Family Ties Without Goodbyes

WC 469

Family Ties Without Goodbyes

By Jack Rawlins

The last time I saw my mother was fifteen years ago. She disappeared the same day Buena Transit-mix backed into our driveway, extended a metal chute through a basement window and deposited six tons of fresh cement in the middle of the basement floor.

I signed the delivery slip 9:15 AM, pulled on a pair of knee-high rubber boots, loaded my CD player with the sound track from the first Rocky movie, took a six-pack for company--- and went down to do my dirty work.

At 4:30 PM I completed my project. It was a project I had planned for a long time, but it turned out to be quite easy. Funny thing is repairing the basement floor was one of the few things Mother and I ever argued about. Instead of heading for Florida on Spring Break, I came home to take care of business.

After I cleaned up, I reread the note on the refrigerator from Mother. It had no time or date, but I knew it had been there for over two weeks. It was like a standing order: "Be out for a while. Fix your own dinner."

I scrambled two eggs, and at 7:00 started to call our friends and relatives to ask if they had heard from Mother.

At 9:15 PM I called the police and reported Mother missing. I felt silly saying it, but I told the officer who took my call that I suspected foul play. Her car was still in the yard parked next to mine.

The police investigation was less thorough than I had expected. I hired a private detective for a modest retainer plus the promise of a generous contingency fee if his search was successful. I also hired a lawyer who specialized in missing persons. I ran ads and pictures of Mother in all the major newspapers in our area and conducted a search via the internet.

That spring I finished college and went to work as a marine biologist.

Seven years later I had Mother declared legally dead. I sold the house and moved to Eastport, Maine, to work as a consultant to the fish farming industry.

Her phone call was a shock. "Where have you been?" I gasped.

"Colombia," she said. "I've been with Carlos for fifteen years."

"Who the fuck is Carlos?"

"You knew I had a drug problem after your father was sent to Attica. Carlos was my source and I ran away with him to solve my problem."

"What do you want with me?" I said.

"Not a damn thing. I just want you to know Carlos is dead. I'm clean and I bought back our house. And thank you for fixing the basement floor." With that, she hung up.

We were never really close.

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