Until Someday (Part 1)

          I was so young. Too young to understand. The final turning point happened the Christmas I was five. I can remember the weather that day. And the shirt I had on. But let me go back to the beginning.
     I was born in the wintry town of Frosty Falls. I am told that the name came from a local waterfall that would display these amazing icicles in the deep of the winter. When I was just a year old, my parents took me and my little brother to the warmer climate of Florida. I don’t even remember living in Frosty Falls, although I do remember my mother’s disdain regarding the town and towards winter, in general.
     You see, it was she who begged and begged to live somewhere warmer. She asserted she was not a “winter” person and she claimed that she couldn’t tolerate the cold.
     Of course, I learned all this as I got older. I didn’t realize any of this as a little child.
     And so Florida was all I ever knew. We finally settled down in a tiny, rather rundown cabin in the center of Florida along a small scenic lake and life should have been idyllic. But it wasn’t.
     My earliest memories are the memories of a home in constant discord. I can’t remember my parents ever getting along.
     I am not sure I ever understood why. Mom filled me in a bit as I got older, but it never really made sense to me. I do think my dad was a troubled soul who really struggled to find his niche in life. He went from job to job, never really settling.
     Because of this, we moved often during our first years as a family, although by the time I was four, we settled into that little cabin by the lake, thanks to the charity of some kind-hearted souls. I will always be grateful to them for the stability they gave to my brother and me at that time. And, then later on, to a single mom with two kids.
     In between Dad’s jobs, we didn’t always have enough to eat. I remember going without supper more than once. Mom tried to find odd jobs but having to care for us made it really difficult. In those days, there was little help in providing daycare for preschoolers and she was literally on her own, without any support.
     Mom had been born and raised in Texas and her entire family was still there. Not feeling at all close to her large family, she had left home as a sixteen-year-old and never looked back. I had never met my grandparents or my two aunts and three uncles. Why she chose to break off ties was never really discussed. I still don’t know, to this day.
     So how did a girl from Texas meet a boy from the town of Frosty Falls? I’m glad you asked. After she left home, my mom ended up in a small South Carolina town, waitressing at a local family diner. My dad had picked up a job as a traveling salesman and ended up at that very diner. They fell instantly in love. Or that’s what I’d like to believe. I actually think the truth is that my dad provided my mom an out from a very lonely and difficult life.
     What I guess she didn’t realize was that she was going to enter a different kind of hard. A hard she finally refused to continue living in the Christmas I turned five.
     I had on a bright red sweatshirt and I remember feeling so hot in it because Florida was extremely warm that particular December day. But you know how kids are… I wanted so badly to wear my new Christmas sweatshirt with its sequined candy canes and sparkly presents that I was willing to bear the discomfort.
     It began as any other ordinary day, with my mom pouring our cereal and then taking her coffee and going to the living room to watch TV. Dad was jobless—again—and he just laid around the house doing nothing. Dad could be lots of fun but when he was down, he was really down. And so he didn’t really talk to us or play with us in those times. It was hard for us little kids to understand and I remember feeling like I must have done something to make my dad sad. But what could it be? It was so confusing to my little self. Of course, all grown up now, I realize that I had nothing to do with it. But those impressions are hard to shake, even as an adult.
     That particular day, my mom had had enough. Looking back, I think her frustration had been building during their whole seven years of marriage.
     As my brother and I ate our cereal at the formica-topped table in the kitchen, we heard the normal sounds of arguing coming from the living room.
     I tip-toed to the doorway to see what they were arguing about this time. I remember seeing the tiny artificial tree that we had set up with mom the day before, twinkling happily. It was such a contrast to the conversation taking place just a few feet away.
     As I listened to the argument I had heard what felt like a million times, something different happened this time.
     My dad, instead of shouting, lowered his voice until I almost couldn’t hear it. I strained my ears, trying to remain unseen.
     “If that’s how you really feel, Pam, then I don’t see any reason we continue this farce of a marriage. I will be out of your life within the hour.”
     My mom’s mouth opened in surprise. My dad never lowered his voice. My little heart started pounding. I knew deep down that this argument was different.
     My dad got out of his chair and went into their bedroom. Within a half hour, he came out with a small suitcase. He came over and gave my brother and me the biggest hugs we had ever had from him. He assured us that he loved us and that he would miss us terribly.
     “I’ll see you again someday,” he said sadly.
     And then he was gone.
     I never saw my father again.