killing floor
let’s see…some goofy modern gospel crap. no. some country dood. no. dean martin. no. ah. that’s what i’m talking about. here’s the tape to play. “Blues Artists” was written on the label in my stepfather’s handwriting. it was the only tape in the car that i deemed worthy to play, after the radio failed me once again and i didn’t want to listen to nothing but the wind of north central illinois. he was in front of me, my step-dad. i was following art back to the town of sandwich from aurora, where he’d picked up the ten-foot u-haul truck that was bouncing along ahead of me down route 47. i was tailing him in my mother’s 20th century bonneville. the one with the shitty cassette deck.
the music seemed so appropriate. all the standard blues topics are covered, like laments of loves long lost, or the woman that does little more than tease. i’d been unsettled throughout the train ride from the city, but listening to these tunes within this context weighed my heart down to feel like a boulder was sinking in my chest. my immediate reaction to this feeling was anger. in fact, lately i’ve been teetering between sadness and anger. however, nothing like a 60 year old blues song to drive the point home. mostly i’m angry that i’m hearing about it all only after everything has been said and done.
when we arrived at the little house in sandwich, we began pretty much straight away. after a couple of corner curios, a bedroom set, a television, and countless boxes of various sizes, we were done packing the truck within a few hours. it wasn’t all that much, really, but then, not much was leaving. certainly not the “half” that comprises the cliche.
they were mostly civil, although a couple of minor comments were uttered by both of them. even a solitary and small grain of salt is easier to fling onto the wound when there’s nothing left to lose.
it was on the way back to the train station in aurora the following morning that many of my assumptions were confirmed and further questions were answered. of course, during that ride so many more questions sprang up, but they won’t be answered yet, if ever at all, no matter how much i want them to be. to add to the frustration, i realize that i’ll never understand everything about what has happened.
my goodbye scenes were a bit bittersweet both times, as i did everything i could to control my anger. mostly i just didn’t know what to say or how to be encouraging. it’s hard…it’s really hard to encourage when you feel discouraged. so i kept it simple, said little, offered my love, and went on my way. the 80 minute train trip seemed to take forever.
they spent sunday packing the rest of the stuff in, and today they’re on their way as i type this.
and that’s how mom and art will end their marriage of sixteen years. he’s driving the truck i helped pack, and she’s driving her old-woman bonneville, straight down to southern ohio, where she will start her new life on her own. he’ll be returning by mid-week alone to their house. hopefully he won’t have to stay there too long.
you had no idea? yeah. no kidding. up until recently, neither did i.
