My step dad was giddy because his good friend was back in town visiting from out of state. I loved seeing him happy because he would be neutral to me or sometimes even fun. I’d find myself letting my guard relax and I always held out hope his good mood would stay, and he’d change for good.
My sister and I were in the back seat on the drive to see his friend.
We stopped at a winery. I was fascinated that the employees behind the counter let customers taste samples.
“Want to taste some sparking grape juice?”
“Me?”
I look at my step dad to see if this is okay. He looks back at me neutrally but still I pause to gauge whether I think he’ll make me pay later for an undeserved treat.
I take a sip and it’s yummy!
We leave with a box of bottles of wine.
My step dad and his friend had the same first name and they played a game where they jockeyed as to who got the title Jeff #1 or Jeff #2.
I had witnessed just one side of this game, overhearing their long distance phone calls. But now it was being played in person, propelling my dad’s good mood.
My sister and I occupied ourselves while the adults visited and left in the evening.
We got home and I came inside. While looking in the fridge of a snack, I heard my mom yelling outside.
Oh shit.
After a bright sunny, good mood day, without warning, the storm is here.
I don’t remember my step dad’s heavy drinking years. My memories start at this time, in the years when he was trying to stay sober.
Sober weeks and months would go by, then something, anything, would set him off and he’d come home drunk and out of his mind. Like the Hulk. Like a tornado. His normal distorted thinking and behavior now empowered by a 500 mile per hour wind.
This was the shoe that was always waiting to drop during the good times. Always in the back of my mind.
I watched over the back of the couch, out the window. I saw my mom on the porch pulling bottle after bottle of wine out of the case, throwing each into the yard to break.
“Well you better get un-drunk real quick!”
Fuck. He’s drunk. I hadn’t realized it. How could I have missed it? I thought the wine was just for his friend. I didn’t realized he was drinking, too. I didn’t realize he was drunk-driving with me and my little sister in the car.
My step dad mutters a reply and walks back to his car. My mom is following, screaming at him.
“Oh no you don’t. Get back here! You’re drunk! You’re drunk! Do not get in that car!”
But of course he does. He starts the car and backs out of the driveway.
I could see that my mom was yelling after him because could crash the car from being drunk. I don’t know why, but my 11 year old mind took it a step further and concluded that he was going to intentionally crash his car. Drive right into a tree and kill himself.
Even though I was terrorized by this man, he wore the shoes of the father in my life since I was a baby and, as a child is wired to do, I loved him.
The thought fear of him killing himself took over my body. To my child mind the thought felt as real as if it were actually happening in front of me. I started screaming and crying and jumping up and down.
His car zoomed off and my mom walked up the porch steps and opened our trailer door.
I suddenly felt embarrassed that I was so hysterical. I think because part of me realized my fantasy was not realistic and because I was terrified of showing that much of an emotional need to my mom. And I suppose, afraid I wouldn’t get what I needed in response.
I had trained myself to never need anything from anyone, and the thought of appearing vulnerable felt humiliating and disgusting and weak.
So as soon as she stepped through the the door, I instantly turned off my crying and screaming and sat calm and still on the couch.
Even then, it was alarming to me to see the way I just turned my emotions off like a faucet. “This can’t be normal” I thought.
“He was driving around drunk with you two in the car?”
I wonder if I’m in trouble.
“Yeah. But I didn’t know he was drunk until we got home and you were fighting.”
“Didn’t you see that he bought wine and was drinking it?”
I don’t know why she’s asking this. Now I believe I’ve done something wrong and I should have been able to stop him.
“I thought he just bought it for the other Jeff. Like a present.”
Along with my tightly stuffed hysterical feelings, I now add to my list of guilt and responsibility that I have to make sure this tornado warning doesn’t drink.