Chapter 4: Dad calls, the world falls.

My phone rings. Its my Dad's cell phone.

"Hello," I answer cautiously.

"Hi Babydoll," he replies rather sheepishly.

"How are you calling me? How are you on your cell phone from jail?" I question.

"I posted bail so I'm at the house now," he tells me.

Nope no warning. Mom didn't call me and tell me what was going on. One second he was in jail, the next he was calling me. This is making my head spin.

"So I guess your mother told you what's been going on?" he asks.

"Well ya. I mean no. I don't know what's going on. I mean I know you got arrested, but beyond that Mom and I don't know anything. What were you in jail for, and how did you post bail? What is bail exactly? Do you have to pay bail back? I don't know anything about this stuff. I just... uhg..." I blurt out as questions begin firing in my brain faster than my mouth can keep up with.

"A few years back some people said I didn't finish the contracting job I did on their house. They took me to court and made me pay back every cent I made on the job, which was like $12, 000. When things got tough these last couple months, I stopped paying payments to the court and they arrested me for it," he explains casually, as if he's telling me the weather forecast.

Oh okay. That makes everything better. NOT.

"Well did you finish the job?" I ask.

"Of course I did baby," he says. Hmm. That's some damn bad luck if you ask me.

"How did you post bail?" I question.

"My friend Julian got the money together and bailed me out. I called everyone I know, and nobody would help me. Even your own uncles said no. They said I should just sit there and pay my time," he says disdainfully.

What I wanted to say was- "Yep. I was one of those people too. I told everyone just to let you sit there because people don't go to jail for nothing."

What I said was, "Uh well, people are angry." I know, I'm a chicken. He still is my dad though so I sometimes revert to being 6 years old.

"I tell you what if I had to sit there left to rot in jail, you wouldn't have a dad anymore Sam," he tells me.

"So you're saying you'd commit suicide??!?!"

"You just wouldn't have a father," he repeats.

And with that statement, the 6 year old girl goes away and a mean bitch of a woman comes out with a bang.

"First, I feel like I already don't have a father. Second, if you killed yourself, it would be the single most selfish thing you would have ever done. The legacy you would leave would be wrought with pain, anger, and disdain. I can't believe you would ever say that. Let alone to one of your children," I hiss at the phone.

He pauses for a while and asks, "Why don't you feel like you have a father?"

"Well you never call anymore. We used to talk daily and now I can't get a hold of you to save my life. I'm sick of your damn voicemail. And the father I knew wouldn't be in jail. Seriously, that's so crazy. I can't believe you were in jail."

"You're right I should call more often baby. I'm going to make a point of calling more. I might have a job  near you soon, so I'll be able to visit and see the baby too. Well, I need to talk to the kids now babydoll, so I should go. I love you."

"Love you too Pop." Those were the last words I spoke to him before my world and my faith in him would be completely and totally turned upside down. This marks the Before-missing person era of our relationship. (Every story has to have a solid Bible reference right?) Or maybe I'm drinking a margarita while I write this and it seems like a good idea now...

This conversation marks the first time of many that I realized talking to my father would not get me anywhere emotionally. He says all the right things, but part of me just knows its words- only words. Its like those beautiful packages in the window displays at Christmas. They have such shiny elegant paper with perfectly placed bows, but still you know that that they're empty. They're just for show to make you buy what the store is selling...and nothing is inside. No promise of joy, no anticipation, no magic. Just an empty brown box.

This was one of those "growing up moments". The ones where you realize that your parents are just people. That they totally don't have the answers, and mess up.  In this moment it hit me- my dad was human, painfully human. Isn't your dad supposed to protect you from the world? Isn't he supposed to create this little bubble of trust and safety? Doesn't he have all the answers and can fix everything? If he can't fix everything and isn't my foundation and sanctuary...well nothing is safe. Nothing is secure. Its all just a world of uncertainty and chaos. Shit.

Chapter 3: What the F#@k ?!?!?!

If you are just joining this blog, you might want to read the Preface and Chapter 1 & 2  first or you'll be all kinds of confused.


So I'm waiting, and waiting and I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!!! I begin to call my mother incessantly until she picks up.

"Hello,"  my mom answers.

"Well?!" I ask.

"Hold on," she says. WHAT? Dear God just tell me already! 

"Okay, I had to get away from Lucy so she doesn't hear," she says.

"You'll never guess what we found in your father's car? There were three cell phones, some really disgusting looking porn DVDs, and a little girls purse. Its not Lucy's purse either. Its  a little little girl's purse."

"Oh God," I whisper.

