Megan Eisele

Eisele 1

English 302
Professor J. Wemple
2-15-15
The Giant And The Doe
I couldnt avert my gaze from my fathers hands. Veins were protruding as he
rotated his grip on the steering wheel. Back and forth, back and forth I could hear the
leather wheel cover ripple under his palms. Beads of sweat were trickling from his
forehead to his neck as large exhales exited his pursed lips. Six miles separates Old Forge
from Scranton, which proved to be the longest 15 minutes I would experience that day. I
was relieved when my parents Mercury Sable sputtered to a stop in front of the sleek,
grey colored building. I watched my fathers calculated step over the curb, pushing a
stray hair into place. How do I look? His words were rushed now. Any quiver from a
64 frame is odd. His brown suit needed dry cleaning. I smoothed my black pencil skirt
and brushed my hair to my back. With a hand on my hip and a pivot from side to side, I
watched my reflection through the passenger side window. Theres no one in that
building under 55, dont bother.
She was more than one hundred feet away, and I remember taking a moment to
appreciate the awe overwhelming my fathers face. Maybe it was how her loose black
curls hung just below her chin, or the perfectly kept pleats in her beige dress slacks; but
when she finally reached my father, I was reminded of a question that plagued me since
birth: How did someone like him end up with someone like her? Do I look okay? my
father asked again. Awe was overcome by innocence. True to form, Mary Catherine gave

Eisele 2
her world renowned Mary Catherine smile as she placed a loving hand on his elbow and
whispered Perfect.
She never demands attention; it is simply given to her. I studied the way she
glided toward Stephen The Real Estate Agent with her right hand outstretched, revealing
a gleaming gold Rolex dangling on her slender wrist. Stephen The Real Estate Agent had
a reputation for being a womanizer, which was only validated when he kissed her
knuckles not oncebut twice. Impressive watch, Ms. he said, displaying his own
Rolex. It was an anniversary present. My mother blushed at my fathers defensiveness.
The entire transaction took exactly one hour. They nearly ran through the granite lobby,
bursting through the glass doors and into the summer air: a married couple, young at 40,
finally homeowners.
The Eisele Family Curse strikes every January, and 2008 did not deviate from
tradition. The winter wasnt unbearable, more so unwelcoming. There was a particular
night I remember examining the blackness that engulfed 124 William Street. Such a
minute detail can be easily overlooked, if it werent for my knowledge of the strategically
placed lamps placed on end tables just beyond the sand colored curtains. My breath
clouded before my eyes as I searched the depths of my handbag for my house key.
Groaning at their absence, I knocked. Then I knocked harder. No one answered. I looked
to my left to see my mothers Buick Century parked in the driveway.
In an attempt to avoid frostbitten fingers, I accepted the fact that the only way in
was the way I snuck out. I had scaled the fence, and jimmied the lock of the cellar door;
palming past corners of crumbling dry wall, I finally found the staircase that would lead

Eisele 3
to the kitchen. After announcing I was home, I focused my attention to the silence. There
wasnt a single soul in the living room, kitchen or bathroom. With each second it took to
wrap my fingers around the doorknob to my parents master bedroom, I could hear the
drumming of our dogs tail become more frantic and the clickityclack of her nails skid
across the hardwood. Her anxious cry was paired with that of another.
In one large dramatic movement, I launched myself into the room, and allowed
the dog to skirt past my legs. I slowly approached the king size, four post bed; patting the
down feather comforter with both hands revealed my mother. Her cheeks were glistening
and her hair was matted from tears. She cringed before I was within inches of her. Painful
yelps momentarily subsided long enough to allow her face to look relieved at the sight of
me by her bedside. Will you carry me to the bathroom? My mothers voice sounded so
feeble embarrassed at her helplessness.
My father would know what to do, but he wasnt going to be home for another
two hours. Together we sat on the linoleum, with her head resting on my shoulder; her
sobs held fast against the repetition of my dedicated fingers running through her hair. I
wonder who chose this. My mothers eyes were fixated on the bathroom floor. Its such
a god awful shade. It was amazing that throughout her MS treatment, she kept her since
of humor. It was that night I discovered it takes six separate medications to get my
mother out of bed each morning. Six separate pills separate my mother from coaching
cheerleading and completely wilting.
Mom? She lifted her head; I was no longer able to ignore the purplebluegray
circles surrounding my mothers doe eyes. Ill be right back. I bolted up the stairs and

Eisele 4
into my bedroom, throwing open the top drawer of my oak dresser. I used to keep a small
stash of marijuana hidden beneath my underwear, how clich. I rolled a joint with a
Turkey Hill receipt. I was nervous to present to her my solution for the fear of being
reprimanded; although ill, she was still my mother.
I know how to do it. It was as if I was six years old again; eyes and mouth wide,
watching the flame of a Bick liter meet the twisted joint tip. If you listened closely, you
could hear the ink of the receipt pop as the joint burned. I wasnt supposed to have kids.
They said it wasnt possible. Inhale, Exhale. But then we had you. Inhale. We were
so scared. Exhale. I used to check your breathing nearly every night. I still do
sometimes.