Brown Sludge

Little Mouse Phones It In.

July 5th, 2007

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From “The Urban Dictionary”.

The Definition of “Phoning It In“.

to put in a half assed effort at something but complete it. Often pertaining to work which is complete and pretending to have worked a long time on, when in fact little to no effort was put into it. Derived from deciding to not physically attend a meeting in, but rather to be present by phone only.Example :

“Even though he had a huge project due Friday, he went to a party and got hammered Thursday night. He totally phoned it in.”

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In My Dream, it is always the same, and tonight – The Dream is no different.

I’m standing at The Bus Stop. The Bus is there. The Bus is big, and white, a white so stark it’s almost hard to look at and it gleams in the bright afternoon sun. Its big engine is idling and it sounds like a gigantic cat purring so deeply you can feel the vibration in your soul. On the front of the bus, over the driver, there is a digital sign displaying a moving message made of amber pixels. The message tells when The Bus picks up, and where it’s going. The message races by every few seconds.

It says : “12:00 to The Future”.

I look at my watch. It’s 11:59.

The Bus is packed. All of Mouse’s friends and peers are on it. Everyone she knows. There is one seat left on The Bus. It’s been held aside for Mouse. I’ve made sure of that. For years I’ve fought, and sacrificed, and saved, and waged a thousand bloody battles at enormous cost of life and dignity to be sure that seat was there for her when the time came for her to get on The Bus.

But…

Mouse is not here.

It’s almost 12:00 and Mouse is not here.

I look around.

Every few feet there are pods of people huddled together. Each pod is a family that came to see their loved one off. Parents, Grandparents, Brothers, Sisters, Family, Friends, all waving to bright faces beaming back from the spotlessly clean windows on The Bus. The faces are bright and a little scared. Not scared in a crippling, terrified way, but scared in an excited way. Scared in the way that people are when they board a carnival thrill ride. Frightened and a little uncertain, but smiling and eager to see what the future holds.

I stand alone, apparently the only person in Mouse’s life that actually expected her to show up. The rest of the people in her life worked hard to make sure her seat on The Bus went empty. They are all at home, secure in the knowledge that all of their hard work has paid off, and smirking a little to their self at the idea of her foolish Father waiting at an empty stop. All of the bloody battles and hard work were for nothing as I stare at the empty seat in the back of The Bus.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

I hear a tapping sound. I look up. It’s The Driver. The Driver looks exactly like Steven Wright. His uniform is as crisp and white as The Bus itself. Even his hat is white. With deft movements he pulls a lever and the door folds open. He looks at me. He looks at his watch.

It’s 12:00 exactly.

In Steven Wright’s voice he deadpans “Gotta go. Can’t hold everyone else up.”

I know he’s right.

Everyone else on The Bus deserves to get to their Destinations on time. It’s not fair to hold them up. The rules governing when The Bus leaves are Immutable Laws. They cannot be changed. For anyone. Ever. The Bus leaves on The Appointed Day at The Appointed Time in every person’s life. You are either there on time, or you aren’t.

Mouse isn’t.

I lower my head.

The Driver that looks exactly like Steven Wright crisply shuts the folding door, and I hear a great blast as the giant air brakes on The Bus exhale mightily and the engine roars to life, pulling away from The Stop.

And just like that… The Bus is gone.

The crowd of people cheer and wave until their arms are exhausted and their voices are hoarse as they watch The Bus begin its All Important Journey.

With each passing yard The Bus travels into the distance, their hopes for their family on board gets higher, and their hearts get lighter and more excited and they cry great tears of joy because they know that their loved one is on their way to Great Things.

With each passing yard The Bus travels into the distance my heart sinks deeper into the Sink of Despair, until, eventually, it shatters to pieces on the bottom. I too have tears on my face, but they are not tears of joy.

Overwhelmed with sadness and grief, I leave the waving crowd and head back to my car.

On the long drive home I am haunted by so many ghosts.

A long time later my cell phone rings. It’s Mouse. Her voice is upbeat, as if nothing in the world could possibly be wrong.

“Dad… sorry I got busy, I’ll be there in a little bit.”

“Be where?” I ask, incredulous.

“At The Bus Stop.” She says, her voice the picture of earnest. “You told it to wait for me, didn’t you?”

