A Man Named Dave

led me into the bedroom that I assumed he shared with Russell. The last time I had seen it was when Kevin was sleeping in his crib. Growing tired of the tour, I simply nodded and turned away. “And this,” Kevin stated grandly, “is Mom’s room.” Still amazed at how small everything seemed, I stepped into Mother’s sanctuary and gawked at her mirrored bureau, where her once cherished perfumes and figurines were coated with dust.
    As I turned to leave Mother’s bedroom, I noticed a set of photographs. The upper left picture was a color bust shot of Ronald in his army uniform. By the tone of his expression, Ron was his own man. He looked fantastic in uniform, and I was proud of him. He had escaped. My eyes then darted to the outdated school photos of Stan, Russell, and Kevin. In the middle of the surrounding pictures was a black-and-white portrait of Mother on her wedding day. Catherine Roerva Pelzer was absolutely stunning. Her eyes glowed with love. Her complexion was flawless. She seemed to radiate the model of a young bride who couldn’t wait to live a lifetime filled with happiness. As I admired Mother’s portrait, I suddenly realized that Father was nowhere in the set of pictures. Looking closer, I discovered that I, too, had been excluded. I now understood why Mother refused to have anything to do with Father. How could she help Father, if, in her mind, he had already died?
    I turned around to search for Mother, but she had retreated to the safety of her kitchen. I could not understand how one person could hate so much. I could only imagine how she had validated her cover story to the boys. How easily she could make anything that troubled her completely disappear.
    “So, what’d you think of my family?” Kevin chimed. Turning away from the set of pictures, I saw Russell’s face, which revealed a crocodile smile acting as if everything was exactly as it should be. So be it, I thought to myself.
    “Fine,” I replied to Kevin with a grin before pushing myself past Russell.
    At the end of the hallway Mother stood, puffing on a cigarette. “So, I can assume you found everything you came to see?” she said in a belittling tone. Facing her, I became too distraught to reply. I knew I should leave, that it was useless to try to convince Mother to see Dad. Sensing my weakness, Mother added, “Ronald’s in the army, you know. He’s doing quite well. He sends me all of his medals.” Mother turned away, then produced a box of assorted medals. Dumbfounded, I could only look into the box as Mother bragged on, “This one’s for sharpshooting … and this one’s for basic training … ah, this … I’m not quite sure. There are so many of them, it’s hard for me … anyway, he’s stationed in Alaska. They don’t just station anybody there. He won’t say it, but I know better. He’s one of the best military police they’ve ever had. I’m so proud that one of my boys is serving their country. You can’t imagine how proud I am,” Mother sighed, laying it on as thick as ever.
    “I’m … in the air force.”
    Mother glanced up from her prized box in bewilderment, as if she had no idea, even though I was wearing my air force fatigues. “Ah, yes, well, isn’t that nice. Army wouldn’t take your kind, eh?” she said. “So, what is it you do to protect our country?”
    I smiled triumphantly. “I’m a cook.”
    As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I felt like an idiot.
    “A cook? ” Russell broke out laughing.
    “Didn’t you enlist to become a firefighter?” Mother asked bitingly. “What happened, did they boot you out of that too? I thought the air force was about jets. No one’s a cook.”
    The silence that followed extended into infinity. Without a word I nodded my head, as if to thank Mother for her time and for her hospitality, before seeing myself out. I could feel all eyes on my back as I closed the front door behind me, and only then did the living room erupt into a burst of laughter. Easing back into Mr Turnbough’s car, I let out a deep breath.
    “Had to do it?” Mrs Turnbough asked.
    “Had to. She doesn’t have, nor ever did have, any intention of helping Dad,” I stated in a cold voice.
    “My Lord,” Alice replied, “how does a person like that –”
    I interrupted Mrs Turnbough by raising my hand. “I only hope she gets hers. It’s just not fair.” I struggled to control my breathing. I thought my head would explode from the surge of hatred I had for my mother. Sensing that her boys were spying on me through their bedroom