CHAPTER 1
Fireworks and Flowers
Wednesday June 17, 1970 — 8:00 AM
Colin lazily searches the bed for his pillow before pulling it gently to his bruised face. The cool touch of cotton soothes the prickly brush burn blanketing his forehead.
“Wake up. They’re fighting again.” The words are flat, emotionless. “Maybe we should go down there.” Colin buries his face deeper into numbing tranquility.
The pillow peels away and slips from his fingers as that matter-of-fact tone questions, “you hear that, right?”
“Hear what, Pete?” Colin yawns, then retreats under the covers. He smells Pete’s presence more intensely than usual. Charcoal. Like the sweet, smoky aroma from briquettes that his stepfather pours into the kettle grill perched on the back porch of their suburban Philadelphia home.
“Seriously, aren’t you supposed to have extraordinary hearing?”
Colin tilts his head toward the sound of Pete’s voice. He feels agitated. “They’re having an adult argument. That’s what adults do.”
“Sometimes I think you enjoy their quarrels.”
“Piss off, Pete.”
“That was unnecessary.”
Colin doesn’t respond. He lacks the stamina to challenge Pete, especially when he’s right…again.
“We should calm things down.”
“We? What are we going to do?” Colin rolls to the side of the bed and reaches for the floor, his fingers groping through shag carpet. “Where are my socks? Did you take my socks?”
“My feet were cold. You know I get cold when I’m nervous.”
Colin sighs, surrenders, and in one movement arches upward, swivels left and takes three measured steps to the dresser. His left-hand lands naturally on the knob of his sock drawer. Yanking it open, he grabs the first pair he touches, then launches backward onto the bed. “God, I hate walking on this carpet in bare feet. It feels like worms.”
Pete suppresses a laugh.
Colin surrenders and chuckles too. “What’s so funny?”
“Your socks don’t match.”
“Really? Well then… while I visit the lion’s den why don’t you hang out here for a while and rearrange my sock drawer.”
“I should come. You might need me.”
Colin responds sharply. “For what? They can’t see or hear you.”
“I’m doing the best I can, Colin. I don’t even know why I’m here.”
“Sorry Pete. It’s all cool,” he says sincerely. Colin slides to the foot of his bed. “I’ve got this.” He reaches for his cane. Not there. Sweeps the carpet with his right foot. Nothing. “Pete?” Silence.
He mutters, “okay, we’re playing this game again.”
With the layout of this 100-year-old home lodged in his brain, Colin doesn’t hesitate. Twelve steps from the edge of his bed to the doorway then straight into the hallway, where his feet escape the dreaded shag and embrace smooth hardwood. He veers slightly to the right then slows his pace as the timeworn floor sags and squeaks. Slender, agile fingers barely brush the wainscoting as if skimming precious piano keys with a legato touch. He approaches the master bedroom and pauses. The heavy oak double doors must be open. Sunlight pokes through, offering a slight contrast to the muted shadows that typically define his vision. From the bedroom, a gentle swish of curtains announces the arrival of a cool summer breeze. It carries the scent of sweet viburnum. Inhaling deeply, he leans against the roughly plastered wall. He savors smells from his mom’s garden, one of the few sensory pleasures he gets from this house. A striking contrast to the odd collection of odors that sought any open window of their 4-unit apartment building in the Grays Ferry section of Philadelphia. Six years. That’s how long It’s been. Six years since he used to identify those colliding aromas flowing from scores of row homes on Gerrit Street. Six years…since the eviction from his childhood home.
He’s 18 now. Moved here about a year ago when his mom, Hannah, married Ben, whose thriving family counseling practice provides a lifestyle and stability that Colin never knew growing up. Colin feels his mom took the convenient way out and settled for someone she doesn’t love. And he’s quick to correct people who refer to Ben as his father. “He’s my stepfather, not my real father.” There’s a hole in Colin’s life and he wants to fill it with the truth about Tommy Byrne – his real dad. In a few weeks it will be the Fourth of July, marking four years since his father disappeared. It’s the worst time of the year for Colin. Like the hollow feeling he gets when the heavy percussion of fireworks reminds him of the way his dad used to “describe” their sounds by tracing the shape of each burst on his back. For some reason, this recent holiday has awakened Colin’s desperate loss more deeply. Maybe it’s because he’s opening a new chapter in his life, still rejecting the possibility his dad abandoned him. Maybe it’s because his mom has been able to move on.
His reflections are interrupted by Ben’s muffled words, drifting up the stairs. “Keep your voice down. He’ll hear you.”
Colin approaches the narrow staircase six long strides away. His mother’s whispered response is vague. He squats on the first step, presses his face into the spindles of the banister and listens attentively for her voice, but only hears Ben reassuring her, “he’s ready. You’ll see.”
“That is a bummer. She really doesn’t want you to go.” Pete’s flat voice nearly launches Colin through the spindles. Colin whispers through clenched teeth, “how many times have I asked you not to sneak up on me like that?”
“Just trying to help.”
“Well, I don’t need help.” On his feet, Colin guides mismatched socks down the stairs. Right foot, left foot, all the way down. Just like his dad taught him. Pete’s voice comes from below.
“Land mine down here. There’s a vacuum cleaner sitting in the foyer so move to the right unless you want to get impaled.”
Colin refuses to answer but still follows Pete’s instructions. He pivots sharply at the bottom of the steps, but nearly trips on the electric cord.
“Easy Colin. Smooth sailing now.”
Colin breezes his way to the swinging kitchen door. He leans in. The door briefly snags against the threshold before surrendering to the weight of the high school graduate who has added ten pounds of pure muscle this summer. Stubborn hinges announce his arrival, but he is met with silence. The heavy scent of charcoal punctuates Pete’s presence. “It’s okay Colin, they’re hugging each other now.”
