# 5

The back hatch on the van wouldn’t close. Jack pushed down again, bouncing up and down like a pogo stick, shoving with both arms hoping that whatever he was crushing would finally break and allow the door to slam shut. It had crossed his mind several times to simply break something himself and toss it into the bushes along the side of the garage but the audience of neighbors and in-laws helped keep his frustration simmering just under the surface. Keep the show rolling, stay calm and smile. He reviewed the plan while rearranging the boxes again, letting a cascade of kitchen stuff fall loose from a splitting box and spill under the back seats: I have some job possibilities lined up in San Diego. I’ll get settled, get an apartment, then Julie and the kids can move out in a month or so.  It’s all planned out. The more times he said it, both out loud to whoever would listen and to himself, and sometimes out loud to himself, the more it took on the hue of truth. Jack clung to the truth where he could find it, held each scrap and shred tight in his hand even as he carried boxes to the van, the grip leaving marks on his palm and causing his knuckles to ache.  I’ll get settled. He knew that if he did not take these truths, did not pack the shards deep under the sheets and pillowcases, down in the bottom of the cookie jar stuffed with recipes and drawings from the fridge, tightly wedged inside books and photo albums the truth might simply dry out, crackle and flake away along the highway until not even dust remained when he stopped.  This, packing his essential belongings into a well worn minivan, was the only sane, safe answer; this, going to live and work and deal with the consequences 2800 miles away, was a brand new start for all of them. It’s all planned out. The truth was slight among the eddies of conjecture, alibi, fabrication, rumor, and secret that had become their life. Jack’s world was fractured, chipping apart, a collage of realities that were overwhelmingly unfocused, even if he stood back and squinted at them all pinned up on the wall. He focused on the solid elements, the words he could pull out to form a complete sentence. A brand new start.

“No Edna, I told you already, we’ve been working on this for a long time,” taking another single item from his mother-in-law she had carried out to add to the load. “I told you it’s not like I’m escaping under cover of darkness. Thank you for the spatula.”

“But I don’t see why all three of you don’t go together? Find a job here and save enough to move out. As a family. Together.”

“Because ‘together’ does not fit in a Plymouth Voyager parked in a strip mall’s dark corner attempting to sleep on boxes of all our worldly possessions. And this calendar. Thank you.”  Jack had always liked Edna, felt instantly guilty for being a smart ass, but knew there was no need to worry or apologize since she would return in five minutes and have the same conversation over again and had probably not really heard a word he had said.

“‘Go west young man!’ Edna, the man thinks Californ-eye-ay is the place to be -- swimmin’ pools, movie stars, all that. He’s gonna make his fortune then send for the fam, don’t you worry.” He could give Jack the corner of his eye which said, fleetingly but unmismistakably I could be the one who puts you down like a dog on a dark street. But his speech and grin was always off just enough to show the world he was merely the daffy old dad, content in the easy chair on the porch.

“Right. Don’t worry. And by next summer you two can come visit us, dip your toes in the Pacific Ocean and go to Disneyland. Hand me that duffel bag, would you please?”