This was a text message that I received while I was standing outside tonight on a cool early summers night underneath my car port next to my house. I was battling with a hanger that I had to stretch straight and patiently (which I am far from)in an attempt to unlock the door that my seven year old locked in an effort to make sure none of his three other brothers could get "shot gun" while he waited for me to get my purse and head out. Cursing aloud and allowing the frustration to build i kicked the damn car door that was already badly dent from an earlier story of just how my kinda luck goes.
I ran the palms of my hands down the front of my face pulling the soft skin under my eyes along with it, exposing the pink of my under eye. (lol) then slapped my hands down on my favorite jeans took a deep breath and went at it again. Shoving my cell in my back pocket. I could barley concentrate on the stragity of how the angle of the hanger needed to be pointed. I could only rehearse my harsh response of a text I was going to send back when I got done with this shit. My four kids, watched me half afraid to speak because of my impatience and frustration level and yet eager to try to help curious how I would accomplish this task. I could tell my oldest Sterling was worried. He knew I already tried my dad...who essentially is the only person that can and will help us when we are in need. My dad doesn't have call waiting or caller id...let alone a cell. So, if he is not home thats it. We have to just make do. And so I was. I did attempt to call my soon to be ex husband. He was a professional car thief in his early teens and into his twenties before he was locked up for ten years. (his sentence was NOT for stealing cars, but robbery)
I replayed the conversation in my head "Hello" he answered and right away I could tell after eleven years together he was high as a kite. "I need you to come to the house, your son locked the keys in the car and I can't find the spare.........please." I got it out in one breath uncomfortable to call and ask him for anything. He does NOTHING for us. He barely sees the kids. When its convenient for him. He doesn't have a car or a license because of his DUI he got only a month after he lost the house I left him in, with all of our furniture and everything we owned. He doesn't pay me a dime..but spends every waking moment other than the twenty hours he works through the week getting high, getting drunk and sleeping with every willing woman in the city. No exaggeration.
"are you talking to me?" He says.
Thats, it. I tried to be nice....
"No I thought I called fucking santa clause. What the hell do you mean am I talking to you...who else is on the damn phone Alex.?"
"I can't help you, I have no way there." He said, sounding like a stoned sophmore trying to convince his mother that his speech isn't impaired.
"why don't you call Stevie..".he says. Condescendingly. Stevie is the man that I am now with and he lives an hour and twenty min away.
"thats it, that is your response? Call Stevie...you know good damn and well that he is over an hour a way! GAWD....Alex, I don't ask you for ANYTHING. This is the one thing that may EVER come up that you are better at than me, why would you not be able just to do this one little thing for me, no fuck doing it for me, I have to get these kids to school in the morning....!" I was almost out of breath as I tried to fit all that in in one swoop.
"nope," he said as he was stuffing his face with something crunchy and loud in my ear.
"Go to hell' I said and hung up the phone. I looked over at my four boys, studying me in a moment of small crisis. I realized that I needed to put thier fears to rest.
"listen boys, This is nothing...no big deal. It may take me awhile but since the door is bent from it getting hit last month it is easy to fit this hanger in. Its just a matter of getting it at the right angle. And if all else fails, I can use Bob tripple A. (My fathers name, and the affectionate name my children call their grandpa, his preference...per his ego)
within the hour and many moments of patience deep breathing and "centering" myself the iron hanger pops the locks and the doors open. My mothers voice rings in my head
"this too shall pass" and so it has. The boys had since made a game of Stick "swords" and were in full blown vicious battle with one another. Using the time to crawl into their creativity, because the situation demanded them to entertain themselves. I loved it. Watching them forgetting about the worry that they first saw in my eyes and consumed in their own day dreams that they created from needing an hour of free play. I am blessed. No matter what their dad decides to do, they are my creation and they will be the best they can be. Or I will die trying....
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