"Yeah Lucy didn't even say anything when she found it. She just teared up. I don't even know what to tell her," Mom says in a voice that would sound soft to any other person, but knowing my mom its the I'm-trying-to-hold-back-my-own-tears voice. 

"I opened the DVDs and put them on the ground face down and jumped on them. That felt good. I totally beat them up," Mom tells me.  

Okay seriously, I just have to give my mom a little praise here. If I were in her exact spot, I would have been a total baby about it. I would have fallen to the ground in some grand gesture and cried my little eyes out. But what does she do? She takes the DVDs and beats the shit out of them.  I'm not quite sure why, but the mental image of my mom beating up the nasty porn DVDs makes me full of so much pride. My mom is cool.

"MOOOOM! The phones are ringing," I hear my sister yelling in the background.

"Hold on Sam. Your sister says the phones are ringing."

I hear her walk-running closer to my sister's voice and the ringing phones.

"Hello? Who's this? This is Tim's WIFE. Who is THIS?" my mom demands through her gritted teeth. I didn't see the teeth, but I've been on the receiving end of that voice and know what it looks like. Its the angry Mom face. The one where you've really really messed up.

"Sam you there? She didn't say anything. She just hung up when I said I was Tim's wife. Stupid bitch," mom says.

"What did she sound like?" I ask.

"I don't know. Okay I gotta go. I'm going to look through these phones," Mom says.

And that is just like my mom, she always gets off the phone right when I'm totally and completely invested-at the exact point that makes me want to scream. If I lived near her, I'd jump in the car and get there as soon as traffic would allow. But I don't.

So I try and do my normal things. Feed Noah. Fold laundry. Put the endless mound of toys away just to turn around and find two more toy piles being made. Okay that's it. I'm calling back. This is nuts. I dial.

"Hi Sammy," my sister answers.

"Hi. What's going on?" I ask.

"Oh we're driving to some hotel. One of the people calling Dad's phone told Mom she was here in a hotel." She explains casually.

"WHAT? Put Mom on the phone!" I demand. Who cares if she's driving. Inquiring minds have to know.

"Hey. Yeah, so three different women have been calling your dad's phones, all asking for him. Two of them were smart enough to not say anything, but this one is stupid and she's telling me everything. She told me she drove here from Illinois with your father. She said he was helping her get away from there since she's a crack addict and Dad was going to help her kick the drugs. Sam, he put her up in a freaking hotel by the house! She's really scared saying that he hasn't called her all night and all day. She asked me to come pick her up and help her because she has no money and no way to get anywhere," mom says in a voice that is all mixed up with tones of, anger, hysteria, and pain.

"WHAT THE FUCK!!!" I exclaim. I know I did it again, but if there's ever a time to that, this is it.

"Wait. Wait. Wait. You are not seriously going to go get her right? I mean she's a grown ass woman. She can take care of herself. Don't you dare give her any money. Don't you dare Mom. Turn the car around now," I yell. It was kind of between a yell and demand. I've been practicing my own Mom voice lately.

"Oh my God Sam. I can't believe this is happening. I've been living with a stranger. I don't even know who this man is. You're right. I'm gonna leave her ass there. Lucy lets go get ice cream. Okay Sam I have to focus on driving now. I'll call you when I get home."

"Okay Mom. I love you more." I say and hang up the phone.

WHOA. Yeah. That's what I was thinking too.

Sometimes when you are going through something so shocking, it takes your brain a while to catch up. You end up just waiting. Waiting for something to happen. Waiting for it to go away. Waiting for something else, because this can't be real.  Can it?

This is exactly what my mom and I did for the rest of the day and next morning. We waited for a decision to come from above and smack us in the face. The problem is, decisions don't ever do that. You have to make them all on your own.

Mom, Lucy, my brother David, Noah, and I just went about our lives for the rest of the day and the next morning. We just kept moving through life. Kept going. Because if you keep going, it will all go away right? Until the phone rings and you find out that someone bailed your dad out of jail. Now its really decision time. God save us all.

Chapter 2: One Step Back and One Great Idea

If you are just joining this blog, you might want to read the Preface and Chapter 1 first or you'll be royally confused.

In order to move forward with the story, I have to back up a month or so. I think when people go through this sort of thing, they automatically start going backwards to look for signs they missed. Or maybe they were signs we just didn't want to see.

It was early October. My parents and the kids came to visit me. We did all the normal vacation stuff and finally had an afternoon home. My dad fell asleep on the couch while the kids played a video game and the 2 year old slept. Then my dad's phone started buzzing off the wall. Dad didn't wake up. SO not like my dad. He used to be a really light sleeper and anything would wake him- especially his phone. He always had that damn phone glued to his ear. 

