A Black Cloud

A Chapter by Shep

Chapter 22

A Black Cloud

Like all things in life. Good and bad, they all have their turning points and most times their endings. Our short vacation was over as we settled in for the long drive home. Even though we have a bunch of new clothes and a new passenger riding in the back as we watched him swish his tail. I still felt sadden to come back to the world I lived in. Knowing and fearing the coming months and most of all the holidays. Plans were unsettled where I would be spending them. I was hoping the Downing’s, my mother was hoping she’d steal me away long before then. Saying if she gets her wish the Downing’s and my Aunt Margaret will no longer have a say regarding my care.

Her shrink thought to break the ice and in hopes of me opening up again to my parents and sisters. That they should begin by simply writing one or two letters a week. Like many great ideas or should I say bad ideas because this was a bad one. Like these good quotes. ‘One never should trust anyone that says. “Keep” this a secret, there is no need to tell everyone anything that includes family secrets;” except I never did or would ever trust them again.

How many times can they say they are truly sorry when they repeat the same mistakes over and over again as I bounced from one home to another? And the beatings never stop even when they say they are sorry. Even though neither Ma nor Pa asked if they could read my letters when they came, which were mostly from my mother. I considered my self lucky if I received a letter with a short paragraph from my sisters saying they wish I would just die as they are made to write something as they scratched out the word “die” adding some flowery phrase to satisfy my mother. What I looked forward to the most was the crayon pictures from my brother Aaron. My father never sent me a letter. Mother quoted a lie saying he loves me and misses me. Thinking I or anyone else would believe it.

To my parent's disapproval; Ma and Pa always read every single letter, sometimes reading them over the phone to my grandmother before handing them over to Aunty M. For me nothing was a secret and that included any kind of trouble my mother was stirring up. It bothered her that I was so happy, and the fact I wasn’t under her and my father's control angered her in so many ways as she tries to coax me away from the Downing’s. Promising the moon that things have changed, that I would just give them one more chance; on and on it went listing her desires regarding the holidays. Telling me things will be different from now on if I would just consider coming home.

I had learned to hate the holidays as I looked forward to them to being over. Thanksgiving was a time for a family where relatives would share a moment of their lives with you as they sit around the table giving thanks to all their blessings. These same relatives that I only see twice a year while they go out of their way to ignore me as if I didn’t exist; to this very day nothing has changed and I doubt it will in another 25 years.

What blessing I’d ask myself year after year? Having stuffed my backpack with enough clothes to last for three days; trying very hard to stay out of everyone’s way. I would wait in my room that I shared with my brother, reading a book or do homework. My foster parents would pack me an extra bag full of snacks considering my mother couldn’t cook a lick. Unless you call burnt offerings yummy, my father considered opening a can and pouring it into a pan and calling that dinner; while he makes a peanut butter with mayonnaise and dill pickle sandwich, sometimes adding a fresh tomato. Yuck

Before my grandmother died we would have Thanksgiving dinner at her house. Having to always sit at the kid's table was a joke that never got old. By having rules and guidelines set the second we step one foot in the door. We were always late yet considered early when my Aunt Lee Ann arrived. She had always done her best to rub our noses in how high society she is ever since she married a man named Tom.

Don’t know much about them except they always made you feel they were doing us a favor of them being here. She would always look down on us as if we were dirt under her fingernails. Believe me, the feeling is mutual. I don’t speak to her and she doesn’t speak to me; considers me worst than dirt which hasn’t changed in 25 years and blames me for everything under the sun. Her kids are now grown having children of their own are of the same opinions regarding me like their parents.

She’d always had some excuses, more so when she married Tom regarding where she wanted to spend the holidays with. Mostly I think it was because neither she nor he could smoke or drink any kind of alcohol in my grandmother’s house and other moral issues than ones she was taught growing up was a contradiction; so it became a trade-off. Every other year she would spend Thanksgiving with us; which was fair considering she was married now and had two families to spend time with.

Yet she was always the last one to arrive and the first one to leave when it was her turn to spend Thanksgiving with us. And when it was Christmas she was always the last one to arrive, sometimes hours after everyone else. We would all get tired of waiting so we would begin without her. Having to stop to accommodate her and her family then watch her hightail it to the door as fast as she could. And so she could have a smoke and quick swig of alcohol from a tin from her husband vest pocket as I watched her light cigarette and share it between them as they quickly got into their car. Complaining she is so busy with Toms family and friends, she barely has any time for us. It hasn’t changed even though we live a few blocks away; she never pays any attention to us unless she wants something. Other than that we are invisible.

She always had to put on a show by showing off with the most gifts or the most expensive than everyone else’s for my grandmother, but our gift from her, if we were lucky, consisted of a box of fruit. It didn’t seem fair and considered it a slap in the face when we spent actual money buying them each a gift that was on their high society list. Now that my grandmothers dead; she doesn’t spend a single Thanksgiving or Christmas with us. Not that I miss her, but just to state this for the record.

