The Truth about Caleb

aleb Martin pulled up into his driveway and noticed Angela's white Ford Mustang convertible parked out front. He wasn't expecting her home this early, for she had a flight scheduled to Dallas and wasn't supposed to be in until tomorrow. The most disturbing thing, however, was that her trunk door was open and it looked like more than her luggage was peering over the top.

The front door of his small, two bedroom wood frame house was wide open. He apprehensively walked in and there she was standing in the doorway with her arms full of clothes.

"What is going on?" he asked.

"Get out of my fucking way!" she screamed as she pushed him aside

Caleb followed her out of the house to the car. Angela was furiously throwing all of her clothes into the trunk of the car, in a very haphazard fashion. This was unusual for her, since she was normally so in control of her possessions, her emotions and her life.

"Stop!" He tried to grab her in the front yard. "Angela, talk to me."

"I'M NOT going to cause a scene in front of the neighbors. Caleb -- I am leaving you. That's all I have to say." She began to cry and quickly ran past him into the house.

"No, you can't do this. Angela, wait! Please!" He ran after her and managed to grab hold of her shoulders in the living room. Caleb wasn't trying to be rough, but he was growing frantic.

"Let me go!" she screamed. Her dark eyes were flaming, her hair was in her face as she looked at him with enough hatred to send chills down his spine and into his soul.

For the first time in a very long time, Caleb was afraid. He was losing her.

"Just talk to me, Angela. You at least owe me that!"

"Okay, Caleb, okay." She caught her breath. "I will talk to you, but you will not talk to me. Because there is absolutely nothing you can say that will change my mind. There is absolutely nothing you can say that I will even believe. You have an illness, Caleb. A real illness. You lie. You lie, lie, lie. And you need help."

Angela picked up a small stack of photos on the coffee table and tried to hand them to Caleb. He refused to take the pictures from her trembling hands. He already knew what the pictures contained. She wasn't due back in until tomorrow. Caleb was caught red-handed.

The photographs fell to the floor. There were pictures of Caleb on the beach with a curvaceous, young blonde in a bikini by his side. Those weren't all the photos, either.

"Who is she?" Angela demanded. "How do you do it? "I was gone TWO days."

"She is my cousin from Houston." Caleb heard the words coming out of his mouth like they always did. It was as though another person took over his body and he was speaking their language. His face never flinched.

"Your cousin from Houston? Your cousin from Houston? You expect me to believe that she just pops in unannounced, throws on her bikini and you take her to the beach? How quaint. And where is she now Caleb? Does she have a name?"

"It was all very unexpected. She called out of the blue. My family is just like that. I really thought you'd get a chance to meet her. Her name is April."

"The name of the fucking month is APRIL. You can be a little more original for once. AND YOU TOLD ME YOU DIDN'T EVEN LIKE BLONDES!"

Caleb had never seen Angela like this before and it frightened him. Usually, she was so cool, so loving -- her attractive, intelligent face was now twisted in rage. Her job as a flight attendant kept her away quite often and her hours were sporadic and inconsistent. It was only a matter of time before she found out. Just like all the others. He was caught red-handed.

She looked at him deep, long and hard. Her words were real, as real as the doctor's words twelve years ago. As real and as final.

I'm sorry. This is permanent. There is nothing more we can do.

"Caleb, I'm sorry. I can't do this anymore. I love you, but I just can't do it. Only YOU can help yourself. Look at you. You are brilliant. You can't keep a job, you were suspended from law school because you wouldn't attend classes, you can't make a commitment to another person, much less a job, school or yourself. You even lie to your parents. They send you the money because they think you are in school. What a con-artist. A scam. That is no way to treat those people. They took you in and raised you and loved you like you were their own. Caleb, you are a 31 year-old, grown man. Stop blaming them. Stop blaming your biological parents. Adoption is a loving thing, not a curse."

"It's not that," Caleb muttered under his breath. "It's not that."

I'm sorry. This is permanent. There is nothing more we can do. The words again echoed through his mind.

"Well, whatever it is, I can't help you with it. You must help yourself. There is something disturbing behind those brown eyes, something very disturbing. A secret. A dark, dark secret. I knew about the others. All the women before me. I thought I could reach inside and unlock the Pandora's box within you. Release your demons and free your soul. But I cannot. I gave it all I could. But I want a real relationship based on honesty, trust and NO SECRETS."

She picked up her last bag and turned to walk away.

Caleb stood there motionless. Then he managed to speak one last time.

"Angela, it's not you, it's me."

"I know that, Caleb. It's a worn, cliched line, but in this case, it is true."

"I cannot love you, although I want to very much. Do you understand that?" he asked.

