Chapter 3: Her Last Morning

There was nothing particularly special about today when I woke up. The house sounded as it usually does, loud. I could hear the twins fighting down the hall about a stain on a sweater. My brother added to the chaos by screaming, "Shut your damn mouths!" And then slammed his bedroom door. Mom followed by pounding on the floor from the ceiling below with the broomstick, her routine response, which means get down to the kitchen and also to shut our mouths. Big families have their drawbacks.

It's hard for some people to imagine what a busy, hectic family is like until they experience it themselves. Debbie and Laurel's houses are so relaxed compared to mine. No one is screaming down the hall or banging on doors to get into the only bathroom in the house. Laurel is lucky enough to have her own bathroom and what is even better is that it is connected to her bedroom. I feel like I am on vacation when I sleep over there. We never have to leave her room to pee.

Sometimes we pile into her bathroom and sit on the counter testing out makeup. Laurel's mom sells Mary Kay, not because she needs the money, Mrs. Cuffzinger explained, but so that she can get a discount on make-up. Plus, she gets tons of free samples, which she generously shares with Laurel. Some of the extras end up in the trash. Mrs. Cuffzinger is particular about which colors work, and which are for streetwalkers, as she likes to put it. The first time I heard this expression, I wasn't sure exactly what it meant, so I just nodded my head like the other girls. Once Mrs. Cuffzinger was out of the room, Laurel explained. Apparently, Mrs. Cuffzinger used this word to identify many situations where women look like or acted like prostitutes.

A few years ago when we were in 7th grade, we watched Laurel cut her own hair in that bathroom. She had me hold open an issue of Cosmopolitan while she snipped and clipped away at her thick long blonde hair. She sectioned her wet head carefully and snapped in a few clips to hold back specific pieces. Laurel combed one area up and placed the hair between her fingers, cutting down while releasing the cut pieces. She repeated this step several times before her mother walked in. A shocked Mrs. Cuffzinger entered just as Laurel was about to make her sixth cut. She immediately took the scissors from Laurel and booked an appointment at her hair salon for the next day. Luckily for Laurel she hadn't done too much damage. The hairstylist was able to salvage Laurel's experiment and create a cute long bob which framed her pretty face perfectly. Things always seem to go Laurel's way. She could screw up anything and somehow everything always works out.

I wish I had known today would be the last day I would see my family, especially my mother. I was kind of rude to her before I left for school. She asked me about my softball practice schedule, and I snapped at her to check the calendar I taped to the fridge. It's been really hard for her the last two years with dad gone. She has done the best she can to keep life normal for us.

She tries to make sure she talks to us often about school or friends, whatever. I feel like sometimes when I do share, she isn't really listening. Last Friday, I was really upset about how I played during practice. When I came home, she was sitting at the kitchen table looking at an envelope. She asked me what was wrong, so I started to tell her. I was going on about my missed plays and how I was striking out at bat.

"I missed an easy pop up. I mean, seriously, it was embarrassing."

"Hmmm. Okay, well you will get 'em next time," she responded.

And then got up and left the room.

"Mom?" I yelled after her. "Where you even paying attention?"

Tino entered the kitchen and took mom's place at the table.

"I doubt she heard one word of what I said," I complained.

He told me that she is worried about a bill we have coming due. I felt guilty about being upset with her. I should have taken the time to tell her how amazing she is doing.

The last few months my dad was alive were agonizing. My father wasn't what you would call the warm and fuzzy type, but we knew that he loved us. He always made sure to ask about our day and insisted on eating together as a family most nights. He wasn't always sure how to act with his daughter's. Dad grew up with three brothers, he was the second of the four. When I was little, I remember he tried to play with me and my Barbie's. His large fingers couldn't seem to pick up the small rubber shoes. He tried several times to force the shoes onto Barbie's tiny little feet. And when I asked him to undress Barbie so we could swap out an outfit, he shook his head and mumbled something under his breath and left the room.

Things improved for us when I showed an interest in baseball. Dad worked with me in the backyard every weekend the year I joined the little league. When I was eight, I was the only girl on my team. During one game we were short an umpire, so the coaches went around asking the dad's if one would volunteer. I remember I was so excited when he put up his hand. We won the game that day, but dad swore he was fair. When I got older, I made the switch to softball. Dad always tried to make it to all of my games, even the ones that were away.

My brother is having the toughest time, not that he would say so. Dad and Tino were very close. Since he is the only male in the house now, it makes his life even more difficult. Tino pretends to hate all of us, but we know better. He feels responsible for protecting the family. It was dad's way too. The funny thing is, Tino is only fourteen months older than me, but he acts much older. He was sort of like that even before dad died, he has a mature way about him I have heard people say.

Tino used to play basketball a lot. He made the varsity high school team his freshman year. Dad was extremely proud and impressed since the coach rarely allowed freshman to bypass the junior varsity team. Tino would spend hours in the driveway shooting baskets. He would use our youngest's sisters' chalk and draw lines on the blacktop marking different places to shoot from. I remember looking out of my window down at the driveway below and laughing at the pink chalk markings. Tino had used up all of Shannon's white chalk and the only color she would part with was pink. He never knew it, but I liked watching him practice. He was so focused on each movement, it was impressive. If he didn't make a basket or was unhappy with how the ball ran around the rim before falling in, he would repeat the same movements until he was satisfied with the result. I respected how dedicated he was. I never realized how his determination rubbed off on me. I would find myself more motivated at softball practice thinking of how hard Tino worked. I felt like I would be letting him down if I didn't dive for a ground ball or take the risk of stealing a base.

In the winter months, before dad died, Tino used to take down the net to preserve it from the weather. Dad would hoist Tino up on his shoulders and hold his legs while Tino unhooked the net. Then come April, Tino would beg dad to put the net back up. Today the hoop is ignored, and the net barely hangs on like the last leaf to drop from a frozen branch. It's sad.

Tino has a lot in common with dad. Not only do they share the same name, Santino Salvatore, they have the same face. A few years ago, my grandmother showed us pictures of my dad when he was about ten. If you ignored the fact that the picture was in black and white, you would have thought for sure the picture was of Tino. I think Grandma favors Tino, not just because he looks like dad, but because he is the only grandson.

My poor brother. He has already taken on and given up so much. When my family finds out I am dead, Tino will have to hold them together again. Only it will be much worse this time. This time death comes without warning. This time there is no time to prepare. This time they may never know why.