hear?" I could feel the anger rising from my toes to my head.
Maybe this was a mistake.
"Fine. Go into the living room. I believe your mother has coffee and cookies waiting for
us." I went up the sidewalk to the steps and quickly went by Dad. I could feel his eyes burning into my back as I walked
down the hall.
"Matt, is that you?" Mom came out of the kitchen wearing an apron I made for her in grade 8 home ec.
class. She hadn't changed a bit. Still short, dark, absolutely beautiful... if I was 20 years older and not her son, yeah,
I would definitely go after her.
"Hi, Mom." I held out my arms as she ran into them. She squeezed me around my middle
and I felt right at home. Dad hung back by the front door waiting for the reunion to be over.
"Oh, Matty. It's so
wonderful to see you. You've grown so much. Let me have a look at you. Oh, your hair is far too long. You must cut it
right away. And your clothes! Oh, my. We'll have to go shopping as soon as possible." My mother - everyone's mother all
rolled into one. Suffocating, caring, observant... ah, my mom.
"Thanks, Mom. Shall we sit?"
"Yes, dear.
Luke, come join us."
Dad came into the room and chose the seat farthest from me. I could tell he wanted me to say
what I had to and get the hell out. He could suffer.
"Mom, Dad. I want to move back in." There, it was out. No
beating around the bush for me.
"Oh." Mom stopped stirring her coffee.
"No." Well, it's nice to see that Dad
has an open mind.
"Okay. Let me try this again. And please, no interruptions. I quit school. I don't want to be
an architect. I want to be a chef instead. And I want to go to school here. It's not what normal people would consider
to be a move up in the career world, but it's what I want. And I want to live here. I will do whatever you ask of me in
order to do this. I will help around the house, I will contribute money, I will behave. Just please consider my proposal."
I got up to leave.
"Matt, why should we let you come back?" Dad sat with his arms across his chest. I could tell
that he was going to be a prick about this.
"Because I've changed. I've matured. And I hope you have, too."
"Now,
Matty, don't take that tone with your father. Calm down and we'll discuss this like adults." Mom looked at Dad with a look
that said 'Do as I say or you'll be the one that pays.'
"Yes, like adults. You're 19 now, son, and you obviously think
that you're mature enough to deal with this properly." Dad was baiting me into a fight. I had to make sure it didn't come
to that.
"Okay. Why should you let me come back? Easy. I'm your son. I want a second chance. I've lived on my
own and I didn't like it. I need people - my family - around to make things easier."
"So you want to move home because
you miss us? Bullshit. You want a maid and housekeeper. You've lived in the real world and you couldn't handle it. Doesn't
surprise me, to tell you the truth."
"Come on, Dad. Give me a chance."
"Son, you may be older, but you're still
a child. Your mother and I already have another one of those."
"So I've heard."
"Matt. Luke. Please. Can't
we discuss this properly?" Mom, always the peacemaker.
"I think I've said all I want. Just consider it, please?
I'm not begging, I do have other options. I just want to come home." I prayed it didn't sound like I was begging.
"Fine,
Matt. We'll think about it. We'll be in touch. Make sure you keep your other 'options' open." Dad stood to see me out the
door.
"I'm at the Howard's. You know the number." I went to the door with Dad following close on my heels.
"Matt,
don't think you're going to come back that easy. Things have changed since you left."
"Yeah, well, I sure as hell
hope so. At least for Alana's sake." I walked out the door and hopped into the truck. I pulled out of the driveway and
headed for the other end of town.
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