Date: Mon, 10 Feb 1997 21:58:08 -0600
Message-Id: <9702110358.AA25875@popalex1.linknet.net>
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From: "J. Rowland" <tigger@popalex1.linknet.net>
Subject: Because I Love You, Goodbye; Ch. 5

Because I Love You, Goodbye; Ch. 5
by Jennifer L. Rowland


        Mr. Calavicci stepped off the bus and walked down the streets of his
neighborhood.  Within minutes he had reached his street.  He paused before
his house, and decided to go inside and straighten things before getting
Trudy from Mrs. Lorenzo's boarding house.
        He pushed the door open and steeled himself before he walked into
the disaster he realized was his home.  Alcohol and vomit assailed his nose
again, and he decided to clean the kitchen first.  Mr. Calavicci stuffed a
towel into the broken pane to block the frigid air, although by shutting out
the moving air, the smell hung in the kitchen.  As quickly as he could, Mr.
Calavicci claned and disposed of the remains of Al's sickness.  He tossed
the mop and bowl he had earlier held for his son into the refuse heap.  That
done, he set about cleaning the alcohol from the living room.
        Mr. Calavicci wiped the spilled alcohol from the table first,
pausing momentarily to fling the empty gin bottle into the refuse heap as
well.  He moved to the wall and scrubbed the stain as best as he could.  The
glass crunched beneath his shoes again, and Mr. Calavicci knelt to pick up
the broken pieces.  He began at the wall and worked his way back.  When he
had collected all the pieces in his hand, he turned to rise and carry them
to the refuse.  He pressed a hand into the corner to steady himself, and
that was when he felt the depression in the wall.
        He tossed the glass out and returned to the corner.  He squatted
down and ran his hand inside the dent in the wall again.  The depression was
about Al's height, and Mr. Calavicci remembered the doctor's diagnosis that
Al's concussion was the result of striking his head against a solid surface.
The blood drained from Mr. Calavicci's face as he contemplated the force
required to create such a mark in the wall.  Suddenly, all the pieces fell
into place: the alcohol, the bruises, his wife's absence, and Al's concussion.
        "Oh, God.  Oh, God, no.  How could I have been so blind?"  He
squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hand inside the depression.  "I'm
sorry," he whispered, not knowing whether he was addressing his children or
his wife.
        He rose and stood uncertainly in the living room for several
seconds.  He didn't know where to go or what to do.  As if in a daze, he
stumbled into his bedroom.  He sank onto the bed and buried his face in his
hands.  His thoughts were flooded with memories of Al's face.  How many
black eyes were the result of fights defending Trudy, and how many had come
at the hands of his mother?  How could his wife do this to her child?  He
dropped to one knee and thanked God that Al seemed to be doing well.  Mr.
Calavicci found himself praying that Al would never remember the
circumstances surrounding his mother's leaving.
        Mr. Calavicci ran his hands through his hair and raised his head.
He stared at his haggard face in the dresser mirror, searching for an answer
to the question of how he could have missed the signs that his wife was
beating their son.  His job took him away very often, but he didn't excuse
himself on that account.  He dropped his eyes, noticing a letter propped
against the mirror.
        He picked it up and sat down on the bed to read it.  The letter was
smeared in places, where his wife's tears had fallen.  As he read, his own
tears added splashmarks.

                Dear Gino,
                        I don't know where to begin.  My hand is
                shaking as I write this.  I have done something
                terrible.  It's unforgivable for a mother to do 
                what I have done.  I am so ashamed of myself, and       
                I can't stay here to see your face and the faces       
                of our children--especially poor Albert's face.
                Each little mark, each bruise....I have caused them.
                I was so drunk I didn't even know what I was doing.
                I'm surprised I even noticed when he fell to the
                floor.  Oh, God, when I think about the sickening
                sound of his head hitting the wall....
                        And then, the first thing I did was reach
                for a drink.  My child was lying on the floor and
                all I could do was pick up a glass of gin.  I can't
                do this anymore.  I can't handle the children, I 
                miss you so much all I do is drink, and then I have
                no idea what I do to my babies.  It's better if I
                leave.  It's better for our children to have no
                mother at all than a mother like me.
                        I know one day you will make it, just like
                you planned.  Then you can give our children the
                life they deserve.  Perhaps you can make up to them
                for the evils I've done.  I leave because I love them.
                Because I am afraid I will hurt them even more one
                day and not know what I did.
                        One day, maybe, they'll understand.  When they
                are old enough you can explain things to them.  Until
                then, know that I love them, Al and Trudy.  And, you,
                Gino.  I love you.  Goodbye.
                                                Love,
                                                Katrina