Scene One:
In the beginning, everything was good. Ripples of laughter filled the warm air as the boat went faster, mixing the comfort of the sunshine with shocking sprays of cool lake water. She was in love with him, he was in love with her. Marriage was treating them as it should, and there were no worries. Lake trips in the 90’s in East Texas were as important in the summer as football was in the fall. SeaDoos had hit the scene with all the rage of fanny packs and anyone with a lake house never had to decide what they were going to do on the weekend. They knew.
I recall my parents saying they met them at church, and if that’s not where they met, they might as well have met there. You know how it goes. A shake of hands, smiles, nice-to-meet-yous, then Sunday brunch. They find out how similar they are, then they’re family. My mother was pregnant with me, and they had just had Jordan. Two young couples, still enjoying the shock of being married, standing on the precipice of parenthood and so grateful to have each other to share their fears with, and still innocent enough to smile and sip the lemonade.
I don’t remember why my parents weren’t there that day, and I know that they still wonder if things would have gone differently had they been there to offer their arms and eyes. Tammy Toes and Jim took that day trip to the lake and hired a babysitter to sit on the boat to watch Jordan so they could be newlyweds again for a couple hours.
Shrills of fake terror and giggles came from the SeaDoo as she held on and he turned maybe a little faster than was safe. But who cared? You’re only young once. You are only in your first years of marriage and young once. You are only blessed in your young, happy marriage with a first child once.
I don’t know who she was or what her name is, but she might be one of the only people I can feel hate for. She probably sat there painting her nails with BonBon glitter or reading about the Red Hot Chili Peppers in Seventeen magazine, but whatever she was doing she was not watching Jordan. I could slap her. I could tell her that she was an idiot, that she was ruining her life. I could yell from the depths of my soul until her ears bled and let her hear the pain that came from heaven. And you know, it probably wouldn’t have changed the outcome. Stupid girl.
They bumped the SeaDoo up to the side of the boat and stepped off to enjoy some watermelon and maybe a beer or two. Still hung-over in the exhilaration of a great ride and great company they slumped down with a sigh of contentment and took a bite or two. Then panic.
If you’re afraid of heights, you know that feeling you get in the moment when you’ve just started to fall off of somewhere very high. Maybe you know because you’ve ridden a rollercoaster. It doesn’t matter that the equipment is certified, or that you know somewhere in the back of your mind that the ride will eventually end. That’s all sucked into a vortex of dark fear that’s coming for you too. All you can see if the darkness. All you feel is that horrible, retching tearing and pulling and pushing and incapacitating sickness. There is nothing else but the darkness.
Everything was in stereo. The voice coming out of her mouth and his mouth and the babysitter’s mouth all became background noise in their ears. The sound of fear was deafening. “Where is Jordan?!” A pale face. Pale faces. Searching. Searching. Then it can’t possibility be reality anymore. We’re all just in the movies.
The water surrounding him was brown, like all other lake water in Texas. The boat was white. The grass was green around the dock. The water melon was red. But Jordan was blue and wet and cold.
Scene Two:
I’d let my chubby baby feet swing back and forth from the counter top as we made cookies and sang songs that made our hearts sing too. Good smells and smiles. Sunshine would come through the window on those days I spent with her. When the dough had satisfied my impatient little red headed appetite to hold me over till the warm cookies came out of the oven, I’d let my little legs tread over the threshold of the kitchen into the living room. There would be that painting over the fireplace. I didn’t know his name till I was older, but Jordan’s eyes, just like mine, and a face crowned with hair like mine, would smile at me as I looked at them and wondered why that little boy wasn’t here to play with me.
My mother would take me over there often after that day at the lake. I was only a few months old when it happened, but a new baby is like a fairly new baby. Mrs. Tammy Toes didn’t have Jordan, and she knew that. You could see the pain in her eyes when she looked at you, even if the pain was contained by a pretty, peaceful glaze of her faith. But she had me. I could be the object of her affection and mothering. I could be cute and innocent. Jordan’s absence left an irremediable hole in her soul, but I could kind of plaster it over and paint it red so that sometimes, at moments, she wouldn’t recognize what put it there.
I didn’t know that’s why my parents took me to their house until I was older. It never crossed my mind to ask any questions until I became intuitive enough to know the things people never say. I was sure I was there to be babysat so Mom could go grocery shopping. Or so Dad could spend a little more time at work. I had no idea that I was sent to be something to someone, that I had a job to do.
Every Christmas we place a golden baby angel at the very top of our Christmas tree. I’ve done it for several years now. When I finally knew the story and realized who I had been, I took down the angel at the end of the season and kept it in my jewelry box all year until it was time to put Jordan back on the tree. There was no way that he could get lost after who I had been. Dad says we put him up there to remember to pray for Mrs. Tammy Toes and to remind him and Mom how blest they are to have me here on earth.
Scene Three:
When I was about five we moved away from my Tammy Toes. She was my other mother. It was never said between us, and I knew that maybe no else but my parents knew about the bond I had with her. I was young, but my heart knew that I loved her on the most fundamental of levels. Deep and irrevocable. I forgot about her sometimes in the midst of my tree climbing and long division. I never knew that I had been missing part of my heart until I saw her again when I was eight. It was hard for me to recognize her face, but when I did the tears streamed down my face. My mother! My friend! She was part of who I am. And I am a part of her!
It’s been eighteen years since that day at the lake, but it seems that the story becomes clearer to me each year. Jordan teaches me something new about myself and the world and love with every year. There were a lot of people I wanted to invite to graduation. I hadn’t seen her and her daughters since her wedding about three years ago, but I knew she would be one of the first ones I’d invite. She and her wonderful new husband and family drove down from several hours away to come to my graduation. I couldn’t offer them dinner, or make enough time for them to even spend an hour, but that’s okay. Mrs. Tammy and I, we knew.
How is it that a couple hours could determine who I would be? That stupid girl’s sin. Carefree youth. God. Fate. The love of my parents. It all made me who I am. Sure, I have my genetics, personality, and all the other experiences to make me who I am too, but that was my first experience. Maybe I was born with a need to help others. Maybe it’s at my core to be who my loved ones need me to be. Maybe it’s in everyone. But maybe it’s because that’s the first person I was. I’ll still be the healer, the fill-in, the comforter. I’ll be imprinted by the needs of those I love. I’ll become what they need. I do anything for them. I’ll be.
