“Okay,” Ty said sadly. He turned then to Otter. “You said you were going to stay and take care of me too, Otter. Are you going to go away too? Not like my mom, but like Uncle Creed? Are you only going to visit me sometimes?”
Otter responded without hesitation. “I’m not going anywhere, Kid. You can count on that. I’m going to stay right here with you and Bear, okay?”
“But, Otter,” Creed interrupted, “what about—”
Otter shot him a warning look, and Creed stopped. I wondered what that was about. I didn’t know of Otter having to leave or do anything. I didn’t really want to think necessarily of Otter right then but shuddered at the thought of him going away too. Otter was already out of college and was working for a small photo studio in the next county over. It wasn’t glamorous, but he seemed to like it. They’d had a couple of shows for his work that I had gone to. I had walked around with Creed and his parents, sipping champagne, feeling older than I was as we walked from picture to picture. I reminded myself to ask Creed later what was going on with Otter.
As soon as Ty knew where he sto
od and who was leaving and who was not, he seemed to be placated a bit. He turned back to me and crawled up my chest again. He kept his arms against his sides. I put one arm around his neck, and he nuzzled my neck. A fleeting thought rose in my head—
this is how you and otter were laying
—but I pushed it away before it could take root. I heard the Kid mumbling something against my neck, and I cocked my head to listen. “Say that again, Kid. I couldn’t hear you,” I told him.
“I need to go sit in the bathtub. I feel like an earthquake,” he whispered back.
I immediately stood, carrying Ty. I heard Anna and Creed explaining to Otter what Ty had meant, and nobody followed, and I was fine with that. I carried Ty to the closest bathroom and climbed into the bathtub and sat down, my back to the edge opposite the faucet. I stretched out my legs, and Ty lay against my chest, his eyes glassy and listless.
When Ty had been four, he had been watching TV and had seen some show on earthquakes or tectonic plates or something that had ingrained itself into him. Even at that age he wasn’t watching cartoons like normal kids. On the show, he told me later, they said that in the event of an earthquake, you needed to get some place safe. One of those places is the bathroom, in the tub. Ever since then, whenever Ty has gotten scared, upset, in trouble, mad, or any other range of emotion that was anything other than happiness, he would go sit in the bathtub until he felt better again, saying he wanted to feel safe from his earthquakes. My mom used to try and get him to stop, until one day I told her to just leave him alone. She did, telling me fine, she would leave him alone, but I would have to deal with him when he got like that.
So we sat in the bathtub, feeling the world shifting between our feet. Eventually he quieted and fell asleep on my chest, his hands still wrapped up in my shirt. In there, we were safe. Out there, the world shook and everything was breaking apart.
SO THAT’S how it went. That’s how she left. That’s how I reacted. That’s how we told Ty. That’s how I made the only choice I could make. I turned eighteen and gained a child. A few days later Creed, Anna, and I graduated from high school. Both Anna’s parents and the Thompsons were told about what happened. We got them together to tell them so it would not have to be repeated, and I was proud of my friends as they stood united with me against their parents’ protestations. Eventually, we got them to agree to allow me to take care of Ty and not try to find our mom or call the cops or anything like that. Of course, this was only made on the condition that I accept their help and ask them for anything if it was needed for either Ty or myself. Otter, Creed, and Anna all kicked me underneath the table when I hesitated, and I said yes. I knew their parents were going against their better judgment, but I think that they were told of my threat to take Ty and leave if they ever did anything, so they did nothing.
As promised, the power of attorney arrived two days after my birthday, brought to me by my mother’s friend Denise. As promised, it had already been notarized. All I had to do was sign my name on the empty line below. I stared at the little sheet of paper for what felt like hours, tracing my mom’s signature with my finger over and over again. It felt like I was signing my life away, agreeing to something that wasn’t fair to anyone involved. But in the end, what choice did I have? I signed the power of attorney, and Creed and Anna tried to make a big deal about it, saying it was cause for celebration. I shook my head and stood out on our apartment balcony, staring out into the parking lot. Otter came out a moment later and stood next to me, never speaking but bumping my shoulder every now and then to let me know he was still there. That was all I needed.
It turned out that the $137.50 that was in the envelope with the damned letter was all that our mom had left us. I’d had more than three thousand saved in that account from working, saving up for when I was supposed to go away to school. It was the final slap in the face from my mother. Much to my annoyance, however, Creed or Anna or Otter had gotten my banking information and somehow that money was magically replaced into the account. I knew it was one of their parents who had put it there, and I protested it quickly. I was told to shut up and to remember that I had promised to let them help. I didn’t say anything further to them except for a humbled thank-you and immediately went to work and requested extra shifts. I vowed to not put them in that position again.