My mom asked me to look into his phone and see who was calling. Somewhere deep down I think she had a suspicion that something was up. My dad had been traveling a lot for work and was always not home when he said he would be. It was always, "I'll be home Friday" cut to 5 days later and he's not home. So as the kids are distracted playing the zombie game, I go into his phone to play detective. Commence operation Spy on Dad.

I open the phone and find it mostly empty. There are only a few numbers saved. Some numbers saved as "A", "D", and other seemingly random letters. And then a text pops up. This is the actual text from (970) 779-03XX to my dad. And yes, I did actually put the real number up there as I wrote this. But my damn morals are getting in the way and I just can't seem to put the whole number up there. Good grief I wish I could just do it.

TEXT 1:

"Hello sorry i missed your call been so dam sick and i lost my phone had to get a new one anyway how are you"

Then I look into the sent text file to see if there is a response. Nope. Wiped clean.

TEXT 2 (from same number)

"We never got them. I'm so glad you are ok. I miss you. Cant wait til you are here. Try to text my phone at 161039060XX"  (again the stupid morals thing)

So now I've read a text from someone that misses my dad. This just doesn't feel right. If it was family, I'd recognize the number...right? Do I tell my mom it seems fishy? She's sitting right there looking at me waiting to know. Shit. I hate being the messenger. 

I wave her to come to the computer room. We have to find out where these numbers are coming from and get some more solid info before we jump to any conclusions. (This reasoning I can attribute to my many years of watching CSI. My home school detective education ha!)


Time to Google. (970) area code is from the western and northern parts of Colorado. I know what you are thinking. Its got to be family right? Wrong. We know NOBODY that is living or has lived in Colorado.  (610) area code serves the Eastern and Southeast regions of Pennsylvania. The area includes the cities of Allentown, Bethlehem, and Reading. Hmm. And again do not know anyone in or around PA.  

Now we try the reverse phone look up. And low and behold, there are like 100,000 websites ready to reverse look up the phone number for only. $1.95 a month or $14.95 for a one time use. While my mom starts to reach for her credit card, I forward the texts to my phone, pick up the house phone (which is a blocked number) and dial the 610 number. No I didn't really think this one through.


"Hello," a female answers.


"Who is this?" I ask. Isn't that annoying when people call you and ask you who you are? Oh well.


"Who is this? You called me" she says.


Think fast Samantha! THINK!


"Uhhh I just got a call from this number and I was wondering why you called me." I lie.


"Where are you?" She asks.  Doesn't that seem like an odd question?


"I'm in California, where are you?" I ask. Seems like I'm having a duel with words. Like an old western when the two dudes back up to the line to draw their guns. Okay maybe its not that dramatic.


"Well, I have a friend in Arizona and in Colorado. Maybe I dialed the wrong number." She says.


HOT DAMN. My parents live in Arizona. Is it a connection? I don't know CSI didn't cover this.


"Umm okay. Thanks." I say.


"Okay Bye." She says. And we both hang up.


What did that tell me. Not much. Nothing really. So I turn to my mom, who looks like she will burst from anticipation. I tell her what happened, and she storms to the couch to wake up my dad and accuse him of being with other women. WHOA.


AVERT CRISIS! Must remove children from the disaster that is about to erupt. I gather the kids, scoop up the baby from his crib- which is such a bummer since a sleeping toddler is golden to any mother. And the four of us flee the house.


When we return after a long walk, everything seems normal. Mom and Dad are talking in a civil tone and things are fine. Or I stuck my head in the sand and pretended things were fine. 







FAST FORWARD TO THE STORY AT HAND:
Dad's in jail for something. Who knows. Thinking back, I wonder why we didn't just call the jail house and ask what he was being held for, but we didn't. I think Mom and I were in a little bit of shock and a state of "pause" and logic didn't really cross our minds. 


As my mom and I talk on the phone the morning after my dad was taken in, we begin trying to figure out what my dad has done. We start playing the "maybe this, maybe that" game when my wise-beyond-her-years sister says, "Why don't we look in his car?"


DUH!!!! My mom hangs  up the phone and goes to search his car with my sister. And I wait.

Chapter 1: The first phone call of many

It was right before Thanksgiving- I think around the 22nd of November that my mom called me. I answered and immediately I knew something was wrong. I said, "Hello. Mom said, "Hi". And with that one word I knew something was wrong. The last time she sounded like that my Grandmother was in the hospital on her death bed. Shit.

"Your Dad is in jail," She said.

