Broken Wings (2 page)

She was at the door fifteen minutes later.

“Ready?” she asked.

I had the suitcase packed and closed and I was sitting on my bed with my eyes closed. I was falling asleep again, hoping it was just a dream.

“I’ve already got all my things in the car,” she whispered. “C’mon, wake up, Robin.”

Impatient, she picked up my suitcase. It was obviously heavier than she expected.

“What did you take?”

“Just what I needed,” I said.

She grimaced and led the way. Grandpa always kept his hallway lights low to save on electricity. The weak illumination, the heavy thick shadows following along the wall, all made me feel it was still a dream. It was mid-July, but nights and mornings were cold to me. I shuddered, wrapped my arms around myself, and followed Mother darling down the fieldstone walkway to the car. A partially overcast night sky provided minimum starlight. The whole world looked asleep. I felt like I was sneaking into a painting.

The car doors complained when we opened them, metal shrieking. Mother darling started the engine without putting on the lights and drove slowly down the long driveway. I was still in a state of disbelief, groggy, my eyes half closed.

“Good riddance to this,” she muttered. “I’m gettin‘ out. I’m gettin’ away, finally.”

I turned and cuddled up as best I could with my head against the window and the top of the seat. I couldn’t crawl into the rear because she had her guitar there resting on a pillow she wouldn’t let me use. Nevertheless, despite the bumps and turns, I fell asleep.

I woke up to the screaming shrill sound of a tractor trailer as it passed us by on the highway. We were already on I-71 South heading toward Louisville. The driver in the tractor trailer sounded his horn again.

“Donkey,” Mother darling called him. I groaned and sat up straighter, stretching my arms.

Suddenly, it all came back to me.

“I thought I was dreaming,” I told her.

She laughed.

“No more, Robin. Dreams turn into reality now,” she vowed.

I saw the road signs.

“I don’t see why we have to go to a place where people call people Bubba and Sissy,” I complained. Mother darling knew how much I disliked country music. I told her it was soapy and full of tears.

“I told you—it’s where you have to go to make it in country music,” she said.

“Country music. You’ve got to chew on straw and be barefoot most of the time to like it.”

She practically pulled off the highway, jerking herself around to yell at me.

“You’d better keep that stupid opinion to yourself when we get there, Robin. People in Nashville have been known to hang rock-and-rollers like you by their ears for less.”

“Yeah, yeah, right,” I said.

“I don’t see how you can afford to make fun of anyone anyway, Robin. You’re sixteen and you’ve already got a criminal record. You should be happy I’m takin‘ you to a place no one knows you. You’ll have a chance to start new, make new friends.”

“Friends. You never liked any of my friends and probably never will, no matter where we live. In fact, you never liked anything I’ve done.”

“What are you talking about now?”

“When I was in that school play in seventh grade, everybody else’s mother or father was there, but not my mother darling. My mother darling was strumming a guitar in some sawdust-floor saloon instead.”

“Damn, you never let me forget that, do you? I do the best I can, Robin. It’s not easy bein‘ a single mother, and my parents never helped us all that much. You know Grandpa took my money, even though he condemned me for the way I earned it. You know what he says, ’There’s no such thing as dirty money, only dirty people.‘ He’s been punishin’ me ever since I got pregnant with you,” she reminded me.

“You should have run off and had an abortion. I wish I wasn’t born anyway.”

“Yeah, right. That’s easy for you to say now. Bein‘ a girl out there alone in the world is no picnic with or without a baby, and it’s not been a picnic for me livin’ with my parents and hearin‘ Grandpa complain about you all the time, blamin’ me for every stupid thing you do.”

“Don’t worry, Mother darling. I’m not complaining about your not leaving me back there with them. I’d probably have run off anyway.”

“I don’t doubt it. I know I’m savin‘ your life takin’ you with me, Robin. The least you could do is be a little grateful and very cooperative. And another thing, I don’t want you callin‘ me Mother darlin’ anymore. I know you’re just bein‘ sarcastic ’cause of that book
Mommie Dearest
. Besides,” she said, “I told you how I have to present myself as bein‘ younger. From the day we get to Nashville, until I say otherwise, you’re my younger sister. Always call me Kay.”

