This is an excerpt from my novel, the story of a young woman on the verge of adulthood who is coming to terms with the impending death of her alcoholic mother. Each chapter is named after a self-help book, of course. (-: Also, this is the second-to-last chapter, and although my novel is semi-autobiographical this is not how my mom really died – I found that trying to write about her death as it really happened was too painful, so I re-wrote it this way – I let the character choose her own ending.
Chapter 17: The Road Less Traveled
Life is difficult. This is a great truth, one of the greatest truths. It is a great truth because once we truly see this truth, we transcend it. Once we truly know that life is difficult—once we truly understand and accept it—then life is no longer difficult. Because once it is accepted, the fact that life is difficult no longer matters.
—The Road Less Traveled
No one saw her get out of bed in the pre-dawn hours and step into the sheepskin slippers that lay beside her bed, the ones Rudyard had given her for what would be her last birthday, her fifty-fifth. No one saw her step into her favorite lavender ball gown, sit at her vanity, apply the false eyelashes she wore for formal occasions, dot her wrists with Chanel No. 5, and shakily apply to her lips the plum lipstick, the same lipstick with which she wrote on the mirror in titanic, sloping letters: FORGIVE ME.
She must have padded unseen down the hallway, passed the wall of family photos, the kitchen, the ticking grandfather clock, and made her way to the front door. She left it open behind her. Did she think that one of us might wake up, see it open, and run after her? Or was she simply too weak to close it? Did Bacchus follow her? Did he stand in front of the front door and try to block her exit? He would have. He must have. Outside she must have made her way slowly over the mossy brick courtyard, past the fishpond and the ferns and stepped into the Hill-O-Vator. She must have seated herself on the bench beneath the canopy in the cool of that darkness and clicked the door shut as she had done so many times before. Out of habit, she might have arranged the pleats in her gown so as not to wrinkle them. Then she would have pulled the tiny lever that would conduct her down the cliff to her fate.
It was August 29, 1989, the seventeenth anniversary of Leah’s death. Gently the Hill-O-Vator would have lurched forward, humming on its descent in the pre-dawn cold. It would have moved past the side of the house and the lavender bougainvillea vines that reached up along the cliff. Lavender had always been her favorite. It would have passed the hoary white and gray rocks, the oaks, and the dilapidated tree house where years ago she had conducted our teddy bear picnics, letting us eat the tuna fish sandwiches that tasted of Chanel No. 5 off bone china. The Hill-O-Vator would have passed the 162 steps that Bacchus lumbered down as he did when she used to take him for walks. After fifty-five seconds, it would have come to a stop at the beach where it would remain until we discovered it later that morning. Fifty-five seconds. Had she been that sure?
It was my father who woke at six without her in the bed beside him; my father who saw the plum-colored words sloped across the mirror; who in his tartan bathrobe took the 162 steps, two at a time, fell and tore the skin off his knees and palms and ran wildly to the beach where he found Bacchus pacing by the shore, barking at an empty horizon. It was my father who ran toward the sun rising over the bay, and, as he ran let out a howl that gushed out of his heart and transformed itself into a sound I wouldn’t forget, a terrible sound that woke us all from our sleep just as he reached the shoreline and saw her floating in the unending water.
Where did she get that kind of courage? Or did the lure of elsewhere propel her effortlessly? Bacchus would have barked at her from the shore, reminding her of the impact that these few steps would have, how this would shatter us.
I knew even before I reached the shoreline that she was dead. I knew that everything I had ever feared had in an instant come to pass. As I ran on the beach in the early morning sun, purposeful, numb, I heard nothing but the soles of my bare feet on the pebbles and my pounding heartbeat. I felt sick; I wanted to turn and run in the other direction, run from what I knew, from all that preceded what I knew, and the monumental sorrow that was to come.
The tide had brought her back to the small inlet. She was face down in the water floating back and forth in her final silent waltz, her gown billowing. I could see the stillness that had formed where her movements should have been, a single sheepskin slipper on her foot, soggy with ending. I imagined for an instant that she might lift up her head, open her eyes, and paddle towards us like those ladies who did synchronized swimming back in the Forties. She would say, “This water is ridiculous! It’s downright ARCTIC!” and: “Rudyard, get me out of here.”
I reached the shore in time to see Rudyard drop to his knees in the sand. He placed his face in his hands and howled and then got up and ran into the water up to his thighs. He dove then, swam wildly toward her and with his arms outstretched landed on top of her. Gripping her whole body he lifted her, taking her back from the sea, back to the shore like a re-discovered, irreplaceable treasure. Then he was high stepping backward like a trained horse until he was just ankle deep in the water with the new morning sun shining like a spotlight directly onto him. He fell back and landed in a sitting position in the shallow water with his wife, his lover of three decades, in his arms. If you came upon them from a distance, sitting on that beach, you might think they were lovers caressing in the waves.
