my chair, push away the table.
Taken by surprise, I want to hit him.
Is it that thought that sets me coughing?
The newspaper falls from the table.
Dad bends for it, groans. “It’s my old back
problem,” and then he’s coughing.
I wonder if I’m still asleep,
if this is just a dream about him.
Any moment I’ll wake to the real morning.
He leans over, kisses my cheek, sits back,
starts to speak, then stares into his coffee.
He’s shaking. All my nasty thoughts get tabled.
Trounced. Just that swiftly, I slip-slide
away from that mix of meanness and mourning.
Dad is really here. I’m looking at him,
and I’m ready to sing out a praise hymn.
My dad’s come home. Then … a flashback
of all the bad moments before this morning
hits me, snatches away the joy, fixes a coffin
for it. Memories whap me—stinging slaps,
one after another. Dazed, I start table
talking. Babbling something. It’s all tabled
now, lost somewhere in my mind. As for him—
Dad might as well have been asleep
or still AWOL from his family … Back,
was he? Maybe in body. I poured coffee,
drank it. The light had drained from the morning.
I had an instant of humming joy that he was back
with us, at the table, and then—zip. So he’s here, coffee
cup in hand. And it’s just another sleepy Saturday morning.
A Family Conference
Late Sunday afternoon, we all went into the kitchen. Mom made a pot of cocoa, shut the door, and we sat down around the table. It was sleeting outside.
“Kids,” Dad said, “I just want to say I’m home now for good. I’m home now, and I’m all right.”
“Where were you, and what was the matter?” Spencer said. “Mom told us—”
“Spence!” Mom said.
Dad put his hand over hers. “I was with your uncle Jud in Chicago, staying in his apartment.”
“We knew that.” I pushed away my cocoa cup. “He called once. You didn’t.”
Mom looked at me, and I shoved back my chair. “Don’t you go,” she said.
“I wasn’t going to,” I said, but the truth was that I was ready to run out of there if anyone said anything to me about Ladine or the money, or anything at all. If they hated me so much, why was I even here?
“I asked Jud to phone,” Dad said. “I wasn’t ready yet to do it myself. I was sick. Nothing physical—but sick, anyway. My mind was sick. Do you understand?”
“Of course,” I said. “I’m not a child.”
Dad nodded. “I was laid low by a pretty serious depression. I guess you all knew that, it must have been pretty apparent.”
“Dad,” Thom said, “if you could only have talked to us—”
“I was too … depressed to talk.” Dad held his cup, as if he was warming his hands. “And the worse I felt, the less I could talk. I’m sorry for everything you had to go through. If I could take it back, if I could undo it—but there are some things we do that we can’t undo. We just have to live with them.” He tipped back in his chair and closed his eyes.
“Does anybody want to say anything?” Mom asked.
“Yes,” I said, “I do. Dad.” I waited for him to open his eyes. “Everybody knows what I did. I guess you should know, too. I took—”
“I know,” he said. “Your mother told me. She told me everything.”
After that, there didn’t seem to be anything else to say. Our family conference was over.
A Family Crisis Acrostic
Like a bear with meat, Mom’s hunched over, except
It’s the TV screen and what’s on it that she’s gobbling,
Zapping her hands together, clapping for the Lady Lucks.
Maybe she wishes she was there on that team, a girl with luck,
A girl with another life, me not making her life so tough.
Not like other moms, never rough, so much kinder, better, the best.
Easy to say then. That was before everything. Now I can’t forget
That she brought home the Law that made me an outlaw.
“Vicki,” Mom says, not looking at me, just ordering.
“In the kitchen, water’s boiling. Bring your dad a
Cup of tea. Me, too.” Not even a please. I walk by them like a
Kid who sees nothing. That’s the way it’s been for a week.
I don’t want to be around Dad. I don’t want to see him. I’m
Mute to him. We’ve hardly talked all week. Mom’s mad
At me now for that. Too bad! I pour boiling water over tea bags.
Raucous noises, snorts, and laughs rise from my brothers’ room.
“Nice little sister, bring us tea, too. What are we, chopped liver?”
“Eeeuu,” I shoot back. “I’m not coming in that stinky, sweaty room.”
They laugh, tell me I’m cute. They know how to let go, forget.
Ladine walks into the living room in her yellow coat.
All she wants, she says, glaring at me, is Mom’s and
Dad’s attention while she states her case—her “reason”
Is what she calls it: “My reason for leaving this place.”
No one moves while she says her piece.
Exactly this: “I will not stay in this house any
Longer. I have made up my mind. I’ve found
Another place to live, somewhere I can feel safe.
What was done to me here was like … like rape.”
“Lady!” My silent father springs to his feet, full of speech.
“Are you aware of what you’re saying?
Rape? You’re calling my daughter’s mistake rape?
Right now, I want you to take those words back.
You can just unsay them, and we’ll let it go.
My daughter did wrong, but that’s crazy
And I think you know it. Look, none of us should be
Righteous. We’ve all made mistakes. We hope you stay.
No, really. Liz and I have talked it over. If you can
Extend some forgiveness to Vicki—she’s paid you back.
Take into account her age, my problems, other factors—”
“Out of the question.” That was Ladine’s response.
Up went her arm, as if she wanted to hit me, slap me down.
Really, in a weird way, I understood. She was as mad at me as I
Was at my father. When you’re that mad, you want to strike.
Hadn’t I wanted to hit him? My brothers wandered in then.