“That won’t be hard,” I said. “It takes more than just calling someone Mother for her to be a mother.”

“Oh, you’re so smart.” She thought a moment. “Actually, I like that. It’s a great first line for a new song: It takes more than calling someone Mother for her to be a mother,” she sang. She looked at me. “Thanks.”

I shook my head and stared at the floor. She turned on one of her country music stations and began to sing along. The happier she was, the angrier and more depressed I became. This wasn’t my dream life; it was hers. I was like a piece of paper stuck to the bottom of her boots. She couldn’t shake me off, and I couldn’t pull away.

The road streamed ahead. She saw only promise and glory. I just saw a strip of highway going to nowhere, which was where I had been.

Why did she ever name me Robin? I thought. She should have called me Canary.

I’m just like one: trapped in a cage.

All I had to do was tell her and she would turn it into another song.

I fell asleep again, despite Mother darling’s singing. When I woke this time, I had to go to the bathroom. She moaned about it.

“We’re almost to I-65. Can’t you put a plug in it?” she whined.

“I have to go now!” I screamed.

Reluctantly, she turned into the first road stop, complaining about the time we were going to lose. I didn’t understand why she had to get to Nashville so fast.

“Where are we going to live when we get there anyway?” I wanted to know.

“We’re going to live with Cory. He has a two-bedroom apartment, and it’s not far from where you go to school,” she told me.

Two bedrooms? I thought. She and I weren’t going to share one. That was for sure.

“How do you just go and pick up again with someone you haven’t seen in years?” I asked her.

She stared ahead, looking for a place to park. I thought she wasn’t going to answer.

Then, when we stopped, she turned to me and with steely eyes said, “You do what you have to do to move ahead in the business, Robin. Cory knows people now and besides, what are you worrying about? I’m the one sleeping with him, not you.”

“Who don’t you sleep with?” I mumbled. “That’s why you never could tell who my father was.”

It was the only explanation I knew. From what I could put together, she had been at some wild party and actually had gone to bed with three different boys. She was either so drunk or hopped up on something, she didn’t know who was first and who was last. Some wild sperm had seized upon one of her eggs and brought me into this world. Like Grandpa paraphrased, “The sins of the mother rest on the head of the daughter.”

“I heard what you mumbled, Robin. Don’t be so smart,” she said, turning off the engine.

I got out, slammed the door behind me, and went into the restaurant and to the bathroom. I heard her follow me into the bathroom. I could never mistake the clip-clop of those boots on tile.

“Thought you could wait until the precious exit,” I said to the closed stall on my way out. She didn’t reply.

I went to the shop. As I stood there looking at newspapers, magazines, candy, and other things, I remember feeling like I was floating in space. I didn’t think I’d miss Grandpa and Grandma, but at least I had a home with them. Where were we really going? Did Mother darling really believe I would be better off in Nashville, or was I just like some old suit of clothes, stuffed in a bag and dragged along? She had made it crystal clear to me that she didn’t want me to call her Mother. How much easier would it be if she could just drop me off on her way to a new life.

Back in the car, after we drove off and were on the highway again, I pulled the entertainment magazine out from between the sections of newspaper. She watched me do it and nearly turned off the highway again, jerking the car and hitting the brakes.

“Did you steal that? Did you? Did you put that magazine in the newspaper first and then just pay for the newspaper? I know your tricks.”

“No,” I said, but she fixed her eyes on me like two small spotlights and scrunched her nose.

“You’re lyin‘, Robin. I can always tell when you do. Are you ever goin’ to stop stealin‘? Don’t you know you could have gotten me in trouble, too, back there? And me on the way to Nashville. How do you think I would be able to explain that? Sorry, I couldn’t make the audition because my daughter shoplifted a magazine and we were arrested on the way.”

She continued to drive.

“Why do you do these things?” she asked, but mostly of herself. “Maybe my father is right. Maybe people do inherit evil.”

“Who did you inherit it from then?” I fired at her.

She glared at me for a moment.

“I don’t think of what I did as so evil, at least not as evil as my father does. I was young and into stupid things like drugs and alcohol and I was very frustrated livin‘ in that house and bein’ told that everythin‘ I liked and everythin’ I wanted to do was bein‘ inspired by Satan.”

