A Man Named Dave

cruised through Golden Gate Park on John F. Kennedy Drive. At Rainbow Falls, I stopped “The Blue Humpback” and rolled down the window. I recalled the hundreds of times both Mother and Father had driven Ron, Stan, and me through the park. With our noses pressed against the glass of our beat-up station wagon, we’d stare at the endless rows of freshly planted flowers in brilliant colors. If one of us dared to crack open a window, I’d suck in the distinctive scent of the eucalyptus trees. And if Ron, Stan, and I were lucky, we were able to catch a glimpse of the red-ear turtles basking in the sun as the silver station wagon rolled by Lloyd’s Lake. Back then, as a preschooler, even though I knew Mother and I had our secret, I felt safe when all of us were together as a family. Back then I had prayed that my life could someday be as serene and as beautiful as the park.
    Snapping out of my trance, I realized what I had to do. “I have to see her,” I stated without emotion.
    “I know,” Mrs Turnbough answered, nodding her head in agreement.
    I was surprised. I had expected her to challenge me. When Mother had called me hours before I joined the air force, it was Alice who had rightly stopped me from seeing her. Whenever I had a question regarding Mother, I had always run it by Mrs Turnbough first. But now, I realized, Alice was giving me a wide berth, allowing me to make my own decisions.
    After taking a final mental snapshot of the cascading water at Rainbow Falls, I shifted the car into drive, eased my foot off the brake, and coasted from Golden Gate Park … to Crestline Avenue in Daly City.

5 – Slip Away
    I walked hesitantly up the red steps that led to Mother’s house, knowing there was no turning back. For the life of me, I didn’t understand why I still felt drawn to her. By choice, I left Mrs Turnbough in the Plymouth. Above all, I didn’t want to drag her into my slimy world any more than I already had. At the top of the steps, before I could chicken out, I gave a strong rap on the front door. The moment I did, I saw there was no way for me to control my trembling hand. I hid it behind my back, taking up my military stance. I was thinking about straightening my hair or anything else that would make me more presentable when the front door opened.
    A small boy’s eyes ran up my air force fatigues. “Hey, are you a Pelzer, too?” The child turned his head and yelled, “Mom! There’s a Pelzer here to see –”
    “My God, Kevin?” The words flew out of my mouth. With perfect clarity I remembered one Saturday, years before, when Kevin was a baby crawling on the floors, dressed in his blue outfit. Back then his shrieks of joy had melted my ice-cold heart. Now, as I studied his features, I was certain Kevin had no idea who I was.
    His eyes grew wide. Total shock was etched in his face. “Mom?”
    From the back another figure emerged. A taller, freckle-faced teenager shoved Kevin aside, taking an offensive stance – as if to protect his home. He put on his best tough-guy act as he stared me down. As much as Russell tried not to show it, though, I could tell by his fidgety movements that he was nervous, too. “So … what do you want?”
    In a deliberate tone I replied, “I need to see her. Please?” I added, attempting to defuse my younger brother’s hostile attitude.
    “Yeah, right,” Russell nodded, as if I had an appointment.
    Extending his arm toward the living room, Russell permitted me to enter but followed behind me like a prison guard escorting me to the warden. Part of me felt that Russell’s disposition was due to Mother’s years of psychotic brainwashing, or maybe jealousy that I had escaped her wrath while he and my other brothers remained behind. I also felt in some odd sense that Russell resented me, perhaps because he might have become my replacement.
    With Kevin bouncing in front of me, I scanned the living room. In seven years nothing had changed. Every piece of furniture seemed as if it were glued to the same position, as it had for years even before I was rescued. The only thing that appeared different was how small and dark the room had become, due to the paper-thin, soiled drapes and nicotine-stained walls. An overpowering stench of urine, from what I assumed was Mother’s small herd of dogs and cats over the years, nearly made my eyes water. I let out a cough and shook my head in disgust. This was a woman who when I was a tiny child had hosted elegant parties and prided herself on her home’s