Running Barefoot
Page 93
I made myself listen to the music I loved as I worked. I would not be a coward anymore. If I acted like a lunatic, so be it! In my mind I raged and I vowed that Samuel’s leaving would not make me resort to musical holocaust. I was done with that nonsense! I played Grieg until my fingers were stiff, and I worked with the frenzy of Balakirev’s ‘Islamey’ pounding out of the loud speakers. My dad came inside during that one and turned around and walked right back out again.
On day 15, I made a chocolate cake worthy of the record books. It was disgustingly rich and fattening, teetering several stories high, weighing more than I did, laden with thick cream cheese frosting, and sprinkled liberally with chocolate shavings. I sat down to eat it with a big fork and no bib. I dug in with a gusto seen only at those highly competitive hotdog eating contests where the tiny Asian girl kicks all the fat boys’ butts.
“JOSIE JO JENSEN!” Louise and Tara stood at the kitchen door, shock and revulsion, and maybe just a little envy in their faces. Brahms ‘Rhapsodie No. 2 in G Minor’ was making my little kitchen shake. Eating cake to Brahms was a new experience for me. I liked it. I dug back in, ignoring them.
“Well Mom,” I heard Tara say, “what should we do?!”
My Aunt Louise was a very practical woman. “If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em!” She quoted cheerfully.
Before I knew it, Tara and Louise both had forks, too. They didn’t seem to need bibs either. We ate, increasing our tempo as the music intensified.
“ENOUGH!” My dad stood in the doorway. He was good and mad, too. His sun-browned face was as ruddy as my favorite high heels.
“I sent you two in for an intervention! What is this?! Eater’s Anonymous Gone Wild?”
“Aww, Daddy. Get a fork,” I replied, barely breaking rhythm.
My dad strode over, took the fork from my hand and threw it, tines first, right into the wall. It stuck there, embedded and twanging like a sword at a medieval tournament. He pulled out my chair and grabbed me under the arms, pushing me out of the kitchen. I tried to take one last swipe at my cake, but he let out this inhuman roar, and I abandoned all hope of making myself well and truly sick.
“Tara! Aunt Louise!” I shouted frantically. “I want you gone!!! That’s my cake! You can’t have any more without me!”
My dad pushed me through the front door and out onto the porch, the screen banging behind him. I sunk to the porch swing, sullenly wiping chocolate crumbs from my mouth. My dad stomped back inside the house and suddenly the music pouring from every nook and cranny stopped abruptly. I heard him tell Louise he’d call her later, and then the kitchen door banged, indicating my aunt’s and Tara’s departure. Good. They would have eaten that whole cake. I saw the way they were shoveling it in.
My dad lumbered out the front door and sank into the swing beside me. We rocked in silence for a while, my feet tucked under me, his feet in his old boots pushing back and forth, back and forth. There was a briskness to the night air that hadn’t been there a week ago. The fall was in full thrust now; the leaves brilliant in their death throes. I felt the winter coming on. What had Samuel told me about Changing Woman and spring being a time of rebirth? Changing Woman ushered in the seasons, brought new life. This season wouldn’t be ushering in a new life. My life would remain the same.
I suddenly felt very old and tired…and full. Shame and fatigue crashed over me, and I reached for my dad’s hand. His palms were chapped and worn, and they were almost as brown as Samuel’s. How I loved my father’s hands! How I loved him. I’d made my dad worry about me. I looked up into his face and saw the emotions I was feeling mirrored in his eyes. I brought his hand to my cheek and leaned my face into his palm. He cupped my face in that big palm, and his eyes filled with sadness.
“Josie Jo. What am I going to do without you?” His voice was gruff and tired.
“I’m not going anywhere, Dad.” I said softly, my voice cracking a little as I thought of Samuel.
“Yes honey, you are.” Emotion shook in his voice. “You are going to go - I won’t let you stay here anymore.”
I felt the bottom drop out of my chest and my heart plummet, crashing in tiny pieces at my feet. My hand, still holding onto his, fell to my lap.
“Don’t you want me to stay with you, Dad?” My voice quavered, and I bit down on my bottom lip.
“Honey, it isn’t about what I want anymore. I’ve let you take care of me and your brothers since you were nine years old! I just can’t, in good conscience, let you do it anymore.”
“Dad!” I cried out in denial, “You’ve taken care of all of us! I just did my part!”
“You did more than your part, Josie. You never were a child - not after your mother died. You always had this wisdom and maturity that made me feel like maybe it was okay to let you have your head. But your heart rules your head, Josie. You would stay here forever just to take care of me and stay true to a love that will never be returned. Not in this life. Kasey’s gone, baby. He isn’t coming back.”
