“A steer? Like hamburger and steak and stuff? Where did it come from?” I didn’t know why I asked. I surveyed the beggar’s loot sparkling like pirate booty with the Sprayberry logo stamped in red. I knew exactly who sent the little packages on the counter. We didn’t have the money for that large amount of meat.
“Well, the ranch was butchering some for the year and they included us on the list. We do live on a cattle ranch, you know.” My father smiled down at me and nodded his head. “Should last us a long time, I would think.”
“How much did that cost us?”
“Well, we are tenants on the ranch. They just included us too.” I knew he didn’t understand what I was implying.
“You mean they gave it to us. Just like everything else.” The words came out more sarcastic than he deserved, but I was tired of pretending all the time. We depended completely on this family.
“Alex, it’s not like that.” He wasn’t angry yet but I knew I was pushing it.
“Then how is it, Dad? Why do the Masons keep helping us and why do you just let them?” I saw my father contemplating what to say. I thought it would make him angry. Maybe I wanted it to make him angry. Let him see how I felt for a change.
The Masons did everything. Something new or useful every time we turned around. Hundred dollar bills handed out like tissues to wipe away the grime.
They gave us the perfect tree every Christmas, stocked with a pile of big presents and small presents covered in expensive, thick paper. I got a new bike last month just because I mentioned one day I used to ride around our old neighborhood in Dallas. In the spring, Mrs. Mason dolled me up in a special Easter dress. A grotesque pile of pink ruffles mailed all the way from some fancy shop in New York City.
The old Bronco stalled out in month seven at the ranch. The Masons replaced it with a brand new Ford double cab in a color called Oxford White. It was so clear it sparkled like it was painted in diamonds. The charity list went on and on, making my head dizzy.
“It’s not that easy to explain, Alex.” He set the white package down on the counter and looked up into the anger growing on my face. I couldn’t hide it.
“Then try. I want to understand,” I said with an even tone. I had him cornered, and I felt some triumph knowing I may finally have an answer to the million-Mason-dollar question.
“Wow!” His hand went up to rub his forehead. It was something he did out of stress. “Sometimes I feel like I’m talking to a sixteen-year-old instead of my little Pumpkin.”
Whose fault is that, I wanted to yell in his face, but stayed calm instead. “I will be eleven in a few weeks, Dad.”
“Ok, well I guess I can try. The way I see, sometimes bad things happen in life. You want the bad part to be taken away. You plead or sometimes pray for a miracle. I don’t know, Pumpkin. I asked so very hard, but it didn’t happen for us. I didn’t understand.” His eyes got a little sad.
“But you know, not all miracles come in the form you ask or even in the way you think they should. It was hard at first for me to understand it, but once I did,” he smiled again. “Things just made sense.”
“I don’t understand, Dad.”
“Well, your mother. It was not good with her. Then everything just seemed to get worse. So I prayed for a miracle. I wanted it so bad. It wasn’t just about losing your mother. I needed her to be healed because I thought everything would be fixed if she was healed. I didn’t know how to do life by myself without her. But no matter how much I asked, it just didn’t seem to happen,” he paused, shaking his head for a second.
“Things got worse. We lost everything. I felt like a failure toward my family. I was angry some, just like you are. I kept asking and my words just seemed to evaporate into thin air. It was day after day of defeat.”
“It took moving to the ranch house to see what I’d been missing. One morning I woke up to the sun shining through the window and I knew. Life is a much bigger picture than just what concerns me. I know we got that miracle I asked for. We got the Masons at the very lowest point in our lives. They stepped in out of the blue and got us back on track. I have an eternal level of gratitude toward that family. You should too.”
Stunned! The letters of the word repeated over and over through the crevices of my brain. My father gave an answer far beyond what I ever could fathom regarding the Masons. Not only did he willingly accept this fate; he embraced it.
“So this miracle to have my mother healed was replaced by the Masons? The miracle was them?” I wasn’t buying this miracle nonsense. The Tanners just gave up and let the Masons take over their lives. It was so frustrating!
I wanted clarity or something that would make me understand why we became reliant on charity. Instead, my father babbled some garbage about miracles that opened up the second line of questions. I didn’t grasp the Masons’ role in our lives.
Why would they continue to bail out this poor family over and over again? Did it make them feel powerful over others? Something they could hold over gutter trash like me? Something they could brag about with their other rich friends?
“Look Pumpkin, the Masons are nice folks. I know Mrs. Mason can be a little harsh at times, but they have good hearts. Actually, they have really big hearts if you would just look at it that way. You even have one of them as your best friend. I don’t question why. It’s not something that is in our control. They came into our lives when we needed them the most. Don’t worry about why they were our miracle. You need to just be thankful they were the miracle and not be angry. Your mother wouldn’t like to see you this way.”
“Well, I guess it’s good she’s dead!” The internal thoughts accidentally slipped out in real words.
“Alexandra!”
I stared back at his face, feeling the impact of my sudden outburst. I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. I’d caused this to happen tonight. I ruined the amazing evening of the carnival with my ever present struggle over this deep-rooted, grown-up issue. I may sound sixteen, but all I really wanted to be was ten going on eleven.
Turning on my heels, I stomped to my bedroom and slammed the door. A little better, but it wasn’t enough. Opening my closet, I looked around with wild eyes and saw the latest pair of dress sandals, courtesy of Mrs. Mason. I grasped the toe and beat the little shoe into the wood floor. Come on, break!
“Pumpkin, what are you doing in there.”
My shoulders froze, waiting for the door to swing open. I stood up with my arms held high above my head, gripping a patent leather shoe as if it were a weapon. I felt the thud of my heart with each breathe. He could not see me crack. I set the shoe carefully back in the closet and threw a shirt over the wood floor damage. Something I would need to fix later.
“I’m sorry,” I said, cracking open the door.
He didn’t believe me. The reality of being a father and not a mother registered with sadness as he watched through the four-inch slit, not sure if he should extend comfort or punishment. “I know, but I think we should talk about it some more. I don’t think you understand.”
I saw the look of failure in the creases around his eyes. He was worried that I was on the brink of a destructive meltdown. Maybe I was tonight. Instead, I took on the role of comforter to the broken man in front of me. Back to being sixteen.
“I do understand, Dad. I am really sorry for saying it. It won’t happen again. And I’m glad we have the Masons.” He looked back at my face and the reassurance seemed to help. “I’m going to bed now. I’m kind of sick from all the cotton candy.”
“Ok. Good night.” My father reached through the opening and patted the top of my head like I was three.