Little bird

Although I had promised my friend Mama Sue that I wouldn't visit Ashes until at least four weeks away from home, I kind of had no choice on Thursday night. Her laptop had arrived the day before, and Theo and I had worked to make sure it was fully functioning, then added her favorite writing sites. I even took out a membership to Netflix and added that to the laptop, and Theo set as a backdrop her favorite emu photo.

Then, armed with lots of beef jerky, Corb and I made the hike from Eldredge to Salem. It takes about an hour and a half on a good day, and this was a Thursday night, so it was pretty smooth sailing through Boston.

We met her at her dorm room with her new best friend, Michaela, who is in the theater department. Corb and I signed in and then set to work setting up the laptop.

The first thing I noticed when I got to her room was how messy her side of it was. Her room mates had their beds all made and everything put away. Ashes bed was unmade, and the posters on her wall had all fallen down. Her hair products were all over the floor, as well as dirty laundry.

While Corb set about setting up the computer, I worked on her posters. Then, I cleaned up her hair products. Then I picked up her dirty clothes. Then, I made her bed.

We chatted amiably with Michaela. I tried to impress her with my theater ties, like the summer I spent living with Viola Davis. She seemed pleasant enough.

"Oh, dammit." Corb looked over at me. "I deleted her Word program by accident." We spent about an hour trying to restore it, but there was a problem with the laptop, and finally decided it was best for her to go to the IT department the next day.

I think that's what set up what happened next. She asked Michaela to wait in the room while she escorted us out. And then, by the laundry room on the first floor, she totally lost it.

She just started crying uncontrollably. "I hate this place I don't have any friends Everyone is looking at me strangely They think I'm a freak I just want to go home Why did I do this I can't do this I need to go home."

I hugged her as best as I could, but suddenly a boy entered the laundry room and she tried to act all cool. Corb and I left her and went to get her a care package of Mountain Dew and Doritos, enough to last a week. Oh, and some extra money, too. I threw everything I had from my wallet into her shopping bag.

She came out to get the Care package and started bawling again. We walked to the empty parking lot so no one could see us. She wouldn't let me hold her, for fear that the other kids would see her.

"It's just so hard," she said. "And I can't cry, because my other room mates are always in the room, so I don't want anyone to see me, and..."

"But you've got good friends, Ashes."

"I have two good friends. But no boy friends. No one wants to look at me."

Ah. No boy friends. I wondered if that was part of the problem. I wondered if this was just a release.

After a while, we led her back to her dorm. She played it cool. With a serious look that said "I'm not crying that's ridiculous, how could you ever think I was crying," she left us. Only the smeared mascara around her eyes could possibly give anything away.

###

"Aaaaaaaah!"

It was only my twentieth panic attack on the long ride home. Corb turned to me patiently and said, "Ted, she's going to be all right."

"It's just a good thing you came," I said. "It's just a good thing I hadn't parked my car near the dorm! If she had gotten near that car, she never would have gotten out. If you weren't here, she would have left with me."
"That would be the worst thing you could do."
"But she just looked so sad!"

"She will be fine, Ted."

"But how about if she can't handle this? How about if this is too much for her? How about if--"

"Ted," said Corb firmly. "She will be fine. But all this...well...driving down with the laptop. Setting up her favorite sites. Cleaning up her dorm room."

I smiled. "Buying snacks?"

"Well, that's okay. But you even logged on to her email account and printed out all of her syllabi and emails from teachers, and handed them to her in a folder! You're not giving her any space to stand on her own two feet, Ted."

I stared glumly at the highway in front of me. "I know."

"You can't keep texting and calling her, Ted. She's not going to grow that way. It's going to keep reminding her how easy it is at home, and she's not going to want to stay."

He was right. I knew that. I let him drift off to sleep as I listened to Obama's acceptance speech. We arrived home at midnight, and he crawled right back in to bed and was asleep before I could have another panic attack.

So instead, I called Josie. She had fallen asleep at eight, but had woken up at ten, as if there was something going on. It was the exact time Ashes had broken down. She just KNEW.