Out went Ladine, suitcase in hand, thumping down the stairs.
“Lord, lord,” Mom half whispered. “What do we do now?”
“Easy come, easy go.” A Spencer joke, but no one laughed.
Feeling nauseous, nearly faint, I sank down on the floor,
And, despite that bridge I’d crossed, I wanted to cry again.
My father had defended me! I gripped my hands tight
In my lap. “Dad,” I said, “everyone. I’m sorry! Sorry. I
Let you all down. This mess—it’s all my fault.”
“You’re not alone in this,” Mom said. “Families stick together.”
An Intense Conversation with My Parents
Vicki: I apologized, I paid her back. Why couldn’t she forgive me? I’ll never make a mistake like that again.
Dad: Probably not, but you’ll make other mistakes. Living is about learning, and making mistakes is all part of life. I’m proof of that.
Mom: Larry, depression is a sickness, not a mistake. And Vicki, you need to understand that Ladine doesn’t have any family, and being alone is one of the hardest things in t
he world. She thought she’d found a place with us, and when this … thing … happened, she got scared. I’m sure that’s why she couldn’t forgive you.
Dad: If you think of yourself as a car—
Vicki: I’ve never once thought of myself as a car.
Dad: When I left, I was like a car without a driver, going downhill with no brakes.
Mom: Look, I want to say again, no matter how mad we get or how many mistakes we make—and I’ve done my share—we’re family, and that means we don’t give up on each other. Are you with me on this, Vicki?
Vicki: I guess so.
Mom: Is that the best you can do?
Vicki: I’m sorry if I’m not enthusiastic enough for you.
Mom: Oh, Vicki, please. Do you have to talk in that tone of voice?
Vicki: It’s just my voice. It’s just me.
Mom: Okay. Okay. I know things have been difficult. Can we somehow get back to where we were before this nasty business?
Vicki: Mom, where we were before is someplace I’ll probably never be again.
Mom: That makes me sad. That really makes me sad.
Vicki: I’m sorry, Mom. I’m just trying to tell you the truth.
Dad and I Go Out Together
On a wet and windy morning, a gray sky Sunday
morning, Dad and I, bundled in hats and scarves and sweaters,
trot side by side through silent streets, and what I want to say
lies tangled in my throat: Dad, you didn’t write us a single letter,
not even a note. Then, in the park, circling the gray stone lions,
it comes bursting out. “It was cruel of you to leave us that way!”
Sweat beads his lip. “We all make mistakes, Vicki. None of us are giants.
I wanted to be healed, whole—and home again. That’s all I can say.”
All? Is that all? I wind my scarf tighter, turn … and turn again.
Wind picks up my hair, whispers, Will you go on being tough and mad,
will you go on being sad, stubborn, and mean … or will you bend?
Let go of anger … let go, let go … this is your dad, your dad …
I breathe in the words, breathe in the wind, breathe out a joyful shout,
and in that radiant instant, I know, I know this is what love is all about.
What I Believe
I believe my parents stick together
through thick and thin, and even when I don’t like them
it’s good that they do. I believe my mother has become thin as a stick
and my father’s belly has thickened. I believe I love my family
but sometimes I can’t stand them, and they can’t stand me, and then
things get sticky. I believe Dad is getting better, but he might never
be as strong as he once was, and I believe my brother Spencer
doesn’t want to believe this.
I believe it’s good for me to write things
because first it might hurt, but then it helps
and even though I don’t know exactly why it helps
I believe it may be because the words I write
come from someplace true and deep inside me—
although not always. I believe this is the truth.
I believe it’s hard to be truthful all the time
but I believe I’d better start trying harder.
I believe my parents are trying to forgive me
and my brothers still love me
even though I didn’t do things right.
I believe it would be good for everyone to write
and it doesn’t have to be poetry or hard work.
I believe in doing homework because I like doing it
and I believe in people doing things they like to do
as long as they don’t hurt anyone doing them,
which is sometimes a lot harder than it sounds.
I believe the words hard and hurt
have occurred too often in this poem.
I believe that sometimes I think that things I write
are poetry, and they aren’t, but I’m still fond of them.
I believe I’m now a best friend to Mr. Marty,
but when I take him for a walk, Mr. Rose gets potato-faced,
which I believe means he might be jealous, and this makes me laugh
although I don’t know why, but I’m awfully glad of any laugh,
because I believe I’ve been sour as a lemon lately.
I believe in eating lemons raw, potatoes with heaps of butter,
and my toast burned, even though Mom says it’s carcinogenic.
I believe it’s heaven to use words like carcinogenic,
catacombs, cantankerous, and charitable.
I believe I’ll visit the catacombs someday
and be a lawyer who helps people in trouble
and I’ll live with three cats and one dog.
I believe despite my faults I’m dogged
and I will do the things I want to do
in this world, which is a belief
that makes me as happy
as writing this poem.
About the Author
Norma Fox Mazer (1931–2009) was an acclaimed author best known for her children’s and young adult literature. She earned numerous awards, including the Newbery Honor for After the Rain, the Lewis Carroll Shelf Award for Dear Bill, Remember Me?, and the Edgar Award for Taking Terri Mueller. Mazer was also honored with a National Book Award nomination for A Figure of Speech and inclusion in thenotable-book lists of the American Library Association and the New York Times, among others.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2005 by Norma Fox Mazer
Cover design by Connie Gabbert
ISBN: 978-1-4976-5084-8
This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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