Hungry Hill: A Memoir

Mother’s Day 1992

A Memoir 11 “Di and Anne are waiting for me at Van Horn,” I tell him. My brothers and I come and go as we please, never needing to ask permission. “Shoot a little hoop with your friends?” he asks. I shrug and say, “Rose is in there, with Mom.” I show off some basketball tricks for him, pretend I’m dribbling, feint, and hang a hook shot. My dad smiles, and I jump down the porch stairs three at a time. On my way to Van Horn Park, I picture myself a frenzy on the basketball court, making lay-ups, hook shots, jump shots, foul shots, shots from midcourt , and suddenly I’m shivering, with goosebumps popping up on my arms, as I realize how my dad had left me all alone. Later, when I would try to figure out how our lives went so wrong, I marked my mother’s death as the beginning of the end. = Mother’s Day 1992 Joe O’Malley, Carole’s father, looks around her apartment. He appraises the furniture, the draperies, and nods his head in a gesture of approval. Adjusting the sofa pillow behind him, he leans back and plants his feet. Joe: Hey, Katsy, I wish your mother could see this apartment. God must be smiling at you these days. Carole: You could say God’s not so distracted these days. Do you still take milk and sugar in your tea? Joe: I guess you’re not offering me anything stronger. I’ll have to settle for this weak sister tea. Carole: Weak sister? Why not weak brother? Dad, that expression sounds to me like you’re putting down women. Joe: (Placatingly.) I’m sorry, Punkin. You seem defensive. Carole: You’re familiar with the word “sexist”? Joe: (Half jokingly.) There was no women’s movement in my day. (His explanation sits in the air. He runs his fingers along the edge of the coffee table and picks up the cup and saucer. Without looking at Carole, he clears his throat.) So how long has it been since you’ve banished the demon alcohol from your life? 12 H u n g ry H i l l Carole: Oh, so now it’s a demon, I thought it was Irish Medicine. When Susie was two, I woke up on a Sunday morning with a pounding jackhammer in my head, and I knew I had a choice to make. I could either drink or be a mother—but I couldn’t do both. And I stopped. Joe: Just like that? ( Joe snaps his fingers.) Carole: Lucky I hadn’t quite crossed over that line. Joe: Your mother could drink and be a mother. Carole: (In a traitorous whisper.) I wanted to outlive her. (There is a moment of discomfort they both share, a moment of quiet. He breaks the silence and picks up the sugar bowl, spooning sugar into his tea.) Joe: What—no Tiffany silver service? No silver sugar tongs? No maid in uniform? Carole: Mrs. Meade never wore a uniform. Joe: We had the distinction of employing the only Jewish maid in Springfield. What a character she was. Carole: Always throwing salt over her shoulder. ( Joe’s face loses its smile when Carole picks up index cards. Inhaling deeply, she folds the index cards in half.) Joe: Pretty organized? If I didn’t love you so much, I wouldn’t have agreed to this, what is it, this inquisition of yours. Did some shrink put you up to this? Carole: (Exasperated with him.) I’m sorry, Dad. But this is my interview . (Carole pushes aside some family photos and reaches for a pair of glasses.) Joe: (Changing the subject.) How long have you been wearing glasses? Carole: Dad, you’re asking all the questions. You’re throwing me off my game. (Caving in.) I guess I started wearing them right after Vicky was born. Joe: Vicky—Abigail, Susan, and Victoria—not a Bridget, Maureen, or Kathleen in the bunch. That’s what happens when you marry outside the faith. A WASP, no less. Carole: Call me a rebel. Don’t forget Father Power did marry us. Joe: You looked so beautiful that day. Brought tears to these tired eyes. Carole: (Half teasingly.) Dad, are you sweet-talking me? I asked you here because Abby will be fourteen next week. Joe: She’s a wonderful girl. Reminds me of you at that age. [18.188.175.182] Project MUSE (2024...