Dear Life(124)
Back in the day, Tacy was in the prime of her life, all shiny with her built in overhang adding an extra bed into the mix and her spare tire hanging off the back, she could do no wrong. But now, in her twenty-eighth year of age, she is rusting; she’s lacking in her luster and it almost seems like her back end is drooping from having to hold up that damn tire for so long.
Tearing my eyes off Tacy, I turn to see my dad with his arms crossed over his burly chest, a bushy beard sprinkled with grey gracing his face, and a look of hostility in his eyes. Paul is the complete opposite; his hands are in his pockets, he’s relaxed, and laughing over Marisa’s comment.
“Uh, Dad, Paul, what are you doing here?”
It’s a surprise to see them in California, since they both live in New York. My dad still lives on the farm we grew up on, raising goats and milking them every morning, nothing’s changed with him besides the grey in his hair. When I was still back home, we used to raise pigs and goats, and we grew some vegetables as well, but now my dad can only take care of the goats on his own and some corn. Paul lives up in Watertown, New York with his fiancé Savannah. He’s been in the Army for the past four years, but has been hired by the government to do some kind of computer coding crap that I never pay attention to. Paul is a certifiable know-it-all and loves to bore people with his computer knowledge and random facts about mindless things no one cares about. He can be annoying at times, but he’s still one of my best friends.
“Good to see you too, Marley.” Paul pulls me into a hug. I press my cheek against his chest and smile to myself when his Old Spice deodorant fills my senses. If Paul is anything, he’s consistent.
Both my father and Paul are over six feet tall, ruining me for any short man that might want to date me. I’ve spent my entire life hugging men who tower over me and I can’t imagine dating someone I can dance cheek to cheek with. No, I prefer cheek to nipple; it’s more comforting.
“Sorry, I’m just surprised.” I turn to my dad and he opens his arms to me. “Hey, Dad.”
“Come here, Buttons.” He pulls me into a hug and kisses the top of my head five times, like he always does, his wiry beard messing up my hair. Sometimes he switches up the count of kisses, depending on his mood. If he has to say goodbye to me for a long period of time, he’ll kiss me on the head eight times, my lucky number.
When I pull away, I see Marisa clasping her hands to her chest, happy for the family reunion. “Oh, you McManns, you’re so loving.”
“Marisa, nice to see you,” my father says with a clipped voice, clearly still not happy with her earlier comment about my untapped libido.
Picking up on my dad’s temper, she says, “Yeah…um, I’m going to take off. I have some…uh, walking to do.” Marisa gives me a quick hug. “I’ll catch you later, Marley. Paul, congrats on the wedding.”
Quickly, without skipping a stride, Marisa walks her little Asian-self past our apartment building and around the corner, her phone pressed against her ear, probably trying to call Johnny.
I turn to the two men in my life and ask, “Alright, what’s going on?”
Paul, the blond-haired, blue-eyed heartthrob of Jamestown—that’s at least what my friends called him—smiles brightly at me, mischief in his eyes.
“Aren’t you going to say hi to Tacy?”
There is a sick obsession in my family where we treat inanimate objects like they are humans. They have feelings just like us and we must pay them the same attention someone in the family would earn. It’s gotten to the point where I can’t drink out of the same water glass twice unless I’ve used all water glasses in my cabinet, or else I feel guilty for not spreading the love. Thanks to my dad’s encouragement, almost every large object on the farm has a name and is treated as a family member. If the tractor’s acting up, we don’t yell at it, we talk to it calmly, trying to solve the issue. That is until Dad loses his short-fused temper and starts swearing like a banshee, kicking and screaming. Picture Ralphie’s dad from The Christmas Story times five. That’s the Bern-Man. The only time he will swear is when he’s in an epic battle with the tractor.
“What up, Tace?” I nod at the pile of junk and then turn back to the two most important men in my life. “So, why are you two here, and please don’t tell me you drove out here in that.” I point at Tacy and take in her bumper that’s hanging on by a screw, strike that, hanging on by duct tape, my dad’s cure for everything.
“Of course we did.” Paul wraps his hand around my shoulder and we all turn to face the Signature TravelMaster. “Marley, it’s time to finally conquer The Mother Road.”
“What?” I pull away. “But, I thought we weren’t doing road trips anymore.”
Before my mom got sick, Dad would sign up a couple of friends to take care of the farm for a two week stint and we would go on a family road trip during the summer. We spent countless hours in Tacy, mindless miles on the road, and unforgettable memories making each other laugh so boredom never got the best of us. But those days were brought to a halt the moment my mom received a devastating call from the doctor.
The day my mom got cancer was the day we hung up Tacy’s keys. I was in middle school, Paul was a junior in high school, and my dad was just scraping by on the farm, trying to pay off Mom’s medical bills. The cancer was quick and it took us all by surprise. Life was never the same after that.