Falling Backwards: A Memoir (19 page)

A few minutes went by and then a few more minutes went by and then at least an hour went by and there was still no sign of my dad. The sun was pelting down on us and we sat there in the car engulfed in its giant orange glare and waited. Cars were coming and going and people were walking by looking into the car with eyebrows raised.

We were all getting thirsty. It was hot that day. We kept the windows rolled down to keep the air moving, and we were keeping ourselves busy playing games like I spy and “name that car.” Then Patrick said he was hungry and that he wanted to go home. Dad had the keys with him so we couldn’t even listen to the radio to find out what time it was. It was hard to tell how long he had been gone. I felt anxious. I hated that feeling.

My mom was at home, pacing.

Looking at the clock.

Worried.

I was relieved when I finally saw him coming towards the car with a big smile on his shiny, red face.

“I’m gonna be a little bit longer, but here’s twenty bucks for you three to go to the arcade,” he said. That seemed reasonable. It was twenty bucks, after all. The arcade was across the other side of a very busy road called Macleod Trail. It had three lanes going in each direction and it was always bustling with heavy traffic. There was a decent stoplight and a crosswalk, though, and I figured we’d make it in one piece if we hurried. Maybe this wasn’t going to be that bad after all. I watched him walk back through the glass doors of the hotel and, without another glance at us, disappear inside.

We took our windfall and raced across the road, weaving through the traffic to the mall, where we headed straight for the Orange Julius stand to buy drinks and hot dogs. We had enough money left over to play the pinball machines and the electronic Ping-Pong thing that was all the rage. We were all so happy to be in the arcade and not sitting in the parking lot at the Tradewinds. We stayed as long as the money lasted and then we figured we’d better go back to the car.

We thought we’d be in trouble for sure, as we’d been gone at least an hour and a half. We walked as fast as we could back across Macleod Trail to where the car had been sitting all afternoon in the sun, convinced my dad would be standing there beside it with his hands on his hips, tapping his wristwatch. He wasn’t. He wasn’t anywhere in sight. It was starting to get dark, and I was feeling more and more unsure of what to do. Sue and Patrick and I got back in the car and waited. We didn’t know what else to do. The sun seemed to be giving up too.

My mom was frantic.

She stared out the window at the road.

Every car that went by she thought,
maybe it’s them
.

We had been gone five hours.

Patrick was beginning to come apart at the seams. He didn’t do well with any kind of stress, and this was stressful to all of us. He wanted to go home. He’d been crying quietly to himself for the last half-hour. I don’t blame him—I wanted to go home too. His tears were heartbreaking to both Sue and me. We didn’t know what words we should be saying to him. We’d eaten all our candy and drunk all our pop. Time was scraping its nails on the roof of the car. My mother was going to kill us all. My dad had never left us like this before—ever. I decided one of us had to go into the Tradewinds and fetch my dad out, and it was going to be me. I knew they didn’t allow kids in a place like that, but they were going to have to make an exception.

I went in through the glass doors and was instantly engulfed by grey clouds of cigarette smoke. It was dingy and dark in there—filled with men drinking glasses of lukewarm draft beer and engaging in clumsy, droning conversations. I went on a hunt for my dad. No one seemed to notice me at all. A girl wandering around in a bar filled
with drunk people was invisible, apparently, which I found hard to believe. I walked around tables covered in empty glasses, looking for my dad’s corduroy pants. I walked down the long bar, gazing up at all the talking heads bobbing back and forth like those plastic dogs stuck in the back windows of cars. I finally spotted him sitting at a table with men I’d never seen before; he was laughing and carrying on like he didn’t have a care in the world. When he finally spotted me, he looked shocked. He excused himself from the table and asked me what the hell I was doing in there.

I told him we were tired and cold and that we wanted to go home. I told him he’d been in the Tradewinds long enough and that mom would be really worried by now. I told him we’d spent all our money and that it was time to go. I was scared of him and I didn’t want him to be mad, but I was willing to take that chance. I needed to get Patrick home. Sue and I could have managed, but Patrick was little. Enough was enough. I don’t know if he heard one word I was saying, he just muttered something and threw some money on the table where the strange men were sitting.

He looked madder than I’d ever seen him, but then he caught himself. It was like he had a moment of clarity. I was relieved. He came out with me to the parking lot and got into the car, started it up and drove us home.

My mother didn’t say a thing when we drove up.

She just looked at us with a thousand pounds of relief.

She looked at my dad with complete and utter disappointment.

He looked at the ground.

Mom and I drove Sue home to Bragg Creek. I was sad that my sleepover had ended the way it had. I am pretty sure we stayed at my gram’s house the rest of the weekend.

My mom was so busy trying to shield us from dad all the time that it was taking a toll on her well-being. I knew she was anxious even though she pretended not to be. She worried constantly about what she should do about his drinking, because he didn’t seem too worried about what he should do about his drinking. I don’t think he saw it as any sort of a problem, and that was the problem. My dad wasn’t used to anyone telling him what to do so it was hard trying to convince him he needed to make some changes in his life. And he needed to make quite a few.

The options for my mom were becoming fewer and further between. We were in a holding pattern, like a plane trying to land in a storm. We were circling the runway, hoping somebody would tell us we could land. Eventually you run out of fuel and crash.