Graceland
(1796 words)
Martha, I dont deserve kids like these.
I didnt use to hear much from them. Karen called the most, usually when I was asleep with the fan on. When Id check the machine, Id hear her run-ons from 2 a.m. the night before and know from the first word that she was dialing drunk.
Either Nate, the truck driver, was back on the bottle, or Jeff, the pawnbroker, had walked out again. She had a strange way of leaving messages: Hi, Momma, how is the Tennessee winter treating you, and I hope youve been staying busy. I just love the snow on the ground, makes me think of Christmastime with you and Daddy. Then she'd backed into what she was really after, So, uh, Nate needs to borrow a few hundred to get him past the end of the month, you think you could wire it to us this week? Then, OK, whispered, not meant for me to hear. A couple of deep breaths, and, Love ya, Momma. Ill come by to see you and Chuckie-poo Memorial Day!
She didnt come that Memorial Day. Karen never came to visit. None of the kids did except for times like when Kevin left his drum kit in the garage or Randall wanted his model World War II fighter collection for his mantle. Then it was Hey, Momma, youre looking good
Naw, sorry, cant stay, Tammys making chili con carne tonight. Ill call.
But, like I said, they didnt call much.
A few months ago, Chuckie choked on a neighbors pacifier he had found on the sidewalk. I buried him in the backyard. I was upset, crying and listening to my Elvis sing "
Old Shep" on repeat all day, so I had called up all the kids. Karen was the only one to answer, and all she said was, See, Momma, dogs are stupid like that. You should get rabbits. Randall called me back a few days later, and mentioned about five minutes in that he had forgotten if Chuckie was a beagle or a boxer. When Kevin finally called, all he wanted to know if it would be all right if he dug up the body to take pictures of Chuckie decomposing.
Thats all changed since the chemo began. Randall, Karen, and Kevin are all around
a lot more. Turns out no one wants to be the odd one out who wasnt there when Momma passed on. Thats Pratt pride for you.
Randall came back first. He brought his wife, Tammy, in that rusted red Bronco. They brought their birds, too, two parakeets named Tandall and Ranny. When I asked where Duann and Skylar were, though, they explained that they left them at the river with some friends. Said they would cause too much fuss for me at this fragile time. They got their Sonic and their Dora the Explorer DVDs, theyre gonna be fine.
Martha, those poor kids are just 10 and 8 years old. I cant imagine what convinced Randall it was a good idea to leave them like somebody elses garbage on the neighbors lawn. But Randall and Tammy are right, hasnt been no fuss since theyve come back. In fact, the house has been real quiet since Tammy started dragging Randy to Tunica and playing the craps tables till midnight. The front door creaking open wakes me up, and I hear them whispering and giggling to his bedroom, and I remember her telling me its just been too hard to spend the whole day surrounded by sickness.
Tell me about it, I whisper at their shadows slinking beneath my bedroom door.
You know, Tammys got in my boys head. Whenever I try to try to talk to Randy now, we end up yelling. He gets real red in his face and sounds out his words in a deep voice hes been practicing: No, Momma, Im not your whipping boy just cause Pa left you, he says. Let me lead my life. He never talked that way to me before Tammy.
Im too tired to argue with him, and that woman of his has got him wrapped around her finger. Shes a sponge. And I know why they didnt bring the kidshes ashamed for me to see them. Theyre grabby and loudspitting images of the momma. Truth be told, Id rather not see them, see what the Pratt name has become. But I dont think we should be leaving my grandkids on the curb like somebody elses trash. This family cleans up our messes.
Now, theyre borrowing money every week or so. I tell them theyre going to settle my estate at the craps table if they keep this up, but they dont seem to mind. And Karen and Kevin dont seem to be paying them any attention, either. So, I figure, hell, its going to them or the creditors anyway, so why not?
Karen finally came back just last week to visit. She brought me some Get Well Bunnies in two cages. Martha, they were
live rabbits. I told her I didnt want any rabbits. But when I was sleeping
surpriseshe opens the cages and leaves them in my room with a little Get Well card on my nightstand.