She turned back to me, glancing at the magazine again.

“I’m warnin‘ you, Robin. If you get into trouble in Nashville the way you did back home, I’m not goin’ to come your rescue. I won’t want anyone, especially people in the business, to know I gave birth to a petty thief. Do you understand me?”

“You already told me you’re going to pretend you’re my older sister, didn’t you? No one will blame you for giving birth to anything.”

“Don’t be so smart. Oh damn,” she said, grimacing. “I was hopin‘ we would have a nice trip and you would be as excited about all this as I am. We’re startin’ a new life!”

“You’re starting a new life,” I corrected.

She sighed and shook her head again.

After a moment I took out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. She spun around even faster than before.

“Where did you get those?”

I shrugged.

“You stole them, too, probably. My God, the trouble we just missed. Didn’t I tell you I don’t want you smokin‘ around me? Didn’t I tell you how bad it was for my throat, my voice? I can’t chance strainin’ it, not now. Stop makin‘ me shout!”

“I’m not making you,” I said.

“Throw that cigarette out the window!”

I took one more defiant puff, rolled down the window, and flipped the cigarette out.

“Throw out the whole pack,” she ordered.

“The whole pack? But—”

“Throw it out, Robin. Now,” she said, and I did.

Then I sat back with my arms folded and pouted, until we both heard the police siren and she looked in the rearview mirror and exclaimed, “Oh no!”

As she slowed down to pull over, my heart began to pound. Had I been seen back at the store?

“Now you’ve gone and done it,” she wailed. “I’m ruined before I even begin.”

The state trooper got out of his vehicle and sauntered over to my side, moving his hand in a circle to indicate I should roll the window all the way down.

“Let me see your license and registration,” he ordered Mother darling. He looked ten feet tall to me and broader than Grandpa.

Mother darling hurried to dig it all out of the glove compartment and her purse. It took a while, and all that time, he stood there glaring at me. I’m caught again, I thought sadly.

He took the license and the registration.

“Where are you going?” he asked as he read it.

“To Nashville, Officer. I’m a singer and I have an opportunity to improve my career. My daughter and I are goin‘ to start a whole new life,” she continued. I thought she was pathetic, trying to sound so sweet and innocent.

He didn’t smile.

“Do you realize,” he began, looking more at me, “that you could start a serious fire tossing lit cigarettes out of the window and into the dry grass back there?”

“Oh,” Mother darling said, obviously relieved I wasn’t being arrested for shoplifting. “Yes. I mean, no. I didn’t realize she had thrown a lit cigarette out the window. I thought she had snuffed it out. Didn’t I tell you to do that first, Robin?” she demanded with a face full of steam.

I looked at her without answering. He would have to be a very stupid policeman to buy that, I thought.

“We’ve had some serious fires here recently, and with the drought and all…”

“Oh yes, Officer. You’re absolutely right. We weren’t thinkin‘. You know how two young women can git sometimes. We were listenin’ to music and talkin‘ because we’re so excited about startin’ a new life.”

“Umm,” he said. “I really should cite you for this.”

“We don’t have much money,” she wailed. “Just enough to get ourselves goin‘. I swear we won’t do anythin’ like that again. Will we, Robin?”

“No,” I said dryly. “Never again.”

He nodded.

“All right. You watch it, and watch your speed. I notice your right rear tire is too worn. You had better get that changed soon.”

“Oh. It’s so like me to neglect my car. But,” she said, flicking her eyelids, “I never neglect my men.”

He finally laughed.

“I’ll bet,” he said. “Have a good trip.”

“Thank you kindly, Officer,” she told him.

I could have puked, but I swallowed hard, closed my eyes, and pressed my lips shut.

“Okay. Good luck in your career. What’s your name in case I hear about you later?”

“Kay Jackson,” she said. “And you will hear about me.”

He broke a smile, tipped his hat, and returned to his car.

Mother darling released a hot, trapped breath.

“There,” she said, satisfied with herself. “Let that be a lesson to you. If you’re nice to people, they’ll be nice to you. Especially men,” she added, and started away.