Chapter 6: Black Holes in Memory
The One Who Leaves, a memoir
*Audio player is located at the end of the chapter. Scroll down to play.
Mom was distracted by the piles of soda cans littered along the highway.
“Oh my God. Stop the car. Look at all those recyclables!” She lunged across me from the backseat to point out my window. “Do you have a trash bag?” She asked with the excitement of a little kid at a carnival.
“We’re not stopping,” I said.
“Wouldn’t you rather spend your time gambling in air-conditioning?” Perry said, lifting his thick, dark eyebrows.
Mom let out an exaggerated sigh but kept on rambling about all the garbage she was missing and how much money she could make. I ignored her and stared at the empty soda bottles strung along the interstate. It reminded me of Uncle Terry and his Coca-Cola story.
“Do you remember Uncle Terry wanting to take me back to England with him when I was little?”
“I don’t remember that.” She let out a half laugh and in the same breath she said, “I would’ve killed him if he tried to take you.”
The sound of her laugh startled me like a sudden car backfire. I turned back around to her but she didn't take her gaze from the window.
“He said he found me in my crib with a bottle of soda.”
Mom laughed again, but this time it sounded more like a cackle. “That was probably your dad. I don’t see me doing that.”
I watched the sagebrush and Joshua trees fly by out the window and fell quiet. But my mind was loud with static like a radio station in the middle of nowhere.
“So, you don’t remember it?” I prodded, hoping the details would come into focus for her.
“Nope.” The four letters dragged slow and breathless as she yawned.
Silence fell heavy and awkward on us. Maybe she really didn’t remember. I battled to convince myself that it wasn’t a big deal. But I couldn’t help but wonder—What did she remember from our life—did any of it even matter to her?