Her head was tilted back at a strange angle, her lips outlined with too much of the plum lipstick. A false eyelash curled off one of her closed eyes. Was it true? That she had dressed for death? Had, with shaky hands, applied the lipstick that now lent a freakish mask to death itself, for their only meeting?
There it was: the dolphin pin. My father fingered it between his thumb and forefinger, pressing against her in the water, kissing her face with his saltwater kisses until I placed my hand on his shoulder. He looked up at me for an instant, squinting like a boy in the bright sun, then stopped and wept without sound, burying his face in her chest. The bay was sated, motionless beneath the coat of summer sun. There were no sounds anywhere and I thought of running back to the house for help, but I stopped myself. Who would be able to help us? No one. No one. I didn’t hear Garcia running up behind us until the sound of his sharp lament broke the silent morning, causing a flock of gulls to fret upward off a piece of driftwood and gesture at the sky. Then Garcia didn’t move.
Dee and Raj came down the beach toward us—Raj shirtless, mute, dropped down beside my father. Dee, barefoot in her cow-print pajamas, fell to her knees in the water and gently shook our mother, saying Mom? Mom? as if she might snap out of it and wake up. Above us was the house: the turret, the sloping veranda, the Christmas lights, the wicker chairs; the eucalyptus, bay, and oak trees now gone still in silent homage to one who had watched and admired them for years. My father ran his hand gently up my mother’s shoulder along the curve of her neck to her face. He leaned over and rested his forehead against hers.
“Oh, my queen,” he said.
Note: Several readers have asked where they can buy my novel. If you would like to get a copy, email me at adriennec@yahoo.com and I’ll send you the link!
Linking up as usual with Yeah Write.
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An excerpt from my novel, about my alcoholic mom: http://t.co/7tJx5bTg #yeahwrite52
Nice, Ado. Beautiful description, you hit all the senses. I thought at first your reference to Bacchus was symbolic – which actually worked for me. Later I realized he is a dog. Since this is the next to last chapter I have to assume you make that clear much earlier. When I did realize he is a dog I thought, great name. And I love the last line. Have you posted other chapters? Great idea for the chapters to be titled by self-help books. I’d like to read more. Lovely writing.
Stephanie, Yes Bacchus is symbolic of the alcoholism, in fact he’s intentionally named after the God of Wine by one of the alcoholic characters. He’s a big Irish wolf hound. (-: I will post more chapters.
Brave and lovely. My heart went out to each character, perhaps Bacchus most of all.
This is the first I’ve read of your novel and I simply love it. It’s completely absorbing. I was with your characters every step of the way. “55 seconds. Had she been that sure.” Wonderful. Can’t wait to read more!
Thanks Kim! (-:
I have chills after reading this. From other posts I’ve read from you, I realize more and more how horrible, painful and scary your mothers illness and death was for you, I hope being able to write about it has been part of a healing process or at least provided some kind of relief for you. Your writing is beautiful, incredible and brave. Amazing post!
oh man this is some damn good writing. i held it together just fine until Father found the Dolphin pin and then i just kinda had to let out a tear or two.
Thanks (-:
I just finished your book and had too much to say to you in a 140 character DM. And I have been too busy to scrounge up your email. (I know, it’s a button up there, but Easter on the heels of getting back from a trip whisks you along). And now, here is an excerpt and I can sing my praises in public!
Your book is a GEM and I hope and wish you find a way to release the link to buy it while still blogging anonymously. I am flabbergasted that it is not been commercially published. I want you all to know that Audrey Niffenegger, author of “The Time Traveler’s Wife,” wrote her cover blurb.
And now Ado, I’m going to continue to speak to your readership.
If you all thought that scene was powerful, the character development leading up to it has a richness and layered flavor that you just want to roll around on your figurative literary tongue to enjoy all of the nuisances. I am so glad that I read it on a cruise with my family because while I had time to read, the time was parceled out. If I had been left unrestrained, I would have wanted to gobble this book up in one sitting and it would not have been as pleasurable.
The way she captures the feeling a being a child (even an adult child) in a destructive and dysfunctional family is artful. The emotions and the motivations are raw, real, and powerful. It has tragedy, it has humor, it has life.
This is truly a treat that she has given you this morsel, but it is somewhat of a disservice that you are not getting to see this culmination grow from the beginning. I feel like the favored child that not only got a slice of cake, but got to lick the beaters beforehand.
So in conclusion, in case I was unclear or confused you with my food metaphors (apparently the gluttony of the cruise has invaded my brain), I liked the book. Ellen
Ellen – I’m so thankful for your comments. Really appreciate it.
PS: If anyone wants to read my book please email me at adriennecb@yahoo.com.
I know – I should probably try to figure out a way to not be so anonymous up here. Still straddling that line!
