Needless to say, without Janie’s light shining on the family, shit got super dark, super fast.
My parents blamed the Andrews family for Janie's death. I remember coming home from Janie's funeral, our car entering the drive as Jason’s parents pulled up to their home. Mom spilled out of the car, almost in slow motion, like extra thick syrup. She went nuts on them, screaming about how they’d stolen her baby. She shrieked, “Murderer!” for letting their kids drive a “stupid toy-car”.
Mrs. Andrews was crying and shaking, too shocked to even respond. Mom was sobbing, faltering all over the lawn, stomping on her small petunia beds until Dad scooped her up and took her inside. Mr. Andrews held his wife, her face gunked with black mascara streaks. I was in the backseat staring across the yard at Jason, still in his backseat.
Our newest things in common, dead sisters and broken parents.
For six weeks, Mom and Dad zombied around, occasionally breaking down into tears so violently heart-wrenching, I had to look away. I stayed as far off the radar as possible. I knew it was now my job to keep everyone "okay" so I kept grief to myself. But every night, I’d sneak into Janie's room, climb into her bed, curl into the smell of her mango shampoo and cry quietly until my eyes ran dry.
Then as if a magic wand had been waved, my parents were suddenly fine.
One morning I went downstairs, salivating for my morning o.j. and can you believe these two had literally "snapped out of it"? Just like that they were normal, sitting at the table, L.A. Times spread out between them, Dad with his cup of black coffee and Mom with her Earl Grey. They had music playing like old times, some yoga-tation, calming chanting sounds. Our back slider door was open, letting the sunshine and salty breeze dance through the kitchen. Someone had made scrambled eggs and toast, they had taken time to put jelly in a small silver dish with one of those teeny serving spoons and the butter was on a little plate with one of those funky little spreaders. It was like Christmas morning in June. It was the first time I ever used the F-bomb. Of course not out loud, but I thought, What the fuck?! Did I miss a memo? So what, we're just done being sad now? We're over it? I was confused and heartbroken by their betrayal. Then it got worse.
"Genesis, we have some amazing news!" Mom started to say in a tone I hadn't heard, well in about six weeks. Also, using my full name is usually a hint that it's actually bad news coming.
There was a mistake and Janie's alive? I wanted to say, but didn't. I stared at them.
"Candace, let her sit down," Dad chuckled as he got up and pulled out my chair. Chuckled! And what was with the chair business? "Honey, let me get you some eggs, you want an English muffin?" he asked as he put one in the toaster.
"Of course Jim, you're right. Sit honey, sit. I'm just so excited to tell you about our plan!"
I was already sitting. She was pouring juice and chattering, Dad was “whipping up” my eggs and chattering. Both of them making the noise those fake wind-up teeth make, while I sat there stunned. I had seen just enough episodes of The Twilight Zone to know that I had arrived. Doo-dee-doo-doo, fifth dimension, here we come.
"We're having an adventure!" Mom stated in an unusually dramatic way, hands up like a conductor.
"Huh?" This is madness!
"We're moving away!" Such flare, she had suddenly acquired.
"Huh?" This is wrong!
"Sweetie, I bought an RV; we're going out on the road for awhile," Dad tried his hand at showcasing flare (way unnatural, wasn’t pretty).
On the road? Suddenly we're Pearl Jam?!
I was ready to scream, This is so backward!
"What's going on?" I finally managed to get out.
They both smiled at me and then (brace yourself, we're on this crazy-train together now) Mom said, "What do you mean?" Pause for my gasp. "Nothing is going on. It's just time for a change is all."
“Are you high?” I accused. “Wait, I thought you guys didn’t smoke pot anymore?”
“Oh! Silly girl, of course not!” Mom giggled (nervously?), leaving me to wonder if they really were on drugs. It was that weird. I looked back and forth between them, as they Stepford-style stared at me nibbling awkwardly at the edge of a buttered English muffin. I didn’t even put honey on it, that’s how out of it I was.
Then I got it. They needed to run. And because my new job was to be a "good-sport" I smiled, swallowed the lump of hot coal in my throat, and said, "Sounds great.” Only you and Dear Diary know I lied.
Both of my parents are artists so it was an easy transition for them. Within two weeks, our house was sold furnished (apparently pieces were moving on the board before I'd been invited to play). We packed our most personal things into the RV and exactly nine weeks to the day of Janie's accident, we were out.
As we pulled away from my childhood home, the only home Janie ever had, I realized I’d never imagined she’d be gone forever. It was weird. I felt so guilty that we wouldn't be there when she came home, as if her missing from my life was temporary. Then it hit me for real - forever was how long she’d be gone. It was too much to bear.
I watched the ocean wave good-bye through thick tears that traipsed down my cheeks, Ordinary World still playing through headphones, hearing the words somehow for the first time…
I turn on the lights, the TV and the radio
Still I can't escape the ghost of you
What has happened to it all? Crazy some say
Where is the life that I recognize? Gone away
But I won't cry for yesterday, there's an ordinary world
Somehow I have to find
And as I try to make my way, to the ordinary world
I will learn to survive...
Tears streamed until we got into Nevada and stopped.
I haven’t cried since.