Dreaming of the City

Lainne Wilkins

I was about ten when I first started to love the idea of living in a city. My mother, father, and I drove to Portland, Oregon, and walked on top of this viewpoint called Rocky Butte. This was a time when Mom still believed in taking me out to do things. I could see for miles and all the towering buildings that made up the city. We lived about three hours from Portland, but it was by far the biggest and most extravagant place I had ever laid my eyes on—though, to be fair, my town only had a few grocery stores and coffee shacks that you could see after traveling a few miles on a straight stretch. I decided on this trip that the best way to get into the city was to go to Portland State University. 

My mother and I didn’t really get along after I started high school. This is not to say I don’t care for the woman; I just don’t exactly respect her. We have more of a sibling relationship than a mother and son one. I know she loves me, but we would bicker about almost everything. I think this is from my dad leaving us when I started middle school. We would always go on adventures around the state before he left. Now my mom hates doing anything outside of our town. I think this is mostly because it reminds her of the family we used to be. I have always felt responsible for him leaving because I was never close to him. I think the only reason he stayed for so long was because he actually cared for Mom. I used to catch her scrolling through his social media pages, but I never said anything because I knew she needed to see what he was doing. He traveled around the U.S. and had pictures on his pages of every national park you could think of. I liked the idea of traveling, but Mom would never take me anywhere. As if we would run into Dad on a small vacation. 

I think it was the start of my senior year when Mom stopped crying at night.

Although Mom and I did not get along, I took care of her in the years after my dad left. I made us dinner every night, did both of our laundry, and when I was old enough, I got a job to help with the bills. I think it was the start of my senior year when Mom stopped crying at night. That made me feel good, but she was still a pain in the ass. Our arguing continued, but the good kind of arguing. I knew she was going to be okay and I could finally be at peace with getting out of this town that was too small for the both of us. I can confidently say this was the break we both needed from each other. Going to college three hours away was the perfect getaway. The best part was that I was going to college in the city, so I didn’t even have to worry about surprise visits. 

I started at PSU in the fall of 2017. I moved into my miniature-sized dorm room, and my mother, I could tell, was happy to see me go. I can’t lie: I felt the same way. But as she drove away from campus, I saw her waving goodbye, and I felt a pit in my stomach. She was actually gone. I had just gotten all this freedom, and I was sitting here feeling bad that my mom had left. Maybe this is how she felt when my dad left so many years before. I started to feel bad for her again.

The next day I woke up and forgot about being sad that she was gone. I was in the city where I always wanted to be, and it was finally time to start enjoying my life. 

I somehow got stuck with this roommate named Brock. He was a big, burly dude that lifted weights for fun. All he seemed to talk about were the scholarship offers he got to play football. I liked to talk about skating through the city and the next Suicide Boys album coming out, so we definitely did not get along. Brock did many things for our room, though. He was a neat freak who couldn’t stand to have anything out of place. I almost felt bad if I used our restroom, just because I knew he was going to clean it as soon as I left. We learned to work around each other, though, and he got all the freshman girls to hang out with us, so I got over his cleanliness pretty quickly. 

As everything was falling into place, Brock and I were hanging in the “cool” freshman dorm with Brock’s girl of the week, Stephanie, when Mom had to ruin it. I never thought she would come to the city, but here she was, cookies in hand and a smile on her face. 

“Where’s Justin?” she asked, and I came running out, hearing who was at the door.

She scolded me for not being safe and having a girl in our room, then gave me a big hug and stuffed a cookie in my mouth. Oatmeal, my favorite. I knew something was different, though. I couldn’t remember the last time she made me cookies. I hardly recognized that massive smile plastered on her face. She looked at me with her soft hazel eyes and sucked in her lips like she always does when she’s nervous. The words finally came out.

“Your dad came back,” and before I could say anything else she added, “and he brought your brother.”

I was confused. Mostly at the fact that he would ever show his face in front of her again. Apparently, he had a kid with another woman, and then brought this baby to my mother and said we should all be a family again. I knew she was overjoyed with this. She was her old self knowing that he did not leave us for good. 

I looked at her and muttered, “Well, I have to see this.” 

I was finally fitting into my new college life, and now I was going to have a family to come home to. Mom and I were a family, but it had never felt complete. I didn’t really like my dad, but this was going to be a better home now, seeing that Mom could maybe find a happy ending for herself after all. 

Since it was a Friday, I got set to leave for the weekend and prepared myself to step into the old house that I could maybe be happy to call home again. I cleaned the parts of the dorm room I had made messy, just so Brock knew I was trying to help. I told him to have fun with Stephanie and that I would be back on Sunday. He didn’t say much, but I knew he was a little sad I wouldn’t be there during the weekend to entertain his football practice stories. We finally left campus and were off to a new life. 

When we got back to the crummy old house with yellow paint chipping off in every direction, my dad was sitting outside with a baby in one hand and flowers in the other. Maybe he had actually changed. Mom’s smile had not left the whole ride back home. He ran up and gave me a hug when I got out of the car. He only released me from his bulky arms when I started to pull away. 