The next voice Colin hears belongs to Hannah. “Colin, sweetheart, did we wake you up?”
“Well, sort of…yeah, you did. What’s going on with you two?”
His stepfather joins the conversation. “Sorry Colin, your mom’s just a little nervous about you going off to college…”
“Mom, we talked about this. Swarthmore is a mile away. I’ll be fine.”
“Maybe boarding is not such a good idea. I mean, you could live here. I could drive you…”
“I…need…this. How am I supposed to take advantage of their music program when I’m living here? It’s not that far and you can visit any time you want. You and dad always encouraged me to do this. No excuses, right?” he asks forcefully.
Born premature, Colin received high levels of oxygen for his underdeveloped lungs. By the time he was removed from the incubator the die had been cast. In Colin’s case, excessive damage to the retina had triggered severe vision loss. Retinopathy of Prematurity was the official explanation for the mistake. Colin’s parents took little consolation learning there were other “ROP” babies like him. None of the medical excuses mattered. Their baby was blind.
Still, as soon as he was old enough to understand and ask questions, his parents’ message was relentless. NEVER USE THIS AS AN EXCUSE. Blaming any setback on his blindness was forbidden. It was a sentiment that made him grow strong and confident. By the time he was ten, he cherished their faith in him. He heard other kids complain about their parents and he couldn’t relate. He was the lucky one.
Until the drinking.
Colin takes a slow, deep breath, runs his hands through his shoulder length hair and exhales.
“Honey are you okay?”
Pete’s voice is further away. He’s probably pacing behind Hannah and Ben now. “No, you’re not okay. Get it off your chest. Tell them you’d be a lot happier if Ben was out of her life.”
“I’m fine, really mom. Just need you to give me a little room here…like you used to do.”
“A lot of room. Away from him…away from me.”
“Listen,” Ben interjects. “I want to have a proper conversation about this, but you know how crazy my Wednesdays get. I’ve got a ton of paperwork and dictation to catch up on and I still need to organize my office.”
Colin cackles, “is it as sloppy as everything else around here?” His mother’s muffled groan satisfies him. Ben firmly slaps his stepson on the back and says blandly, “I promise we’ll talk.”
Ben’s even-tempered tone annoys Colin. As his stepfather’s footsteps shuffle past him, Colin nastily mutters, “I don’t need your counseling. Save it for your clients.” He hears the familiar clack of Ben’s shoes hitting rough clay tiles, then abruptly stopping.
“Your mom is giving him the evil eye…wagging her finger…and off he goes.”
Ben’s footsteps echo down the narrow side hallway that leads to his office. Colin hears the office door shut softly. He feels Hannah closing in. Braces for the hug. “I’m sorry we upset you, Colin. We’re doing our best.”
She feels more fragile to him. He softens his tone. “I don’t care about him, but you just need to let go. Stop trying to fix everything.”
She hugs him closer. “With all you’ve been through, sometimes I feel like you can’t wait to get away from here.” She lowers her voice. “Away from Ben. It’s obvious. We both feel it.”
“How many times can I say this, mom? Just because you’ve been able to move on doesn’t mean I’m ready. But I still love you. I still need you.” Teasingly, he says, “I’m counting on you to help me with my laundry and meals.”
Hannah sighs, then also manages a more playful tone. “So, this is how it’s going to be. What happened to that independent college freshman, huh?”
“You’re making her cry. You’re not helping the situation here.”
“Mom, are you crying?”
“Good God, Colin you really do have a sixth sense.” She gently pats his bruised forehead. “You’re leaving this house just in time. You can’t even stand up straight in that creepy basement. You need to be more careful when you’re working out down there. And please, please, please take care of these.” Her hands squeeze his fingers. “You treat them like your head, and you can kiss that music scholarship goodbye.” Colin finds her shoulders and hugs his mother. She twirls a handful of his hair. “I’ll be fine Colin, really. Even better when you get a haircut. You sure have your father’s hair. Even more red if that’s possible.”
They are interrupted as Ben shuffles back into the kitchen, then pushes the swinging door forward toward the front of the house. The door remains open. “Hannah, did you put the vacuum cleaner away? We weren’t finished….”
“No, no, I definitely left it out.” Her voice trails off as she follows Ben out of the kitchen, the door swinging behind them. “I’m going crazy, where the hell is it?”
The kitchen is silent. Colin walks to the sink, feels for the strainer and grabs a clean glass. He slowly turns on the water, letting it run over his index finger until it turns cooler. He fills his glass, then drinks slowly. Colin lowers the empty glass and taps it gently on the countertop. Softly, he speaks. “Pete?” No answer. Still hushed, but more emphatic this time. “Pete!”
“I just tidied up a bit. Come on, you know I can’t live with clutter. Besides there’s no need to vacuum that hopeless mess of an office.”
Colin drains the glass and places it in the sink. “She’s freaking out enough as it is. I don’t need you putting her over the edge.” He walks effortlessly toward the kitchen door, far from surprised when he hears Pete rinsing the glass and placing it quietly back in the strainer as he responds, “I apologize. I’ll be more careful, I promise.”
Tilting his head toward the sound of the vacuum cleaner coming alive, Colin wearily adds, “…and I’m not leaving for college because I want to get away from you. Understood?”
“Fine. But perhaps there’s something you need to comprehend as well.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Maybe it’s your attitude that’s ‘putting her over the edge’. And that anger you allow to fester inside of you? Forgive my selfishness, but It leaves no space…for me.”
Colin straddles the threshold and slumps against the door jamb. The window above the kitchen sink opens with that familiar squeak. The scent of sweet viburnum drenches the air.