"She just seems so happy when I talk to her, most of the time. I can't believe she broke down like that," she said, still groggy from sleep.

"I know, it really took me aback. And I wonder if she'll even go to the IT place to get Word added on...she's so scared. Maybe if Corb hadn't deleted the program..." I started to wind down. I was tired of talking about it. "This will work itself out."

###

The next day, I received a text from Ashes during my annual physical. "I went to the IT place. Word's all set."

I breathed a sigh of relief. "And how were your classes today?"

"Good. I actually raised my hand in English. And when I said stuff, the teacher didn't crap all over me, like he did in the first class."

That kid does have a way with words. "That's what teacher's do, kiddo."

"So what's my NetFlix password? Carrie and I want to watch a movie."

###

Didn't hear from her until this morning. Corb kept a strict eye on me the night before, making sure I didn't phone or text her. This morning, though, I did text Josie, and she told me she sounded happy. And that they had captured an injured bird and brought it into her dorm room.

THAT warranted a call. "An injured bird, Ashes?"

"It just flew into my hair last night, when we were walking around, and it was really sick. Michaela slept over and our friend Eric was there, too. We brought it back to the door and made it a nest out of pads and the hair from my hairbrush."

"Okay, that's completely disgusting."

She yawned. "Now it's fine and flying around and driving me crazy. It won't stop chirping and I just want to sleep."

"Well, talk to an RA and play dumb and--"

"Oh, Michaela's texting. Gotta go!"

I hung up the phone and grinned. My little bird. Maybe she's going to be fly after all.

Facing the Ocean.

Ashes was accepted to her third college last night. Three of the four colleges we visited have all accepted her. The fourth put her on wait list.

"Now listen,"I said as I was making dinner in our tiny kitchen, and turned around and grabbed her by the shoulders to emphasize my point. "And this is really important. Promise me you'll stick with this. Don't drop out. That first year in college is really stressful and hard, and especially in the first six months you're going to feel the urge to give it up. You're going to miss home, miss your family. It's not going to feel right. Fight the feeling. It gets better, I promise."

She smiled her sad insecure smile, grown a tad more secure by all the good news. "It gets better, huh?"

I smiled, and averted my eyes. "It's kind of like being gay." I moved back to my cooking, amused by my audacity.

She smiled and moved back to the living room.

A few minutes later, she returned, clutching her signed copy of John Green's The Fault in Our Stars. One of her favorite books, something she's been trying to get me to pay attention to for months now.

"I want to read this to you," she said, and opened up the first page. "I think he kind of writes the way you do." She cleared her throat. "'Late in the winter of my seventeenth year, my mother decided I was depressed, presumably because I rarely left the house, spent quite a lot of time in bed, read the same book over and over, ate infrequently, and devoted quite a bit of my abundant free time thinking about death.'"

I cooked, I listened. I finished cooking, I listened. I sat down in the living room, she sat across from me. I listened as she read the whole first chapter, strong and clear. I sat there, watching her, listening, proud of what I was seeing, what I was hearing.

There's only so much more time left for listening. I want it all.

Apply, yourself

"Dad, can we watch Rent tonight?"
"Sure!" Then I think about it. "Well, maybe...it depends what Corb's reaction will be when he finds out he has to sit through all that...ohhhhh..." I grit my teeth. "Shhh! Now listen, Ashes, I'm putting together all the stuff for your college apps. We need to concentrate on this."

And with that, I start to Google the next college on the list, so we can start the application.

Ashes nods and goes back to watching the fifth episode of Gossip Girl she's seen that day. Then, suddenly: "I want to play with her hair."

I look up from my typing. "What?"

"That girl. On the screen. I want to play with her hair. It's long, pretty, and blond."

"That's nice, Ashes. Now, would you mind it if we--"

"Oh my God! Did you just hear what Chuck Bass just said?"

Oh, my Lord. This kid! I decide to go travel down the path of patience. "No, Ashes, I was trying to concentrate on your college applications. You know, the ones that are due, like...now?"

