5

Natasha

It feels beyond good to be back home, back to my own kitchen, and mostly to my own bed.  I had a great time in Chena Hot Springs, I got to check out the breweries as I was hoping, and now I’ve returned from a full week of visiting my parents in Washington, a trip I force myself to make each year.  My parents are getting older and while I’m usually losing my sanity by the end of the week, I know I would regret not spending this time with them.  I was also lucky enough to be able to get in a few nice hikes while in Washington, including Maple Pass Loop, which was on my hiking bucket list. Nothing can compare to the seclusion I can find in Alaska, though. 

While I am always  anxious about visiting my parents, it wasn't as bad as I was anticipating and now that it's over, I can concentrate on having the kick ass summer I deserve. I mean it’s not that my parents are bad people.  It's the opposite, really. My mom has never really got over the loss of my brother and my dad just spends his days treating her like a baby.  He never pushed her to go to therapy, or really to do much of anything after he died.  She stays in bed most days, watching television and keeping up with the latest celebrity gossip.  She doesn't even cook anymore, which is a shame because she was one hell of a chef back in the day.  I love cooking and have most of her recipes, but nothing ever compares to your own mom’s cooking.  My dad retired a few years back and he basically dotes around the house, getting her anything she asks for and being the sounding board for her every complaint. 

My mom spends a lot of time talking about Marky while I visit, which dad says is good for her healing.  I don't mind it anymore, but it used to really bother me. She never wants to talk about the present.  Or what’s happening in my life now, even though we get all the recent celebrity updates.  I don't even think she fully understands what I do for a living. “Well you won't need that little teaching job when you settle down and have a family,” she said to me last week.  

“Mom, I have told you this before,  I'm not a teacher.  I'm a librarian and it's not a little job. I have a Masters degree in library sciences.  I have no plans to get married and I'm too old for kids.” 

“Oh hush. Marky told me about you and that boy back in high school. You were both planning to have a whole baseball team of kids if I remember.  He even told me about that night you snuck behind the bleachers and kissed that boy, right in the middle of the football game. Not very classy of you, Natasha Lynn.” Marky never was any good at keeping secrets. 

My dad tried to comfort me. “Don't mind her, you know she means well. She just has a broken brain.  She loves you.” Nice medical terms, dad.  But, I know she does love me.  She wasn't able to get past the loss of Marky and that is exactly why I will never put myself in that situation ever again.  To love someone that deeply is just too risky.  I already love my parents and worry about them, I’m guessing more than the normal forty year old. I would never want to add anymore loss to my already loser-y life. I don't want to end up a shell of a person like my mother.  It's not a life I can even imagine.  

After a shower in my own bathroom, I am refreshed and ready to face the week ahead.  I have a summer reading group starting tomorrow at the local library.  Summer reading group is one of the two main projects I take on each year. The other is the fall reading festival. Both are fun, but neither have resulted in attendance that justifies the time I spend on them so my district wont support the projects and I have to do them on my own time.   Last summer we had four kids total and the fall was little better with six kids attending.   I’m not sure what else I could do to increase attendance.  I'm already offering free snacks and books.  Oh, well, I’m not sure we’ll get many kids tomorrow, but even if we even get one, it's worth the effort I convince myself. 

Sleep comes slow, it always does and I remember my mom's words, “Do you remember when you were little, you and Marky were inseparable.  You couldn't even sleep without each other.  He would army crawl down the hallway, sneaking into your room like we didn't know. I thought about separating you to your own beds a hundred times, but I just couldn't bear to keep you two apart.” 

                                                                       ……….

I woke up later than usual.  God, I love having summer’s off.  I always have time to laze around the house and most importantly I can grab a coffee and breakfast sandwich from my favorite cafe.  It's closer to the public library than the school I'm assigned to, so during the school year I don't usually get to treat myself unless it's a holiday or teacher work day (or librarian work day in my case). 