You know what four live rabbits can do to a bedroom in a couple of hours? When I woke up, my bedspread was covered in little brown pellets. They tried nibbling on just about everything. When I saw what they did, oh my goodness, Martha, I thought it was having one of those hallucinations Dr. Parker warned me about. I finally got those little devils back in their cages, but it took me the rest of the day to clean it all up. The rabbits, they just watched me the whole time from their little cages, like they knew something that I didnt, those beady eyes peering into my soul.
And poor Kevin
I dont even know where to begin. Ever since he got that job reviewing horror movies, he keeps asking to see my bedpan and takes notes as the nurse gives me another shot of God knows what. He wants to get into prosthetics, make special effects in Hollywood. What does Hollywood have that Clarksville doesnt, besides cocaine and whores, I tell him. But none of them listens to me anymore.
Kevin spent all day yesterday sitting by my side making little sketches of me and my beautiful decomposition. He tells me Im a work of art. He touches my liver spots and he collects tufts of my hair. He says hes got an idea for a movie where all the zombies are really just dead cancer patients who had too much radiation therapy. He says Im his mommy zombie, right before he breaks down and starts bawling. Poor kid.
Hes sobbing on my chest telling me hes gonna miss me and do I think hes gonna make it. The poor kid is convinced himself hes just one break away from the big time, and he didnt even finish high school. Youre no Bela Lugosi, I want to say. But hes the baby. Ive never wanted to come down too hard on him. Maybe thats been my mistake. You know how it is with the babiesyou just never want to let go.
Aw, Martha, I could talk about my children forever. But I know none of them is ever going to amount to much. Your two have been in jail, so you understand. But at least you know theyre not hurting anyone in there but themselves. Randalls got the two little ones and God knows whats going to happen to them.
Ive spent a lot of time here lying in this bedtoo much timethinking about my parents and trying to figure out where I went wrong. My mom said she did it all for me, all the casseroles, the drives to the 4H meetings, the sewing and mending of dressesall the little sacrifices she never complained about. She did them with this amused little smile on her face, too, like it was her secret. Like being a mom just made sense to her. I thought Id understand being a mom once I did it myself, but I guess I never had it in me.
First time I knew was some thirty years ago. Doug and I took the kids on a trip to Graceland, which had just opened. We had sung Blue Suede Shoes and Jailhouse Rock together on the way over, but inside the kids were awful. Kevin kept screaming that Elvis was bullshit. Karen disappeared with some older boys into the parking lot, and Doug caught Randall smoking pot in the bathroom. I told Doug to take him home, but he didnt want to come across as too strong, he always hated his own dad for that. And so Doug and I started yelling right in front of Elviss three TVs, and we didnt end up seeing anything all day. And thats when I knew, Martha, Id never be my mom. Ive hated this. Ive always hated it.
Before he left us, my dad would say that having us kids was one of the two good things he ever did in his life. He never told me what the other wasmaybe it was cheating on Mom. And just like my daddy, Doug bailed out on me, too, right around when Randall got into high school and was driving the car up and down Main Street at all hours and raising holy hellthat was it for him. He was done. Never mind that I was done, too.
It all gets too much, you know? No one ever told me what it meant to be a mom. I wasnt ready. You got to learn how to give all those looks: The dont-do-that looks, the dont-make-me-come-over-there looks, the Ill-tan-your-hide looks. Each one different, but all the same. And the angry tones of voicewhat did I teach them? How to be bitter? How to nag? How disappointed I was in them? How I blamed them for Doug running off?
Does Randall know that I blamed him for that? Does Karen know how selfish she is? Does Kevin know he just plain scares me?
I couldnt ever do right by them, Martha. I never could. I wasnt cut out for it.
Thats why I dont cry. Everyones telling me how sad it is, the sickness, and how am I holding up, knowing Im going to pass on soon. But, for me, its been just one big relief, knowing I'm going to see my Elvis and my Chuckie.
You lock the door when you go, and tell them Im not feeling well today, okay?