"Oh." There's silence, except for the meaningless drone of Gossip Girl. Ah good, perhaps we can now make some progress! I start to type a little faster, unburdened by the curse of inter--

"Dad, didn't you say that Chuck Bass was from Desperate Housewives?"

--uptions. Dammit!

"Dad?"

I glance up at the television screen. "No, Ashes. I said that the guy standing next to him was." Then, I squint my eyes. "But on second thought, I think I thought he was somebody else."

"I mean, don't you just want to slap him in the face? Chuck Bass. Like, ten years ago, I would have totally slapped him."

I'm not sure exactly what that means. "Ashes, why don't we turn off Gossip Girl for just a little while? I bet we can bang this out in ten minutes. It really doesn't look that bad at all, really. We can just turn down the noise and focus on this, and then, you can go back to watching Gossip Girl. Okay?"

"Oh. Sure."

I turn off the television. Silence fills the room. Ah, this is nice...silence. I glance back down at the screen, and start to review the next field that we have to fill. "Now then, it looks as if we need to--"

"Oh my God! Dad, did you see on TV that there's this family that's adopted five monkeys? They totally run around and torment the family. Have you ever seen a monkey holding a steak knife? It's kind of adorable."

At that point, I want to throw up my hands. This is sheer craziness! I wonder what the college app process would have been like if I hadn't asked for a little concentration...

And yet.

Above all else, I am acutely aware that I am going to miss all of this, ten months from now.

Another crossing.

6:30 in the morning. Saturday. The alarm goes off.

I throw the blankets back, stumble off the couch. Shuffle down the hall and knock on Ashes' door.

"Time to wake up."

"Mmmmmm hmmmm." I wait until I'm pretty sure she's out of bed, then move back to the couch.

Twenty minutes later. I stumble out of bed again and move over to the table where the printed out SAT ticket is placed. Scan it over, quickly. Excited, I moved down the hall, knock on Ashes' door again.

"Mmmmmm hmmmm."

"Hey! I just realized that it says we have to be there at 7:45, latest. That means we have fifteen more minutes to sleep!"

"Mmmmmm hmmmm." I move back to the couch. Sleep.

7:15, we're in the stang and just about to pull out of the parking lot on our way to Cumberland High School. This should be great, I think to myself, finally a perfect situation where nothing is going to go wrong. I printed out the Mapquest last night and it's only twenty minutes away, so we'll get there with ten minutes to spare. We have the pencils, the scientific calculator, Ash has been studying like crazy and should feel totally prepared and at ease and do just fine, and...

"What about my photo ID?" Ashes asks.

And with one sentence, my little bubble is popped. "Um, what?"

"My photo ID. I told you last night, I forgot it at mom's house. Remember? You called her up, she said she'd leave it in her car with the doors unlocked?"

"Oh."

No, no...don't panic, it'll be okay. Even if Josie's house is fifteen minutes away and...

Flash forward to 7:43. The photo ID has been picked up and I'm speeding down the highway in my stang, having spent the past half an hour watching the time ticking down, knowing that you can't change the laws of physics, no matter how much you would like to. 7:15 becomes 7:25 becomes 7:35 becomes...

"It's almost 7:45, says Ashes.

"I know." I try to keep a good attitude. "But we're almost at the exit."

"But we only have two minutes to go! And they're REALLY strict about these things."

"They'll let you in, don't worry. I'll walk in with you."

"It WON'T matter! They're really strict about these things. We might as well turn around and go back home now."

"No, no! Don't give up like that. We'll be fine." I put my foot on the accelerator just a little harder. "Just keep studying."

Ashes closes her eyes and places her study cards on the floor. "I've studied enough..."

"Look! We're almost at the exit." Just keeping thinking good thoughts keep thinking good thoughts...she's worked too hard, can't let this happen, it won't happen they wouldn't let it...

7:47, and we pull into the high school. I notice with relief that other kids are walking into the high school. And, not being thrown out. "You want me to go with you?" I ask.

"No, I'll go. I'll let you know if there's a problem." That in and of itself is a minor miracle, as Ashes ALWAYS wants me to go with her.

