Jake

 

Ray is wrong about a lot of things.  He is especially wrong when he says ‘families aren’t worth shit.’  They are worth everything.  They form us, they ground us, they send us out into the world to become who we are.  Sure they mess up, everyone does, but there is something powerful about belonging to, and coming from, the same unit - even if at times you could happily kill some or all of the members. 

I certainly won’t forget the day I lost mine. 

Of course I had been drinking.  But this was no bender, no binge, quite the contrary.  I had finished my work that morning, and was heading out from LAX on the flight to San Luis Obispo as usual.  At the airport I ran into an old friend,

a former colleague of mine who worked on The New York Times, we hadn’t seen each other in maybe ten years.  I had allowed plenty of time to check in, so of course we headed to the bar for a couple of scoops.  We reminisced about the good old days, that we had managed not to get shot, and had held on to our hair.  One thing led to another, and I was just about to leave when he persuaded me to stay for just one more beer.  That’s all it was, no big deal.  We swopped email addresses, I said I’d look him up when I was next in New York and left for my gate.  I wasn’t drunk, not even tipsy, but when I saw the gate deserted apart from a lone stewardess, a chill ran through me. 

‘I’m afraid you’ve missed the flight, Sir.’ She said calmly.

‘But I’m right on time.’ I said incredulously, as I watched the plane detach from the walkway and inch towards the runway.

‘It’s leaving ten minutes early, we got an earlier take off slot.  We called it three times, Sir.’ She smiled sympathetically.

‘When’s the next one?’ I asked, my mouth suddenly dry.

‘Four-thirty.  I’m sure the sales desk can help you.’

She might as well have said next week.  This wasn’t just any day, it was Jazz’s third birthday, and she was having a party.  I was supposed to be there.  I raced to the ticket desk to get on the next flight, which wasn’t a problem, then rang Vonnie to explain what had happened.  For the first time in our relationship she hung up on me.  I called her back, repeatedly, to no avail.  Then I texted her, still nothing.  There was nothing I could do, absolutely nothing, except wait for the next flight - and have another drink.

I rehearsed my speech many times before I got to Vonnie’s house.  But when I opened the door, and saw her sitting on the sofa, I knew there was no point saying anything in my defence or otherwise. 

The house was quiet.  ‘Where’s Jazz?’ was the only thing I could think of saying.

‘She’s asleep.  She was exhausted after the party, I told her if she took a nap she could get up later.’

‘How was the party?’

‘It was fine.’ She was curt.

‘Vonnie _-I’

‘Don’t.’ she put up a hand.  ‘Please don’t.  I want to talk to you.’

I sank down on the sofa and prepared for a heavy lecture - nothing more than I deserved - she had every right to be angry - but talking was good, that meant I was in with a chance. 

I was wrong.

‘When Jazz wakes up, I’m taking her to Jenny’s with me.  You’ll have the weekend to get your stuff together - then I want you to leave.  This isn’t working for me, Jake - for us.’

I looked at her as if she was crazy.  ‘Vonnie! This is a three-year-old’s birthday party we’re talking about, for Christ’s sake! I know I should have been here, but it’s hardly-’

‘You don’t get it do you?’ she looked at me coldly.

‘What?’

‘I don’t care what your drinking is doing to me, to us, but I’m damned if I’m going to stand by and let my daughter’s life be ruined by the precarious whims and notions of an alcoholic father.’

‘Are you calling me an alcoholic?’

‘You heard me.  You have a drink problem, Jake, a serious one, one that’s turning you into a different person.  Someone I don’t know any more.’

‘Oh, for the love of-’

‘My father was never around for me, but at least I know he didn’t even know I exist.  I can’t imagine what it must be like to know your father prefers the company of a crowd of drunks and a lousy bottle instead of showing up for his family, but I have no intention of letting Jazz go through the agony or instability of finding out.’

I was so angry I could hardly speak.  Me, a drink problem?  An alcoholic?  Who the hell was she talking about?  How dare she...?

Instead I retorted with what I knew would hurt her most.  ‘You’re not exactly qualified to lecture on family life yourself, are you, Vonnie?  What makes you think you’re such a great parent to Jazz?’ (Yes, I’m ashamed to say I really did say that.)

Vonnie recoiled as if I’d hit her.  ‘I’m going to take a bath.’ She got up. ‘Then Jazz and I are out of here.’

‘Don’t bother.’ I said. ‘I’m leaving. I’ll come back for my stuff tomorrow.  You can talk to my lawyer about Jazz.’  I grabbed my bag and strode out the door slamming it behind me. 

Outside I got a cab, slammed the door and barked at the driver to take me to my hotel of choice.

When I checked in, and got to my room, I slammed the door there too, and slung my bag on the floor for good measure.  Then I sat on the bed and cracked open a bottle from the mini-bar.

Sometimes you’re making so much noise in your life you don’t hear the things that really matter.  Like the shattering splinters of hurtful words, the quiet erosion of trust, or the breaking of a heart that makes no sound at all.