None of us go out of our way to invite them or buy presents for them anymore. “Out of sight out of mind.” Heard tell some tried and got the responses she’s too busy, maybe next year. Eventually, they stopped asking. Don still buys her and family gifts picking up the extra load and expenses him and my Grandmother shared between them. And in return, he barely gets anything back. His gifts are considered stocking stuffers in her and her families’ eyes looking down at him as if he was a freak of nature. Yet she expects it every time their birthday arrives and Christmas. Then he becomes invisible again. No phone calls, not even a howdy do or a wave on the street when she or her family drives by. But just to keep the record straight we see Dons brother Darrald even less. All parties are guilty when it comes to keeping family ties strong and vibrant; again stating “out of sight out of mind.”

Grandma had four rules. Number One: That we all must give her a hug and kiss the second we arrived. I always made sure to give her several throughout the day, since I seldom saw her much before the Downing’s, but she did make a point to call or visit on special occasions, or when I just need to talk to someone. Knowing my parents wouldn’t. The second rule was all the kids were sent out to play and no fighting would be tolerated that was stated for my sisters and parents benefit. The best part is at grandma’s house was due to the awesome slide that was hidden in her closet. You see when Grampa built the house. He had to make room for grandma’s closet so it slopped upward too make room for the stairs that led to the basement.

There is not a kid alive in our family except the new generation that hasn’t slid down that slide or climbed every tree and shed on her yard. The Forth rule was kids help set the table and do the dishes. Compared to now were they simply fill the dishwasher. I seldom went outside and played with my cousins as it became mandatory for me to stay sitting on the couch reading a book where my parents could watch me at all times. For they were afraid of the secrets I would tell regarding things happening in the home.

Not that it stopped my parents from slapping my face in front of them or my grandmother; just for making eye contact or speaking when someone other than my parents asked me a question and didn’t give the correct answer. Like how did you get that black eye? My response should be “from a fight at school,” but my response was “from them” as I pointed a finger at my parents. With that being said my parents would slap me saying I was just being a smart mouth and it was quite common for me to tell such lies.

Yea right; that’s why they slapped me adding more bruises right in front of them. How blind can they be? As grandma grabbed some ice to cool the sting yelling back; “I will not tolerate this in my home, Jim and Linda. He did nothing wrong and he certainly didn’t deserve that for telling the truth.” My father would growl angrily and go outside to cool off. No one else stepped in just proving a point that it was ok for them to get away with it. I also knew the second I was out of reach of my grandmother another brutal beating was about to take place. I would consider myself lucky if I didn’t return to my foster home with missing teeth or any broken bones, which has happened more often then not.

I hated seating at the kid's table not really knowing anyone, considering I was more of an outsider looking in. All I could think of was I wanted this day and home visit to be over yet there was still Christmas just around the corner, grandma giving deadlines regarding Christmas list. Susan and Becky having theirs ready the second she asked for them. I knew from experience that grandma would call me as she whispered in my ear. My father would growl angrily if she asked him in regards to my brother and me. Stating they have more than they need and more than they deserve, don’t waste money on things that aren’t important, things that we will have to give way anyway.

Yes, Christmas was quite different compared to other families, as they looked forward to Christmas candies, cakes, pies and most of all Christmas cookies. We, on the other hand, had neither; since my mother nor my father could cook or make anything without burning the house to the ground. My mother would buy them and hide them, telling us all they were X-rated; meaning they were in other words only for her and my father. You could say I heard that word a lot. Yet when it came down to Susan and Becky the word was never used. This was one of many reasons I wanted to be a chef, so when I got older and had a family of my own. Nothing would ever be X-rated and I would not single out any of my children.

Yes coming home was a sad thing, but we knew we would be back next year to work on the lumber mill and the sheep and cattle ranch. But what we didn’t know that some bad news was upon us and things began to change, and not for the better. There is saying the bad things happen in packages of three. That includes people dying, friends family it doesn’t matter what the news was it was going to be. Something bad was on the horizon.

We had just arrived finding out that Doctor Hatfield had died of a heart attack the night before. Two days later Peters’ grandmother died making number 2. By the weekend we were informed that my first home visit without supervision would take place the following weekend making it number three of bad news. To say the link in the armor that was protecting me was weakening with Doctor Hatfield gone and the State once again interfering with my life was putting holes in it.

My mother didn’t waste a moment’s time struck fast and furious putting the bad information to work for her benefit. Bad news for us was good news to her. If wasn’t for Aunty M, she would have taken me out of the home completely for sure. It wasn’t out of love she wanted me; it was done for a show of power and control. Nothing in this world could stop my mother from getting what she wanted it seemed; as long as I was out from under the Downing’s care the sooner the better my mother liked it.

The State could drag their feet when it came to getting things done, and are so stupid when came to my parent's wishes. They firmly believed that kids belonged at home regardless of the circumstances, and as long it was in writing they could read and file… The world was good in their rose-colored glasses. So it was a blow to us all when Doctor Hatfield died, one of my major supporters against child abuse. Doctor Whitmore had to step in even though they were dealing with two losses Peters grandmother and Doctor Hatfield.

Yet there is some good news or a silver lining in this dark cloud. Peter was officially adopted within the week to the Whitmore’s. Too bad my parents couldn’t have died as well, making mine and Aaron’s life easier. Susan and Becky would have ended up in some group home for girls and none of us would have missed them.

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