“I know that Dad, believe me, I do….I just don’t know how to say goodbye this time. It isn’t the same as it was with mom. I knew it was coming, even as young as I was. I knew she was going to die; I knew she was going to have to leave me. And I knew she expected me to go on living and loving and learning. I just don’t know how to say goodbye this time,” I repeated, and bit back a sob. My dad pulled me into his lap, just like he’d done over four years ago when he’d found me in my mother’s wedding dress.
On day 15, I made a chocolate cake worthy of the record books. It was disgustingly rich and fattening, teetering several stories high, weighing more than I did, laden with thick cream cheese frosting, and sprinkled liberally with chocolate shavings. I sat down to eat it with a big fork and no bib. I dug in with a gusto seen only at those highly competitive hotdog eating contests where the tiny Asian girl kicks all the fat boys’ butts.
“JOSIE JO JENSEN!” Louise and Tara stood at the kitchen door, shock and revulsion, and maybe just a little envy in their faces. Brahms ‘Rhapsodie No. 2 in G Minor’ was making my little kitchen shake. Eating cake to Brahms was a new experience for me. I liked it. I dug back in, ignoring them.
“Well Mom,” I heard Tara say, “what should we do?!”
My Aunt Louise was a very practical woman. “If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em!” She quoted cheerfully.
Before I knew it, Tara and Louise both had forks, too. They didn’t seem to need bibs either. We ate, increasing our tempo as the music intensified.
“ENOUGH!” My dad stood in the doorway. He was good and mad, too. His sun-browned face was as ruddy as my favorite high heels.
“I sent you two in for an intervention! What is this?! Eater’s Anonymous Gone Wild?”
“Aww, Daddy. Get a fork,” I replied, barely breaking rhythm.
My dad strode over, took the fork from my hand and threw it, tines first, right into the wall. It stuck there, embedded and twanging like a sword at a medieval tournament. He pulled out my chair and grabbed me under the arms, pushing me out of the kitchen. I tried to take one last swipe at my cake, but he let out this inhuman roar, and I abandoned all hope of making myself well and truly sick.
“Tara! Aunt Louise!” I shouted frantically. “I want you gone!!! That’s my cake! You can’t have any more without me!”
My dad pushed me through the front door and out onto the porch, the screen banging behind him. I sunk to the porch swing, sullenly wiping chocolate crumbs from my mouth. My dad stomped back inside the house and suddenly the music pouring from every nook and cranny stopped abruptly. I heard him tell Louise he’d call her later, and then the kitchen door banged, indicating my aunt’s and Tara’s departure. Good. They would have eaten that whole cake. I saw the way they were shoveling it in.
My dad lumbered out the front door and sank into the swing beside me. We rocked in silence for a while, my feet tucked under me, his feet in his old boots pushing back and forth, back and forth. There was a briskness to the night air that hadn’t been there a week ago. The fall was in full thrust now; the leaves brilliant in their death throes. I felt the winter coming on. What had Samuel told me about Changing Woman and spring being a time of rebirth? Changing Woman ushered in the seasons, brought new life. This season wouldn’t be ushering in a new life. My life would remain the same.
I suddenly felt very old and tired…and full. Shame and fatigue crashed over me, and I reached for my dad’s hand. His palms were chapped and worn, and they were almost as brown as Samuel’s. How I loved my father’s hands! How I loved him. I’d made my dad worry about me. I looked up into his face and saw the emotions I was feeling mirrored in his eyes. I brought his hand to my cheek and leaned my face into his palm. He cupped my face in that big palm, and his eyes filled with sadness.
“Josie Jo. What am I going to do without you?” His voice was gruff and tired.
“I’m not going anywhere, Dad.” I said softly, my voice cracking a little as I thought of Samuel.
“Yes honey, you are.” Emotion shook in his voice. “You are going to go - I won’t let you stay here anymore.”
I felt the bottom drop out of my chest and my heart plummet, crashing in tiny pieces at my feet. My hand, still holding onto his, fell to my lap.
“Don’t you want me to stay with you, Dad?” My voice quavered, and I bit down on my bottom lip.
“Honey, it isn’t about what I want anymore. I’ve let you take care of me and your brothers since you were nine years old! I just can’t, in good conscience, let you do it anymore.”
“Dad!” I cried out in denial, “You’ve taken care of all of us! I just did my part!”
“You did more than your part, Josie. You never were a child - not after your mother died. You always had this wisdom and maturity that made me feel like maybe it was okay to let you have your head. But your heart rules your head, Josie. You would stay here forever just to take care of me and stay true to a love that will never be returned. Not in this life. Kasey’s gone, baby. He isn’t coming back.”
“I know that Dad, believe me, I do….I just don’t know how to say goodbye this time. It isn’t the same as it was with mom. I knew it was coming, even as young as I was. I knew she was going to die; I knew she was going to have to leave me. And I knew she expected me to go on living and loving and learning. I just don’t know how to say goodbye this time,” I repeated, and bit back a sob. My dad pulled me into his lap, just like he’d done over four years ago when he’d found me in my mother’s wedding dress.