And so that’s what happened.
I know, I know. I can hear you asking already: But Bear, that doesn’t explain what happened with you and Otter. That’s the whole point of this flashback! I’m getting to that. I’m just thinking of what to say. He did do something to me, yes, but I’m not talking about anything physical. He did something to my head, and I find that’s always the hardest thing to talk about. So why are Otter and I standing in the rain, the Kid’s soy ice cream half-melted? Why am I clutching at him like Ty did when we told him about our mom? I’m doing that because I am afraid he’ll disappear like he said he wouldn’t, that he will abandon me, and I will be alone all over again. But I’m not like that, okay? I’m not like that.
I’m not.
ABOUT two weeks after I graduated, I came home from work. It was almost ten o’clock at night. I was tired. I found myself being tired most of the time in those days. There’s nothing more draining on a human than a perpetual state of grief and anger. I alternated between the two, trying to keep it bottled up so no one would see just how bad I was. I let myself into our apartment and saw Mrs. Paquinn sitting on the couch, Ty lying asleep with his head in her lap.
Mrs. Paquinn is our next-door neighbor. She’s in her seventies but is quicker in the mind than most people I know. Whenever we needed a babysitter, she’s always more than willing to watch Ty, no questions asked. She lives alone and has done so for the last thirty years, her husband having died from a heart attack at an impossibly young age. She’s always fond of telling me that he hung on for two weeks afterward, too stubborn in this life to move onto the next. I knew that she’d had a daughter who had also passed away, but that was when she was very young. She’d said that God saw fit to bless her with one but that she was too precious, and so He took her right back. When I first heard that, it made me think that God was a possessive bastard.
I had finally worked up the nerve to tell her what happened, thinking she would show pity and feel sorry for me like everyone else had. I even thought she would cry a little bit. But she did nothing of the sort, telling me that I was brave for what I was doing and that I reminded her of her Joseph, who had been her husband. She told me never to worry about asking for help with the Kid, that she would always watch him when I needed. We had always paid her before, as she lived on a fixed income, and I made sure that this did not change. The first time I’d done so, I could see her ready to protest, but there must have been something in my eyes because she looked at me for the longest time and then took the money without question. At least in that, I felt some kind of normalcy.
I walked in the apartment and thanked her softly for watching Ty for me. Anna had also been at work, and Creed and Otter had had some kind of family dinner that they had to go to. Mrs. Paquinn had agreed immediately to watch Ty when I’d asked her the day before. She rose slowly from the couch, moving gently to not wake Ty. I paid her, and she hugged me as she always did, and I led her to the door, waiting until I saw she had gotten safely into her apartment next door before I closed my door.
I went back to Ty and picked him up. He woke briefly, and saw that it was me carrying him and went back to sleep in my arms. Mrs. Paquinn had already gotten him into his pajamas, so I put him into his bed and pulled the covers over him, kissing the top of his head as I turned off the bedroom light. I left the door partway open so the light from the living room would act as a nightlight. I tried a few days ago to move into my mom’s old room now that it was available. That had led to a freak-out on Ty’s part. I learned quickly that he knew I had to leave him sometimes for work and such, but when I was home, I was expected to continue on in the way we had done before Mom had left. That meant sleeping in the same room. He didn’t care if we slept in our room or in the other bedroom, as long as we were together. We chose to stay in our room, even though it was smaller. Mom’s room still smelled like her. It was too much, too soon.
On that night, however, that was far from my mind. That night was one of the nights that I’d found myself, frequently in those days, depressed, angry, feeling sorry for myself. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I made the decision at work that I wanted to be drunk. I knew that there’s nothing worse for depression than drinking by yourself, but I didn’t give a shit. My mom had left a bottle of Jim Beam in one of the cupboards. It was nasty, thick, and cloying, but it numbed me quickly, especially since I was drinking it directly from the bottle. Shortly, I found myself drunk and in a worse state than when I’d begun. A shadow crossed my heart, and I made my way to the bathtub, tremors rolling through my body. I took the bottle with me. I was upset. And drunk. And I wanted to talk to someone. Badly.
I picked up my phone to call Anna or Creed and dialed Otter instead.
He answered on the fourth ring. “Thank God you called. This dinner is still going on, and I have to tell you, my extended family is insufferable. Thanks for giving me an excuse to get away.”
“My extended family sucks too,” I said, trying to make a joke, but it came out as Myyy tendin famries fluck toa.
Otter sounded amused. “I take it that the Kid’s asleep, and you decided to partake in a little self-indulgence?”
“Yesh,” I slurred. “I’rve freaking earned thissss.”
“There’s no denying that. Where are you?”