Eliot Strange and the Prince of the Apocalypse

45) Gone Again

As I go back down to Nana's room to get Grandpa George's weapons, I notice the photos that line the hallway - photos of Steven from birth to now. Most of the photos are of Steven alone, but there are a few scattered of him and Nana and Grandpa George and one with his father when Steven was about four. There are none of Steven and his mother, the crack whore, which is what Steven's dad called her every time he referenced her.

The crack whore died when Steven was a baby. Steven's dad, Junior, a truck driver by trade, dropped off Steven at Nana and Grandpa George's because he "couldn't take a baby on the road". He never came back to pick Steven up, even after he remarried a lady with three kids of her own, and he quit driving long distance. He came by once or twice a year when Steven was little to see "his boy", but soon forgot all about him and had not visited in years. It was ok, I remember Steven said once, because Grandpa George was a better dad to me than my own dad ever thought about being. This was strange, I thought, because Grandpa George was Junior's dad and admitted he wasn't the best dad to Junior. I guess sometimes it takes two times to get it right.

It was Grandpa George who told Steven that his mother was not a crack whore. "Your dad just says that to make himself feel better because of what happened to her."

Steven never asked what happened to her, but when he told me the story he always said he was glad Grandpa George told him the truth about his mom. "Nobody wants a crack whore for a mom," he said, "especially one that is dead. It is like she deserted you twice."

I finally understand what he means as I walk by the Steven Lindquist hall of fame wall that is so similar to my own Eliot Strange wall of fame at my house. A mother who deserts you is bad enough, but one who does something terrible is twice as bad, especially if she chooses the terrible thing over you.

Steven's photos are weirding me out and making me sad too - sad for all that has been lost. Nothing will ever be the same again. I stare at Steven all decked out in red, white, and blue at the Fourth of July barbeque.

"God Bless America," I say to myself as I turn to go back down the hall with the weapons.

Torin is in the jeep waiting for me. He is sound asleep in the back seat, a drowsy victim to pain medicine. I let him rest while I finish loading the car with his medicine and our supplies. I almost forget the last bag, the most important one. I go back inside to grab the weapons. I am coming out the front door when I hear the jeep crank up. How sweet, Torin must be up and wants to drive. He backs up out of the driveway and nods his head to me, almost like a salute, or like a nod of acknowledgement. He is so handsome, even with a hat hiding his beautiful smile. Where'd he get the hat? I feel proud that he likes me, and happy that I like him right back. I smile to him and wave like he is leaving. He waves slowly back. I see that he is not smiling, and that is when I realize that Torin is not driving. 

Sometimes your mind tricks you into believing something awful is not happening - while it is actually happening right in front of your face.

I stop waving with my hand still in the air like I am frozen in place.

He is driving away. Jack Taylor is driving my prince away. I cannot move. My hand is still in the air. I cannot scream. I watch them drive away. Frozen, unable to move or even get a breath. Until, the jeep is gone out of sight. 

My prince is gone. Gone forever.