13. One step forward, two steps back

My curfew at the dorm is at 9:30 pm, as I am just a 16 year old sophomore. The older kids, juniors and seniors have a curfew at 10 pm. The Music Conservatory is a 6 year school, with the last 2 years being optional to obtain a teaching certificate. The 5th and 6th year students don’t live in the dorms, they either commute or live in the apartments nearby. 

I don’t attend a typical high school. Life in the Music Conservatory closely resembles college life, with every student having a unique schedule based on their field of study. We all attend the basic core classes together and then we arrange our individual schedules based on our professor’s availability for one on one lessons. There is no math, no world history, no social studies, or geography. We do take Slovak language and English. All of my other classes revolve around music: music theory, music history, piano accompaniment, choir, sight-reading and more. Surprisingly, I have less piano instruction in the Music Conservatory than I had during my early childhood years. Only 2 piano lessons per week now! I love my piano professor. He is one of the most accomplished piano performers in the country. He is a little odd but aren’t all musicians? His wife is a pianist too. She is from the Czech Republic. She is also a professor and she prepared me for my piano auditions two years before. 

It is Friday and my class ends at 12 pm. I hurry up to catch my bus so I can meet up with my mother and brother as promised. I am not sure what to expect and the uncertainty is making me nervous. The smell of the diesel fuel is not making things any better. I still get motion sickness on the bus, nothing has changed. My stomach is turning and churning and I want to make it home. Finally at my hometown bus station, I see my mother waving at me, my little brother next to her. We still have to take a local bus to our new neighborhood. Another 25 minutes of suspense. My mother doesn’t speak. She is silent during the entire bus ride. She is watching people get on and off the bus in different parts of town. We finally get there, she motions me to exit at one of the bus stops. This neighborhood is on the other side of town from where we used to live. 

She unlocks the door. “Here we are,” she says as I walk in.

“Wow,” I can’t believe my eyes. The apartment smells like paint and there is a huge mound of dirt right in the middle of the living room. There is no furniture, the walls are bare. I see 3 mattresses on the floor, a few pillows and a blanket. 

My mother is watching me. “It’s just a start for now. I will get it fixed up.”

“Mom, have you been staying here this week?” I ask.

She nods. 

“How about the furniture? Did you leave it all with him? Do you have any pots or pans to cook in?”

She shakes her head. “No. We have been eating sandwiches. We go to grandma’s for some warm meals.” She is referring to her mother, my “grumpy grandma,” as I affectionately named her. My grumpy grandma is loving but grumpy. She is grumpy in such endearing ways that you can’t help but love that about her.

“What happened?” I need to know the story.

“Jarka, you do know how things are. It was getting worse and worse ever since you left. He is not taking it well. Apparently, he is still taking his meds but that may be a lie. He started threatening me. He thinks I am cheating. I got scared because he yelled and started saying very creepy things to me. He wants to hunt my “boyfriends” down. I cannot sleep under the same roof with him. We had to get out of there!”

I understand. I wouldn’t stay alone with him either. 

“How about grandpa? Did you ask him to come help? Stay over maybe?”

My brother angrily answers this question for me. “We called him! He wouldn’t come!”

“Yes,” my mother agrees. “He basically said I made it all up. That your father is taking his medication and he is just fine. He said he is personally giving the meds to him.” 

“I hate him,” my brother says passionately. He is young and it is odd to hear such things out of his mouth. 

“How did you find this place, mom?” I can’t figure out how she managed all of this on her own but I also know that she must have felt desperate to relocate to a literal construction zone apartment. Clearly not a preplanned move. 

“I called a friend. And this is what he was able to arrange on such short notice. You don’t know him.”

I decide not to question the identity of her friend right now. I am looking around this desolate place and it is not looking very good. On the other hand, my mother got us out of a scary unstable environment and that’s what matters now. 

“So…uhm, I didn’t tell you,” I say as I sit down on the hard, dirty floor. “He came to see me the other day. He seemed out of it. He looked like a homeless person,”

“Oh no!” She is concerned. “What did he want?”

“I don’t know….he probably wanted me to tell him where you are. I could tell he wasn’t ok. I mean he wasn’t sane. He stank too. It was bad! He is so creepy and looks horrible right now. It’s so sad.” I look over at my brother and he is scrunching his nose. Typical boy, covering his nose as if he could actually smell the stink of a person who hasn’t showered in several days. 

“I had to leave him standing in the street,” I continue, “I don’t know when and how or if he made it home!”

My mother doesn’t know either, “He must have made it home at some point. We haven’t heard anything.”

“Mom, how do I know he will not just randomly drop in on me at school whenever he feels like it? I just want him to leave me alone!” I finally express my fears. It dawns on me that my little bubble of denial and anonymity may soon burst. He will make my life miserable no matter where I go. 

We spend the weekend at my grumpy grandma’s house and also camping around our dirt mountain at our new apartment. My father keeps calling grandma’s phone and keeps asking for my mother. He calls numerous times per day. We are worried he will show up in person and will keep bothering her, so we decide to hide out in our new, not so cozy place. 

It’s Sunday evening and I uneasily return back to the dorms. I am hesitant to leave my mother and brother in such a volatile situation but the piano is calling me and I have to go. I am on pins and needles, waiting for my father to show up unannounced again. He doesn’t. But on Thursday evening, I hear “Jarka, phone call, Jarka, phone call” from the door lady again. 

“Sorry to be bothering you, sweetie. Just wanted to tell you that you can come home to the old apartment tomorrow.” It is my mother. 

“What? Why?” I am in disbelief.

“It just didn’t work out this time. I wasn’t prepared, it wasn’t a good plan. We have to stick it out with him a little bit longer. He promised he will take his medication every day. We have to see how things go.” She sounds defeated. “I will figure it out. It will eventually work out. It wasn’t the right time to leave just yet.”

“Ok, mom, I will see you tomorrow.” I respond.

Sigh, we are right back to where we started, I think to myself as I hang up. All we can do is to stick together and everything will get better.