She opens the car door and heads to the entrance. I wait there as long as I can, not wishing to block anyone in. After a few minutes, I take a turn around the parking lot, then move back to the entrance. I do this six times, then park and walk over to the entrance, just to be on the safe side.

Ashes is nowhere to be seen. Just to be even safer, I send her a text, "You make it in?"

A few minutes go by, then: "Y"

As I drive off, I type into the Blackberry "Good luck! You'll do fine." I pause, then type: "I love you."

Maybe it's early hour or the lack of sleep, but as I type it, I start to feel a catch in my throat, and my eyes start to get misty. Silly sentimental man, Josie always tells me. And, of course, she's right, I am.

All I know is, one more hurdle has been crossed. And that feels good and scary (and good), all at the same time.

Growing up is so hard. So many stages and tests and things to be done as one makes the transition. It's hard on the kids, but especially...most especially, I think, it's hard on the parents.

Keep out.

A flash of memory, from seven years ago. February, 2004. From the first apartment I moved into after separating from Josie. The kids were only eleven and six at the time. But I wonder, have I done a good job of preparing them for the deep cold outside during the time that's passed?

Somewhere outside, I can hear a drunk boy arguing, then burst into tears. Men are so unattractive when they cry.

His words are muted, indistinct. Instinctively, I turn the lights out in the apartment and move close to the picture window to hear more. I've always been nosy like that.

But it's no use. I move the curtain back a sliver and look outside into the cold, dispassionate evening, searching for this infrared pocket of heat.

I can hear two or three muted voices, but can't make out what they're saying. I hear the boy trying to speak, but then his words grow even more indistinct, becoming sobs, low, guttural sobs, and then even those start to fade.

There’s the sound of a car starting up, then pulling away.

I lie on the bed in my apartment, cross-legged, my computer in front of me. From the other room, Ashes is snoring loudly, Tiger is squirming in his sleep.

And then, another sound, in the hallway. A woman’s voice, clearly on the brink. I lift myself up from my bed and quickly shuffle into the living room toward the door.

Her voice becomes more distinct. She sounds as though she’s in her thirties, most likely not too old, but old enough to no longer have that youthful blush. Clearly intoxicated. There’s another voice, a masculine voice, but I can’t make out his words.

I can hear hers. “I don’t care anymore! I don’t care I don’t care I don’t care anymore.” She’s crying, too, and her sobs flow like the tide, like breathing in, breathing out.

Something falls to the floor, smashes. A plate? “I’m dying I’m dying I don’t care. What do you want?”

The masculine voice, indecipherable, a low sonorous growl. But she doesn’t give him much of a chance.

“Shut up. I want to be with my kids. They’re my kids and I want you to shut up. You have no clue what kids are about, so just shut up. You, shut up.”

Another growl.

“You know what? I don’t even care. Kill me, kill the kids. You feel so freakin’ proud about it, go ahead and do it, just do it, just do it, okay? Dad would be so proud to know you were a fucking asshole.”

Low tones start to say something. Mumble mumble mumble.

“...all those other jackasses...I haven’t BEEN with ANY OTHER jackasses! I haven’t had sex since...since...see, I can’t remember. I can’t even remember. I don’t care. I don’t. I’m too tired. So murder my kids! Go ahead! Just...”

She starts to sob, hysterically, and there’s that rhythm again, that breathing in, breathing out.

They talk. I can’t hear their words, although wish I could. I imagine them sitting there, probably on the staircase. I wonder whether they’re close together. Is he holding her? Is he leaning against the side of the wall, keeping his distance? Is he threatening her?

I think of my ex-wife, Josie. Thank God that we avoided this. Thank God it never ever went there.

Her voice rises in volume. “I never want to be involved with anyone EVER I never did anything to anyone ever...I don’t fucking WANT to TRY anymore I FUCKING HATE YOU ALL, fucking kill me, just kill me don’t ever fucking threaten my kids, you fuck I hate you I hate you I hate you...”

A noisy stumble up a flight of stairs. Her sobs start to fade away. Silence.

