The Nomadic Life

Chapter 9

Well, That Didn’t Take Long

It doesn’t take long for everything to unravel. Tempers flare, and insults are hurled like daggers, words that once uttered can never be taken back. Just weeks ago, we spoke of hope, love and family, but now, all that remains is anger and resentment. Just as quickly as this debacle began, it is over. There’s nothing left to do but pack up and return to Mississippi.

My job pays minimum wage, and I can’t keep up with the impossible demands my sister places on me or afford the obscene amount of money she demands. I understand her grocery bill and utilities have increased, but her rent remains unchanged whether we are here or not. Every Friday, her hand is out, and when I finish paying "our" share, I am lucky to have five dollars left to my name. I’ve never been one to shirk my responsibilities, but this? This is too much.

Yet, my sister’s greed is only one part of my misery. My mother’s drinking and indifference exacerbate the strain. She abandoned her job search within two weeks of arriving in Abilene, citing her inoperable car as an excuse. My younger brother, Junior, and I toil in the cold, laboring under the hood, replacing the carburetor with numbed fingers and grease-smeared hands. We restore the vehicle to working order, yet she never attempts to use it. She uses the January cold as a convenient excuse to remain indoors. For her it is far easier to stay wrapped in a blanket, with whiskey-laced coffee in hand and sinking deeper into herself. I keep my mouth shut. I’ve learned there’s no point in fighting battles I’ll never win.

I promise my sister we’ll be gone by February first, but for me to accomplish this she will have to forgo charging us rent. She becomes livid, demanding four hundred dollars I don’t have. I brace myself for another fight, but her husband steps in. He has always been a reasonable man. Seeing the stress I am under, he understands the weight this situation is placing on my shoulders and takes me aside, “don’t worry about her,” he tells me. “Just focus on the task at hand.”

After packing our bags and pouring Mom into the back seat of her car, Junior and I take turns driving the ten-and-a-half-hours back to Mathiston. We speak little during the trip, careful not to disturb our inebriated mother. She will eventually emerge from her two-day bender, and the last thing we need is a fresh reminder of how miserable she is about slinking back to her husband.

Before we left Texas, she called her husband. After much back and forth, he finally agreed to let her come home. In a separate call, Junior made him give his word that they all would let the past go and start fresh. His father agrees, but whether he intends to keep his word remains to be seen.

I’m both relieved and saddened that I’ll no longer be my younger brother’s guardian. He has chosen to stay with Mom, determined to ensure Senior keeps his promise. Junior has grown considerably over the past two years and is now strong enough, both physically and mentally, to hold his own if it comes to that. I have no doubt he can handle whatever comes his way. And more than anything, I trust he will make sure he and Mom have a peaceful transition as they begin the next chapter of their lives.

When we reach Mathiston, I ask Junior to drop me at the hotel. I will rent a room for a few nights while I search for a place of my own. Seeing someone else occupying the duplex we left only three months ago is a cruel reminder of what I have lost. That was home. I long to reclaim it.

Loose gravel crunches beneath the tires of mom’s old Nash Rambler as we pull up to the motel. Junior and I stealthfully exit the car. After removing my suitcase from the trunk, I hug Junior and wish him luck. Mom is resting in the back seat with a towel over her eyes. I am not certain if she is awake or not so I quietly ask him to tell her I wish them all the best and love her, though I doubt it will matter. Somehow, she blames me for this relocation, stating on more than one occasion this entire fiasco was due to my failure to provide for our family. I learned to pick my battles long ago and this is one in which I will not participate.

Inside the hotel, Mr. Ford greets me with a cold, unreadable expression as I fill out the check-in form. He takes my payment without a word. The silence between us is heavy and unsettling as he hands me the key to room 12. This isn’t the homecoming I envisioned. His icy demeanor leaves me confused, but exhaustion dulls my curiosity. After the long drive, I’m too tired to analyze his behavior towards me, at least for now.

I turn on the television for background noise as I prepare to bathe. Soaking beneath a hot shower head is just what I need to wash away the stress of the past three months. I quickly dress, eager to see my co-workers and catch up on all the gossip I have missed.

Hunger gnaws at me, a persistent reminder of the long day I need to leave behind. I head to the restaurant to kill two birds with one stone, not just for a meal, but to ask for my old job back.

The bell above the door chimes, and an unsettling hush falls over the restaurant. Conversations die mid-sentence. Every eye turns to me, cold and scrutinizing, their stares pressing in like a weight on my chest. My skin crawls under their silent judgment, but I force myself forward.

And there it is, waiting for me like an old friend. I approach the booth nearest the lunch counter, the same one where we take our breaks. This table is rarely given to customers because of the noise that pours from the kitchen when the place gets busy.

Janice intercepts me before I can sit. Her voice is low, but firm. “That booth’s for employees only. You can’t sit there.”

I stare at her, trying to understand. “Janice, it’s me. What’s going on? I just want something to eat.”

Her expression doesn’t soften. “Best you order your food and don’t dilly-dally. I would strongly suggest you make it a to-go order.”

Mr. Ford’s cold shoulder was unsettling, but this reception is far worse. The silence, the whispers, the way their eyes cut through me, it’s stifling. Their stares are not just cold; they are accusing, unyielding, as if I no longer belong. Bewilderment coils in my chest. There’s something here, something unspoken, heavy in the air like a storm on the verge of breaking. The truth looms just out of reach, pressing in on me from all sides. There will be a revelation for which I could never have prepared.

A little over three months ago, life forced a choice upon me, one no one should ever be forced to make. I could let my family leave Mississippi in search of a new life in Abilene Texas, knowing in my heart the future for them was bleak and chances of success slim, or I could stay behind in Mathiston and choose to finish my education, abandoning the younger brother I had spent over two years raising and protecting. In the end, I chose family over town. And for that, I would pay the price.

Some of life’s choices linger and haunt you, twisting in your gut causing more pain and anguish than any dull rusty knife ever could. At eighteen, I would come to understand just how deeply you can disappoint an entire town and just how cruelly unforgiving its people can be.