Okay, lets pause for a minute so you can get a good idea of the dad I grew up with. The man I call Poppa. They called him Preacher Tim (no that's not his real name but I feel kinda bad using any one's real name). He looks like Santa Clause without the beard. Really he does. Big belly, big laugh, white hair, blue eyes. He was always calm, gregarious, funny, a little shy at times. Just a big jolly old guy. Oh and he gave those big bear hugs- you know the ones that make you feel small and safe and a little out of breath. He was just your typical Bible belt, God loving, family man. He once stayed up with me all  night because I was so afraid the house was going to catch on fire. I was like 6 and had just gone through fire safety day at school. My teacher scared the holy moly out of me with all the fire talk, so Dad stayed up and comforted me in a way that only parents can do. My dad was always my big safe Poppa that made everything better. Okay, back to the story...

"WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?!?!?", I exclaimed. I know, I know, I shouldn't have cursed in front of my mom, but it just slipped out. I mean she could have told me I was adopted and I think I would have expected that before this.  My world begins to spin at this moment, and didn't stop. Oh and by the way, during this conversation, I have a very demanding 2 year old "requesting" my undivided attention. As I juggle holding the phone frantically trying to navigate the Video On Demand menu to find something, ANYTHING for him to stop demanding, and putting cheese slices onto a plate- "NO! Not the monkey plate MOMMY! STICK CHEESE MOMMY!" God help me. With that, my mother begins to tell the story...

"Well your father came back from the airport and said that there was a warrant for his arrest. He said it was some judgement against him for not finishing contracting work. He told me it was all BS and he was going to prove he did do the work. But he told me the judge wanted him to spend the night in jail as a punishment, so he couldn't stay at home for the night. I didn't tell the kids he was home because he was going to be out at his one night jail stay tomorrow."

Okay another pause. I have a 13 year old sister and a 11 year old brother. Same marriage with kids decades apart. It just happened that way.

Mom continues, "Then the next day he came back from his night stay at jail and was really hungry because they didn't feed him in jail. He asked me to take him to get some food, so we hopped in the car and went to a fast food place. Then we were sitting at a stop light and I noticed these police officers next to me looking in the car. I thought that was really strange, so I kind of waved at them. Then the light turned green and we went. Next thing I know the police pull behind me and turn on the lights. I pulled over and they asked Dad for his license. Then they arrested him."

Waves of confusion wash over me....

"Well what did they arrest him for Mom?" I asked.

"I don't know Samantha. We just have to figure out how to get him out of jail."Mom said.

"Just let him stay there. He's safe and alive right? So let him stay and we'll figure out what to do." I said.

"We can't let him stay there Sam. I gotta go the kids are walking to the car."

And that was the end of the conversation. My dad is in jail for something. My first thought: You don't just go to jail for nothing. Nobody is that unlucky. Right??? What the hell did my dad do? How do you even get someone out of jail? I should have watched that Aladdin Bail bonds commercial more closely. I  should google it.

"NO MOMMY SIT DOWN WATCH MICKEY WITH NOAH!"

And this is the part where life gets a little foggy. I think my body put me on a pause, and I just did my normal activities. Until tomorrow, when the plot thickens. (Can you hear the Days of our Lives theme song, cause now is the perfect time for that.)

Preface (or whatever these pre-chaperters are called to apologize or explain what's about to come)

Hi. My name is Samantha. Okay well that's not my real name, just the one I always wanted as a kid, but I'm not up for giving my real name away to the masses just yet. You'll see why soon.

What you're about to read is all true. Every word I write has happened to my family and me. It will sound crazy, this I assure you, but it will all be true. Just a fair warning- its gonna be a bumpy ride, but in the end I hope this will do a few things. First, help me deal with the craziness that my life has become. Writing is generally cathartic for me. Two, this is a place where all the events can be recorded and remembered in the event of any court appearance I may have to make. Yep. Seriously. Court. Sigh.

But first I have to remind all my readers (which is just me at this point) that I am SO not a writer. The last thing I wrote was like 6 years ago about the history and growth of Alfred Hitchcock films. That being said, this is more of a stream of consciousness than a final draft of anything you might actually read in "real life". I may spell things wrong, and most definitely will make grammar mistakes. Run on sentences, incomplete sentences- incorrect punctuation. The whole 9 yards. BUT this will be me, my way, my story in the raw, as honest and vulnerable as it gets. Oh and I'll try not to be a downer too, because after all I am alive, healthy, and blessed by God in so many ways.
Thanks for reading... (for now I write that to myself having no real readers, and it kinda seems silly...thanks me for reading what you wrote. Haha! Oh well.)