Then, more stumbles. Her voice, again. It sounds as if she’s alone, talking to herself, close to my door, mumbling about this apartment and she’s not crazy and this is not the way she is. Then, she moves away.

Ashley snores grow a little louder, taking me out of the trance I’ve been in. The kids. Have they been taking this in? No, they haven’t; they’re fast asleep.

There’s a knock. Downstairs. Not on my door.

(But what if it had been my door? What would I have done?)

I hear my neighbor downstairs. A gentle man. Brown hair, slight squat, thick glasses. I think he’s disabled. I hear him talking to her, whoever she is.

Then her voice, a hysterical stream. “I don’t think he’s a murderer. I don’t know where my car is, I don’t know where he is. I'm just tired, tired of all this. You must think I'm crazy, I’m really not crazy, I don’t usually get like this. I don’t think he’s a murderer, I really don’t, I just don’t know, but I don’t know where my car is and…”

”Relax. Keep it down.”

I hear that, distinctly. Slowly, I move over to the couch where Ashes is sleeping, sit down next to her. I place a hand against her cheek, feel the warmth of her skin. Brush one of her wet sweaty curls away from her face. Her snoring is steady, even. Peaceful.

I glance over at the door, the door that separates us from it. It, exactly. The cold outside world I want so badly to protect my kids from. I won’t be able to, though.

Not forever, at least. It’s not enough to lock a door or pull back a curtain. That only keeps the real world at bay for a while.

Downstairs, a door clicks shut. The cold outside retreats.

For now, that is. Only for now.

Monday night football.

"I don't wanna watch Pretty Little Liars!"

"I NEED to! I've seen every episode so far. It's the only show I actually watch on TV."

"But it's stupid! I don't wanna watch it!"

"DAAA-AA-AA-AD!"

I knew the moment was coming. I gritted my teeth and gripped the wheel tighter. "Why can't you watch it in your room, Ashes?"

From the back of the car, I could hear Ashes punch the back seat. "Because it'll be on during supper and besides, we don't get that channel in my room. Stupid basic cable."

"Do to!" Theo said belligerently, sitting right next to me in the passenger side,

"Do NOT!"

"It's on channel 26, you moron!"

"DAAA-AA-AA-AD!"

I slowed the car at a traffic light, irritable after a full day of work. "Give me a minute, wouldja? I swear, you guys fight about everything. Ask anything, Theo, you'd say it was black. Ashes, you'd say it was white. And you're always, always asking me to somehow make it gray."

Theo smirked. "Where'd you hear that one?"

"I didn't. I made it up myself." Then I paused. "But I may have to write that one down, later..."

Thirty minutes later, and the TV arrangements had been made. Ashes would watch her Pretty Little Liars, which Theo was not happy about. Now came the time for the food battle. After a bit of nagging, I hesitantly said, "Now kids, we can either have chicken breasts or Hamburger Helper."

"Oh, God," groaned Ashes. "Anything but Hamburger Helper."

"But I like Hamburger Helper!" yelled out Theo from his room.

"Well I don't!" Ashes called back from the couch, with equal intensity. "It tastes like crap!"

"If it tastes like crap, then I should start eating what comes out of my bum!" Theo called back.

Score another one for Theo. At the very least, the kid can make me laugh.

We settled on English muffin pizza, and as a compromise, watched Theo's show after Pretty Little Liars was over PS: PLL was pretty and little and frankly, abysmal. So, I lied. I didn't feel like fighting with Ashes over it. Hey, if it's the only show she watches each week on TV, who am I to knock it? Besides, we had agreed to only watch it in the living room on alternate weeks, so I won't have to see it for a while.

Another Monday night crisis averted. But I'm left marveling anew at my father's rules for dinner, when I was growing up: no television at the dinner table, and you like what mom makes. Things were so much simpler back then. The only time we'd get to watch TV was when dad had a meeting. That's when mom would give us a treat.