He said, “I know you must still be a little mad at me, but I just needed the space to figure myself out. As soon as Tom was born, I realized how much I missed you and your mom and wanted you both back in my life. I am here to tell both of you that I want to make this work and earn your trust back.” 

I sort of believed him but could not give him the satisfaction of knowing that. I choked up and said, “This better be for real this time.” My mom seemed mad I was not as forgiving as her, but we all hugged and that seemed to be the end of that conversation.

We went into the house and had a family dinner. As I ate the poorly cooked vegetables, I looked up, seeing a real family. Usually, Mom and I would have watched TV in silence, eating leftovers from the Chinese restaurant down the street. We were now at the table, with a home-cooked meal. I forgot what it was like to be home. I forgot what it was like for home to feel happy. 

On Saturday, Mom decided we should go get pull-apart cookies from the store to make, so we left Dad to have some time to unpack his things. My mom was glowing. Just being in the same vicinity as her radiance made me happy. 

As we pulled into the driveway, my dad’s truck was nowhere to be found. “Maybe he went out?” Mom said. “He should be back soon.” 

When we walked into the house, I immediately heard Tom crying. As we walked toward the sound, we found a note taped to the bedroom door that read, “I’m sorry I can’t do this, I have already hurt you both enough. This child’s mom died a month ago and I don’t want the same outcome for him as you and Justin. I am leaving him with you because I know this household has more love than I am capable of. I will send monthly payments to help out. I’m so sorry and I hope you know that I am doing this for the three of you.” 

All he knew how to do was leave.

I was never able to say I hated my dad until I read the last line of his note. I could not comprehend how he could do this to us again. I handled him leaving once when I was young, but this hurt so much more. He got to see me all grown up and still choose to leave. I had an inkling something like this would happen, yet I had convinced myself otherwise. All he knew how to do was leave. Before I could say anything, I looked over at my mom. She was on the ground with her tears soaking the already stained checkered carpet. I knew at that moment I could not leave her again. She could not handle him leaving the first time; how could she get through a second time alone? She wept on the ground, crying it out just as she did years ago. I went in to check on Tom. He immediately stopped crying when I looked at him. This was my little brother, too innocent to know what was going on. I knew that taking care of him was going to be a difficult task, but it was something I needed to do.

Packing up my dorm the next week didn’t take that long. I got everything packed into my mother’s car within two hours. The hard part wasn’t packing. It was saying bye to Brock. I wished I could stay and deal with his cleaning addiction and hang out with a new Stephanie each week, hang out with my own Stephanies. It was hard going to the registrar’s office and telling them I was going to drop my classes. I even made a sad joke: “Keep my scholarship for next year, will ya?” She didn’t laugh. She just looked away. The hardest part was driving out of the city knowing I would probably never come back. Maybe this was how it was supposed to be. I could not abandon Mom like he did. 

After a month, we finally got into a routine. My mom went to work and I took care of the baby. Then when my mom got off, I went to my night job and she took care of the baby. Tom was surprisingly an easy baby to take care of. He rarely cried and slept through most of the nights. We both stayed busy taking care of him. For me this helped my sadness slowly fade away, while Mom’s stayed stagnant. Was it not even in the back of her head that he might leave again? It’s like she refused to change her mindset. I had constantly changed throughout my life, and I always thought it was for Mom, but I now think it’s because I didn’t want to be like her. She needed someone that could change and adapt because she couldn’t. 

A year went by and Tom had officially turned one. He felt like my own child, which really ticked off my mom. I think this was due to the fact that I was more connected to Tom than she was, and it was the last part of my dad she had. I did not think of Tom as something of my dad’s though; I thought of him as a real family member who was more like me than Mom or Dad could ever be. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I still think about Dad, but just so I remember what not to do. I don’t ever want Tom to have to experience what I did. I don’t ever want him to feel abandoned like I did. My mom was also not the best parental figure, but she never left, and neither would I. She would stay with Tom as long as I was around. I still had some resentment for her, but mostly I was happy to have this brother who was going to care about me and love me. This is not to say that Mom did not, but this was a different kind of love. The one thing that kept my mom and me on good terms was Tom. This is another reason I loved having him in my life so much. My mom had to help me. Our resentment could only grow so much while putting energy into Tom. 

It’s funny to think about what my life could have been and what it turned out to be. I was a smart kid in high school with aspirations to open my own business. Now I work at a mechanical warehouse, and that’s where I will continue to be for the rest of my life, or at least until Tom moves out. I could probably find a better job if I wanted, but they would all require travel, which I don’t want. Raising Tom the right way is my real job. My mom will do what she has always done, partially take care of another kid. I often think about what it would have been like to make it through college. I might have been able to create a better, wealthier life for not just me, but my mom, too. This is just wishful thinking though, because then we wouldn’t have Tom. I want to work hard so that someday he can go to college in a big city and gain everything I could never have. I think my life goal now is to be everything for Tom. This way, he can have a life where Mom’s sadness does not consume him. So Tom can actually make it to the city.