My car handles like a queen, as usual, all the way to the cafe.  I pull into the parking lot when I feel a sudden jolt forward and hear the sound of crunching metal. “No! No! No! No!”  I jump out, praying there's no damage to my sweet baby and that maybe my senses were deceiving me. 

“What? Oh my God. Oh my God.  Why? No! This can't be happening.” I'm both yelling and rambling now.  My arms are flapping up and down and tears are welling in my eyes as I look at my crushed passenger side front fender and door.  I'm no car expert, but even I can see there is no way to repair this and it's going to require finding replacement parts, which is not easy for my make and model.  It could take months.  Not to mention, new paint.  My summer plans are crushed, just like the passenger side of my car. 

The driver exits his vehicle, scratches his hand down his face, quickly examines the damage and laughs. He literally laughs.  “Is this funny to you? What the hell is wrong with you?” This only makes him laugh more. His SUV has barely a scratch and my car is toast.  How is this funny? When I realize my loss is his morning comedy, I see red. 

“You're an asshole,” I spit, louder than I had intended. 

Just then, his passenger exits the car and I notice they're both wearing Alaska Aces jerseys.  He has a large build just like the driver, both well over six feet.  If it wasn't for the circumstances and that overgrown, mountain man beard, I'd actually think he was attractive.  But the driver is still laughing and I haven't calmed down at all. If anything, I'm getting more angered by the minute.   “Are you some sort of dumb jocks?  Is that why you're laughing? You think that your good looks and giant bodies entitle you to poor choices? That your big muscles make up for bad behavior?”

“You need to shut your mouth lady,” the driver huffs. 

“Oh, so you can talk.  Well, fuck you,” I backfire. 

The passenger steps forward, placing his hand on the driver’s shoulder in a comforting gesture.  Why is he comforting him, he’s not even upset.  “Oh come on now, miss. You can't talk to him like that.  You're old enough to know better. I'm sorry but you owe him an apology. It was just an accident” 

“So now you're calling me old? Have you looked in the mirror, Grizzly Adams?  Don't you have a pet bear to go feed?” Apparently I haven’t calmed down yet. 

“I wasn't calling you old.  I am just saying all this yelling isn't getting anywhere.” His voice is low and calming.  Looking at his driver, “Cam, go grab your insurance card.”

Crossing my arms in front of my chest, I give Grizzly a glare.  “I'm not old and I'm not apologizing to anyone.  You know some of us work hard for the things we have, some of us have worked…  Oh nevermind.” 

Defeated, I lean against my car, rubbing my hands up and down my arms in a self-hug.  The driver emerges looking at me apologetically, and holds out his paperwork as if it's some sort of peace offering. . 

“Just give it to me.”

I park my dented metal in the space farthest from the door and sit in my car, taking deep breaths and trying to hold back my tears.  Not only is my brother gone, but I can't even manage to make a single one of our dreams come true.  Let's not even discuss how poorly I handled that entire situation.  Since when do I let my anger get the best of me? Even the man’s father thought I was acting like a maniac. But then again, his son was laughing.  He was treating me like a teenager, demanding I apologize and then redirecting me like my damn behavior therapist used to do.

‘Not very classy of you, Natasha Lynn’ I can hear my mother say. 

“Sorry baby brother,” I whisper as I head toward the library’s front doors. As I'm about to enter, I see an old toyota corolla pull up and the door opens.  It’s Sarah. “Hey Sarah. You're just the face I needed to see today.” Not recognizing the car as her parents, “Who dropped you off?” 

“Oh that's my sister.  She’s just got back from college.” I can't remember ever seeing Sarah’s  smile so uninhibited.  She usually looks nervous, although I've always contributed that to being a typical sixth grade girl. Those puberty hormones are no joke. 

I'm happy to hear she has a sibling. I bet she has a great summer and bonus, we have at least one kid for our summer reading group so I know for sure it won't get canceled. I guess at least one good thing happened today.