Or maybe, she was giving herself a break. Come to think of it, not having the TV on would mean we'd actually have to talk to each other. Maybe mom had the right idea, after all. Conversations coming from the tube are so much less stressful than conversations coming from those chitlins. It's hard making shades of gray all the time.

More than just a question of taste.

Sunday was a nightmare rush. Up at nine for church (and still feeling the alcohol from the night before), then grocery shopping, then time to pick up Ashes, then Theo (who slept at a friend's house), then back home to get ready for the afternoon performance of the show I was in. P.S.: I was already late by the time I arrived at home to take a shower.

As I started to get dressed, however, I could pick up the sounds of an argument in the living room, between Corb and Ashes.

"I don't want to do it!"

"It's all there, and it's easy!"

"It won't be as good."

"How can it not be? It's just two slices of bread and some ham!"

I buttoned up my shirt and headed to the living room. "What's going on?"

Corb was sitting on the couch, looking amused. "Ash won't make herself a ham sandwich for lunch."

Ashes sat next to him, looking less than amused. "It won't taste as good if I make it!"

"You're just being lazy!" said Corb, with equal intensity. "You just don't want to go into the kitchen and make one. Which is ridiculous, because you're seventeen years old."

"No, it won't taste as good. Daddy makes it better than I do."

I grinned, and headed back into the bedroom, to put on my purple tie for the show. And as I was standing there, putting together a Windsor knot, a thought struck me.

I headed back into the living room. "Ash, follow me."

Ashes made a face. "Where?"

I grabbed her sleeve. "Into the kitchen. I'm going to show you how to make the perfect ham and cheese sandwich."

Corb made a face. "You're going to make it for her, you mean."

"No, no, no. Show her!" Ashes looked amused and stood up. We headed into the kitchen, and I grabbed a loaf of bread. "Now, see, this is bread. What I want you to do is reach your hand in and select two really delicious slices. Go ahead, reach right in!"

Ash did as instructed. "Look at those! Wow, they look absolutely delicious. Mmm, I may have to eat them, myself. Now, place them in the toaster...good. Now, let's do the same with our slices of ham."

"All the slices of ham look the same," said Ashes, questioning my sanity.

"But you get to choose! Isn't it great? So, just pick two, okay? Make sure the slices aren't fatty or anything...now, same with the cheese."

We waited a few minutes for the toast to pop up. "Now, this part real is important. You want to take your mustard, turn it upside down, and shake it. Shake it! So, when it comes out, it's right there at the top of the bottle. Now...and this is important, put some on the ham, but also, put a little on one piece of bread. That way, they kind of combine together, like some kind of yummy paste."

"Yummy paste?" Ashes wrinkled her nose. "That sounds plain gross."

"Now! Here's the extra special thing that I do, that makes my ham sandwiches taste extra special, and way better than yours. Cut the sandwich in half and..." I lifted the ham sandwich up to my mouth, and whispered to it. "I hope this sandwich tastes really special today." And then, I handed it over to Ashes.

Ashes looked at me as if I were insane. "You just breathed all over my sandwich." Shaking her head, she took it out of my hands and headed back to the TV.

I was telling my friend Jo-Ann the story, later on, backstage at the performance. "Oh, my daughter does the same exact thing. 'Tastes better when you make it.' Isn't that just a load of crap?"

I explained what I did, and she laughed. "Actually, that kind of does sound better than the way I make it. You're getting me hungry! But Corb's right, she really is just being lazy. I always give in when I'm asked that, though. I mean, my daughter's only going to be in the house another year and will have her whole life to make ham sandwiches without me."

"Exactly!" I said, and everyone backstage looked at me, because I was being too loud. "That's the way I look at it, too. How many more ham sandwiches am I going to have to make for her, really? One more year's worth? It's totally worth it."

That night, when I returned home from the performance, Theo was in the living room, sitting on the couch. He had a pencil in his hand and a notebook in from of him. He looked up from his work, the minute I entered the room.

"Hey Dad, can you do my homework for me?" he asked. "It always gets better grades when you do it!"

I grinned and turned away, hearing Corb's booming laughter in the background. Some beds are just better left unmade.