Homecoming

From the archives of my long gone original blog, Wed 10 Sep 2003.

The school schedule was passed around the dinner table and note was made of the upcoming Homecoming celebrations: A bonfire, a parade, a football game.

The ninth grader asked, “What's Homecoming?”

The mother's face lit up. She knew the child needed encouragement to go to social events, that given a choice he'd rather hang with a couple long-haired kids in a stuffy room and listen to heavy metal. She wanted to talk it up.

“It's … fun!” she said. “It's like back-to-school, but it's all for the kids. There's parties, and games, and stuff going on … “

The father said, “I thought it was about coming home, like for the football team after being out on the road for weeks.”

“No,” she said. “No. It's coming home, back to school.” Her smile faded.

“Do you have to, like, wear a suit?” the ninth grader asked.

“No,” she laughed, a little forced. “Jeans and t-shirts. There's activities, and there'll be a parade, and floats … “

She fell silent. The ninth grader said “Hmm”, and tried to look game.

The family saw tears on her face. She worked to hold them in, but it was no go, and she abruptly left the table. They ate in silence awhile. The father took on a neutral expression and left her alone to her space, for he knew the children took their cue from him. In time she returned, wiping her eyes. She sat down.

“Sorry.”

“No, no,” said the father.

“Mom, what's wrong?” asked the younger child.

Happiness and sorrow strove together across her features. She tried to smile, but the tears would not stop.

“I never went to Homecoming,” she said. “It was a lot of fun.” She paused.

“My mother wouldn't let me. She was so jealous. She made sure, every year, that I couldn't go.”

“What the hell …” interrupted the father but she waved him silent.

“She never had a life. And she was damn sure I wouldn't either. She hated me. Hated me. Every year we had to go to her mother's house on Homecoming weekend, or something.

“Finally, in 12th grade – my last chance! – I decided to go. She wasn't going to ruin it for me any more. I just didn't come home. I stayed at school and helped make floats. We made floats for the parade! It was a blast. It was an absolute blast.”

The happy memory disappeared from her face as she started crying again.

“I went home, oh, maybe about four in the afternoon. I wanted to change my clothes. I wanted to be in the parade! Or hang with my friends, or go to a party. Something! Anything! It was my senior year. My last chance ever to go to Homecoming!”

She sobbed.

“That bitch was so mad. She hated me! Went after me with a baseball bat.”

Anger chased off the tears.

“Took a baseball bat to me.”

“Did you hit her back?” asked the ninth grader. He knew the bitch in question. She was his loving grandmother. But he also knew people were not usually what they seemed.

The mother paused, nodded, shook her head.

“I … I had to defend myself.”

The father had been told in dark nights past of mother-daughter struggles that ultimately sent the girl's mother to the hospital. He suspected this had been one of them. But the mother did not share that detail with her child.

“I defended myself,” she said.

“So you!” she cried, pointing a finger at him. “You go to Homecoming, and have a great time! Or I'll take a baseball bat to you.” She laughed and her damp, deep brown eyes sparkled.