Thank you for your sweet comments. I’m glad you enjoyed your cruise (and thank GOD you liked the book!) Ha!
I’m so excited! Go read this post NOW! @AdoTheMomalog has released a chapter of her novel!! I said go! Ellen @yhwriteme http://t.co/Np6Bcx9a
This is simply amazing. Raw, yet beautifully polished. The way it was set up was heart wrenching, imagining the mother’s carefully measured actions, guessing hopelessly at her thoughts. Even after reading all the other comments and composing my own, I’m still teary. I loved it.
Thanks so much!
That was wonderful and painful at the same time. I wanted to read more. I could imagine it. I absolutely would devour a whole book in that writing. I truly loved it. Where can I get it?
Thank you Susi. Email me at adriennecb@yahoo.com and I’ll tell you where you can get a copy. (-:
Hard to read in a way and yet … I was compelled to keep reading. So sad …
So very powerful. I can not wait to read your novel in it’s entirety.
Thanks Julia!
A must read: @AdoTheMomalog http://t.co/Yx4vToAH
Wow – very powerful and your writing is beautiful. I found myself watching from the shore and even felt a little guilty for invading such a deeply painful moment.
Wow, that’s saying something! Thank you Tracy.
You are a gifted writer. It’s powerfully and beautifully written, and I found myself very absorbed, even in just this short bit. I’d love to read the rest!
Aww, so sad. Alcoholism is just terrible for everyone involved.
It is, but there can also be a bright side – at some point!
You are an amazing writer. This was powerful, yet raw. You drew me in further with each word.
Thanks Kimberly
You’re an amazing writer. You know that already. You also know how much I adore you.
This particular chapter is just heart wrenching. Gutsy. Painful. And beautiful.
Thank you my friend. (-:
This is a wonderful yet painful post, Ado. You’re such a strong woman, and you’re such a great writer! I admire you for that.
Wow. This is such wonderful writing, I’m sitting here stunned (not that I didn’t expect greatness from you!). You completely sucked me in with the vivid imagery and raw emotion. Great work.
I admire you so much. Your writing, to be sure, but mostly you.
You are such a gifted, beautiful writer. This was breathtaking. I want your book!
Wow. Riveting. Terrible – the situation – but I couldn’t stop!!
You are an incredible writer. This is so powerful and so raw. I think I held my breath as I read this.
Wow – I think that’s good! (-:
this is wonderful, and i would love to read the whole thing – sent you a dm. so glad you shared, can’t wait to read more.
um… I want to read the whole book!!! Can I find it somewhere and have been missing it?? so great. I really, really enjoyed it.
Thank you Tara, I can send you the link to the book. (-:
yes please! tpohlkotte@att.net so proud of you for this!! exciting!
ok
Oh wow you just made me cry. Terrific writing! I’m not surprised it’s a book at all. Keep writing. Wow.
This was so compelling and heart wrenching and left me wanting more. Congratulations on your novel Ado, I have no doubt it will be captivating and amazing.
(-:
I just stumbled upon your blog and this fascinating story and I’m in love with both! Excellent!
I’m almost at a loss for words. Almost. I’m overwhelmed by all the emotions that your writing evoked. I hope you know how amazing you are. Your words were so hard to read yet so powerful that I could not stop myself from reading more. I have a total girl crush on you!
Thanks so very much!!! (-:
If I am going to be up and reading at 2:50 a.m. I want it to be just like this. The purple of the gown, the blue of the sea and sky, I could smell the ocean and eucalyptus…and felt that twinge in my right temple that reminds me I used to long for floating away, but not anymore. You are a great writer. Thank you for sharing your gift.
Thanks Sperk. PS: Get some SLEEP! (-:
You’ve made me want to read what comes before!
Beautiful and powerful! Yes, I’ll be sending you an e-mail.
(-: Wow Iza, coming from you that is a very high compliment!
A beautiful and powerful excerpt from @adothemomalog ‘s novel http://t.co/wKOryrRb
I want to leave you a comment to tell you how wonderful I think this piece is, but I simply have no words.
Thank you Michelle – that was words enough! (-:
With an alcoholic brother, this hit too close to home for me. Intense and beautiful and so heartbreaking.
Jade, sorry to hear about your brother.
What a beautiful story… Reading from the excerpt, the full novel must really be great! I will find a copy of this.
Your writing is very easy to read, Ado. This had me all sucked in!
Thanks Jen!
Do you know Sugar (The Rumpus)? You write like a motherfucker. Really awesome!
Thank you Jennifer! (-:
Nope I don’t know Sugar.
Thanks for the story. Very informative.
Nice shots! But the one with the clear sky with the newlywed copule sized like a dot at the far corner is my favorite. It’ll take seconds before you’ll notice the copule. But when you do, that’s the time you can appreciate the picture.