At once I’m both amazingly surprised, and amazingly angry. Angry at myself I suppose, for actually being surprised.

I had lectured her relentlessly about this. She understood all too well that The Bus shows up once, and only once in every person’s life. She understood all too well that it leaves precisely at noon on The Appointed Day. She understood all too well that it waits for no one. Ever. She understood all too well the consequences of missing The Bus.

This was so… Mouse.

She had missed the All Important Time on the All Important Day and somehow, it would be Someone Else’s Fault because they hadn’t changed the Immutable Laws of the Universe for her sole benefit.

I choke on the angry, hurtful words that threaten to spill out of my mouth. All I can manage is a sad little laugh before I let the dial tone that used to be my end of the conversation speak for my feelings.

Little Mouse had “Phoned It In”.

Absolutely perfect.

She had learned at the feet of The Master, I have to say.

Her mom had been “phoning in” motherhood for Mouse’s entire life. Her mother had loved the idea of *having* a child, but loathed the idea of actually doing the work that being a real parent required. She went AWOL shortly after Mouse was born and within a few months had learned that she could convert her marriage into cash and make a tidy living off of the legalized ponzi scheme that masquerades as divorce law in Missouri while keeping the title of “mother” and never actually having to do anything to earn it.

I’ve often heard it said that writing a child support check doesn’t make you a Father.

Let me assure you, cashing a child support check doesn’t make you a mother.

For the whole of Mouse’s life, I’ve been the ‘parent’ while her mother has been the ‘buddy’. As the ‘parent’, I was left to deal with the doctors and the discipline and the schools and the grades and the real every day work that is being a parent. Her mother… just… didn’t. She never came to a parent teacher’s conference. Never took her to the doctor when she was sick – her favorite trick was to simply let Mouse be sick until it was my time to have her – then I could deal with her (and the co-pay). To this day Mouse and her mother have never been on a trip alone together. Ever. Anywhere. But you can be certain that she’s quick to claim the title of “mother”. Quicker still to cash the support checks that go with the title. Just not so quick to actually do anything to earn that title.

Slowly, inexorably, Mouse had been programmed to fail.

Programmed by a mother whose worst fear was that Mouse would actually succeed, and escape the wretched life that she herself lives, and who, at 43, answers phones part time for minimum wage, and is heading for a fourth marriage to yet another unemployed slob while she dodges aggressive phone calls from a seemingly endless series of bankruptcies, repossessions, and foreclosures. 43 Years old and The Poster Girl for refusing to face adult responsibilities. It is why we are divorced. To make sure that she isn’t alone in the squalor, she has worked relentlessly to program Mouse to fail. Misery needs company.

I have tried valiantly to overcome this programming.

But… I was left to be the parent that rode her about her homework, and her responsibilities, and her choices of friends.

While her mother told her not to worry about her homework, and encouraged her to hang with the detrimental friends, and told her that ‘some people’ worry just too much about being responsible.

After a point, Mouse came to the stark realization that face time with me means face time with her responsibilities as a student, and a person, and a daughter.

So… it is easier not to face me.

It is easier not to face her self.

I become a mirror.

Lately, she doesn’t like what she sees.

So she stops looking after a bit.

After all the years of never letting her down, or selling her out.

She just stops looking.

She doesn’t need to. Her mother has provided her with a haven where there are no mirrors. Anywhere. Her mother’s Apartment of No Responsibilities is preferable to her Father’s house. There are mirrors everywhere here, and I keep them very clean.

And today, at precisely 12:00 noon, on her Appointed Day…

The Bus left without her.

Little Mouse had totally Phoned It In.

I awake from this dream with a start. I look around for what has shattered the silence in my home, and brought me out of The Dream. It’s the phone. It’s ringing.

At first… I’m glad to have been awakened.

I hate The Dream.

I hate it more than you can imagine.

Relieved to be awake, and relieved by the idea that it’s not yet “too late” for Little Mouse, I stumble to the phone.

It’s one of Mouse’s teachers.

It’s Monday and she hasn’t handed in the work that was assigned on Friday. She has also totally tanked the quiz that was worth 33% of her final grade because she apparently didn’t study. She went to a weekend party with her mother instead. Her grades are in trouble. Big trouble. Again.

My heart sinks.

Maybe being asleep was better.

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