T Incorporated

Taylor avenue, with its track homes and wide streets is the generic small town America. A strip of grass or artificial turf sits between the sidewalk and young maples lining the road. My friends, Loren, Matt, Nate, and Kyle lived a few houses away and we spent our summers as young boys causing trouble. Summers were filled with bike races, talk of the coolest BMX bikes, tree forts, and baseball cards. Rumors of a kid on the other avenue who could ride “no hands” around the block abounded, and evenings were filled with Super Mario Brothers. Nothing, besides maybe snow forts, was more anticipated than the 4th of July.

It would start around early-June with a few firework stands being popping up at various parking lots around town. The plywood shacks would tease us a few weeks before. When opening day finally came, the four or five of us would jump on our Huffy’s, cut through an easement, an empty lot, and then a quick block to the closet stand in the Safeway parking lot. There we’d shell out our allowance for “Bees”, “Jumping-Jacks”, and “Roman Candles”. On the bikes we’d go racing back to Talylor Avenue to light them off desperately trying to wait till dusk, but usually only be able to wait for an hour before lighting them off around two in the afternoon. Anyone with more then about a buck fifty was considered rich. Couch hunting and begging was common with our parents.

A few years later when we moved my addiction continued. My friend Trevor and I would beg for rides to numerous stands in our area. The good ones were too far away, and since my mother was on summer break from school, she would drive us everywhere. For Trevor and I, the daily trips to the different stands for the latest “Tank” or “Killer-bee” made perfect sense although to most my mother indulging us was seen as close to saint hood. I love July 4th. Not because I’m particularly patriotic, but the memories, the barbeques, and the fireworks along with it being placed in the middle of summer all make for an ideal holiday.

However, one memory isn’t nearly as fun as a “Piccolo Pete”—my last fourth with my mother.

That summer I was living at school and working on campus as a computer technician. I was getting credit as an intern, so most saw it as a good reason to stay and quelled the questions about why I wasn’t at home. I knew I couldn’t be around, couldn’t watch as she got sicker and sicker, but didn’t want to admit it. Despite me trying to avoid it, I had to go home for the 4th.

I didn’t have any fireworks this year, not even a sparkler. Our cul-de-sac was having their usual bonfire complete with a mini-fireworks display out front. My girlfriend at the time came home with me to “celebrate”. Everyone was huddle around the fire with lawn chairs when we arrived a bit late. We greeted everyone and walked down to the park. We planned on watching the local Tigard High School display. It was mildly disappointing, and we walked back to my house with me complaining about how much better the years before had been. I guess I’d just gotten older. There were quite a few people still out when we got back to our cul-de-sac, but I had to drive back, so we said our quick goodbyes. They told me my Mom had gone in early so we went inside to see if she was still awake.

She’d waited up. Of course she’d waited up. I’d avoided home, she was barely able to walk outside, and she’d managed to wait up for me. Guilt doesn’t come close to how I felt when I walked inside. I was scared.

The light was on in her bedroom and she was flipping through a Bon Appetit magazine. My mom was never a big woman, tall, but not big. That night she was just skinny. She’d probably lost about 20lbs over the past few months and for once she looked sick. I think I could have wrapped my hand around her thigh. Swimming in her white nightgown she looked down and was embarrassed. She’d cut herself shaving and the blood on her legs wouldn’t stop. She was still shaving her legs! A pile of tissue was on the floor next to her and a little bit of blood had gotten on the white sheets. Someone who was constantly cleaning, constantly picking up for us, rarely even sitting, looked up and asked me if I could throw them away and bring her a garbage can. I went into the bathroom and grabbed the plastic can—she relaxed.

We talked for a bit, making small talk about the fireworks and people outside avoiding what was really on all of our minds. She asked why I didn’t have any fireworks. I said I’d been busy and didn’t want to waste my money on them anymore. She looked a little disappointed and asked if I’d needed her to take me to a stand. “If Loren and Trevor could see you now. They’d be ashamed!” We both laughed. “If you need me to take you we can go tomorrow and get the sales” A big smile crossed her face, but I could barely force a smile. I said goodnight and shut the door behind me.

That night was the last time she left the house.