White Trash Tuesday- Chapter Sixty-One
Before Love’s mother was Love’s mother, she was known
as Claire. For years Claire had been missing. Love
searched for her in the face of the woman lying on the
couch, but she could not find her.
When Love took the woman on the couch out for a walk,
she asked questions, and tried to get the woman to tell her
about her hopes and dreams. A shadow of Claire began to
appear on the woman’s face.
The shadow strengthened as the day went on, but it was
still faint. When Love’s father came home from work, he
found almost-Claire and Love sitting at the kitchen table,
eating a stew that Love had made and chattering happily.
“You’re eating,” he said, surprised. Almost-Claire’s
smile went away when she saw him.
“Don’t think that this has anything to do with you,”
she said. She put her empty bowl into the sink and went
into the living room. Love shrugged at her father. He
followed his wife into the living room with Love closely
behind him.
“I was thinking the three of us could go out tonight,”
he said.
“Where?” Love asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. To a movie, or bowling maybe.
Maybe a bar.”
“I don’t feel like it,” almost-Claire said.
“Come on, mom,” Love said. “When’s the last time you
went out?”
“I don’t know,” almost-claire said.
“It’ll be fun,” Love said. “Come on.”
“Alright, fine,” her mother said, giving in.
The bar that they chose was loud and full of young
table and played crappy music.
“Maybe we should find another bar,” Love said.
“No, no,” her father said. “We’re here, we might as
well have a drink.”
“Okay,” Love said uncertainly. They found a table and
squeezed together around it. Her father got up again right
away.
“I’ll get some drinks,” he said. “What do you girls
want?”
“Let’s do a shot, Love!” her mother said.
“Okay. What do you want a shot of?” Love asked.
“Szambuca,” her mother said. Love smiled. Szambuca
was her favourite, too.
When it was time to go home, Love convinced her father
not to drive. They took a cab back to their house. They
stumbled up the walkway, with Love’s hand under her mother’s
elbow.
“Careful, mom,” Love said when her mother stumbled.
Her father spent a long time searching for the keys to the
front door.
“Hurry up,” her mother snapped. “I’m cold!”
“I’m hurrying!” her father said. He unlocked the door.
They flicked the lights on and tumbled into the house.
“I get the bathroom first!” Love shouted. She ran and
slammed the door behind her and sat on the toilet and
urinated. When she came back out, her mother was laying on
the couch and her father was standing over her.
“Are you sleeping on the couch again?” he said.
“Yeah, of course,” Claire said.
“Why don’t you sleep in Sean or Lily’s room?” Love
asked. “Their beds are empty.”
“Why don’t you just sleep in our bed?” her father
asked. “Married twenty five years, and my wife doesn’t even
want to sleep in the same room as me!”
“Dad, don’t,” Love said.
“I’d just like to know why my wife hates me so much,”
he said. Claire wrapped a blanket around herself.
“I don’t hate you,” she said. Her Caire-ness was
fading again. Tears were trickling down her face.
“Then why do you sleep on the couch every single
night?” he said. Love’s mother crumpled into the couch
cushions.
“Stop it,” Love said.
“Why should I?”
“Because you’re ruining everything!” Love shouted at
him. “We went out, we were having fun, and now you’re
fucking it up. I’m going to bed.” She turned and went up
the stairs.
as Claire. For years Claire had been missing. Love
searched for her in the face of the woman lying on the
couch, but she could not find her.
When Love took the woman on the couch out for a walk,
she asked questions, and tried to get the woman to tell her
about her hopes and dreams. A shadow of Claire began to
appear on the woman’s face.
The shadow strengthened as the day went on, but it was
still faint. When Love’s father came home from work, he
found almost-Claire and Love sitting at the kitchen table,
eating a stew that Love had made and chattering happily.
“You’re eating,” he said, surprised. Almost-Claire’s
smile went away when she saw him.
“Don’t think that this has anything to do with you,”
she said. She put her empty bowl into the sink and went
into the living room. Love shrugged at her father. He
followed his wife into the living room with Love closely
behind him.
“I was thinking the three of us could go out tonight,”
he said.
“Where?” Love asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. To a movie, or bowling maybe.
Maybe a bar.”
“I don’t feel like it,” almost-Claire said.
“Come on, mom,” Love said. “When’s the last time you
went out?”
“I don’t know,” almost-claire said.
“It’ll be fun,” Love said. “Come on.”
“Alright, fine,” her mother said, giving in.
The bar that they chose was loud and full of young
table and played crappy music.
“Maybe we should find another bar,” Love said.
“No, no,” her father said. “We’re here, we might as
well have a drink.”
“Okay,” Love said uncertainly. They found a table and
squeezed together around it. Her father got up again right
away.
“I’ll get some drinks,” he said. “What do you girls
want?”
“Let’s do a shot, Love!” her mother said.
“Okay. What do you want a shot of?” Love asked.
“Szambuca,” her mother said. Love smiled. Szambuca
was her favourite, too.
When it was time to go home, Love convinced her father
not to drive. They took a cab back to their house. They
stumbled up the walkway, with Love’s hand under her mother’s
elbow.
“Careful, mom,” Love said when her mother stumbled.
Her father spent a long time searching for the keys to the
front door.
“Hurry up,” her mother snapped. “I’m cold!”
“I’m hurrying!” her father said. He unlocked the door.
They flicked the lights on and tumbled into the house.
“I get the bathroom first!” Love shouted. She ran and
slammed the door behind her and sat on the toilet and
urinated. When she came back out, her mother was laying on
the couch and her father was standing over her.
“Are you sleeping on the couch again?” he said.
“Yeah, of course,” Claire said.
“Why don’t you sleep in Sean or Lily’s room?” Love
asked. “Their beds are empty.”
“Why don’t you just sleep in our bed?” her father
asked. “Married twenty five years, and my wife doesn’t even
want to sleep in the same room as me!”
“Dad, don’t,” Love said.
“I’d just like to know why my wife hates me so much,”
he said. Claire wrapped a blanket around herself.
“I don’t hate you,” she said. Her Caire-ness was
fading again. Tears were trickling down her face.
“Then why do you sleep on the couch every single
night?” he said. Love’s mother crumpled into the couch
cushions.
“Stop it,” Love said.
“Why should I?”
“Because you’re ruining everything!” Love shouted at
him. “We went out, we were having fun, and now you’re
fucking it up. I’m going to bed.” She turned and went up
the stairs.