"I wanted you to love me. I thought that maybe you could. But until you find and let go of your skeletons, whatever they may be, love is not an option in your life."

She wiped the burning tears from her face -- and then she left.

He could hear the engine of her car start up as he shut his eyes. All he could do was say her name.

"Angela."

She was gone.

Muriel was cooking dinner when the doorbell rang. Her husband, Danny, wasn't due home for another hour and she wondered who might be dropping by - unless, of course, it was Caleb.

Her instincts were right. He stood in her doorway, reeking of alcohol, with red eyes and rumpled clothing. His fine, unruly dark blonde hair hung in his unshaven face. Despite this obvious display of pathetic self-absorption, he was all grins.

"Sis!" He awkwardly hugged her and almost brought her to the ground with him.

"Caleb, you smell." She helped him into the kitchen.

"I smell like what? A manly man?" He laughed at himself.

"You want some coffee? I'm making dinner. You probably haven't eaten in days."

Caleb wrinkled his nose. "I hope it's not raw fish or that tofu crap. You two eat like rabbits. What's for dinner tonight, dear? Carrots? Grass? Clover? Backyard stir-fry?"

"Grilled tuna. Caleb, what is it this time? You only show up when it's one of three things: either you need money, you are in trouble with the law or some woman has left you."

Muriel had a maturity about her that made her appear so much older than Caleb. But she was five years younger and very different in appearance from him. It was obvious by her red hair, pale blue eyes and translucent skin that she and Caleb were not from the same gene pool.

"It's Angela. She's history."

"Oh, Caleb. She was the best thing that ever happened to you. What did you do this time? Cheat on her or borrow too much money?"

Caleb remained silent. He took a Camel cigarette out of his pocket and offered Muriel one.

"No, thanks. I've got my own. Let's go outside."

The night was clear as they sat on the back porch swing, smoking and staring into the sky. Theirs was a strange but special relationship. It always had been. They were raised as brother and sister. They shared the same parents. They did not share the same blood. But, they were tightly bonded through their mutual experience.

"You lied again, didn't you?" Muriel asked.

"I don't lie," he answered defensively.

Muriel burst into laughter. "Caleb, Caleb, Caleb."

"WHAT?"

"You lie about your lying. You know there's a clinical definition for it. It's called PATHOLOGICAL."

"Shut up."

"Look, brother. It's time you wake up and have a reality check. Stop blaming Mom and Dad. They were wonderful parents. Quite saintly to have put up with your crap all these years. The arrest. Law school. When are you going to stop wasting your life? You are bright and intelligent. I wish my biological parents had given me your I.Q."

"My parents were trash. My mother was a whore and my dad is incarcerated. Fuck them and fuck you."

When he had been drinking, Caleb had a temper that could coil a snake.

Silence. Muriel forgave and forgot quickly and routinely when it came to her brother's quick temper.

"When are you going to go see her?" Muriel's tone was calm and her words came out of the dark. Her cigarette had burned out.

I'm sorry. This is permanent. There is nothing more we can do. Those damn words in his brain, engraved in his memory.

"Never. She is NOT REAL." He got up from the swing and walked furiously to his car.

"Caleb, Caleb wait!" Muriel called.

"Keep your perfect little life out of my face. I don't need you. I don't need them. I don't need her. I have no family, you hear that? FUCK YOU ALL."

Muriel watched his car speed off into the distance as her heart sank once again. She felt helpless. With an emotional heaviness, she walked back into the house. Dinner was burning and Danny would be home soon.

"Mom, how's it going?" Caleb could barely hear her over the static on his cordless phone.

"Fine, honey, fine. We are really enjoying it here. And you?"

"Cool. Everything's kewl."

"Caleb, how's school? You haven't mentioned much about it lately."

"Tough. It's tough. I like criminal law a lot. Is Dad there?"

"No, honey. He's out fishing. He really likes it here. It was a good choice for us to get out of Los Angeles. Your dad needed the fresh air."

"Good. I plan to live in the country myself one day, or the beach, the mountains."

"How is your sister? Have you seen her lately?"

"Yeah. I saw her three days ago. You know, Muriel is -- just Muriel."

"She and Danny still eating that crazy granola food?"

"Yeah, Mom. Don't worry. I still eat meat."

"And how's Angela? Is she still working for the airline?"

"Yeah. She is still with the airline. They, uh, changed her to the international rotation. I don't get to see her as often."

"That's a shame. From what Muriel tells me, she's a smart and sweet girl. You treat her right, Caleb."

"Mom, I do. Look, can you ask Dad. . ."

"Is this about money again, Caleb?"

Silence. Caleb began to pace.

"Caleb? Don't. Don't ask him. It's not a good time. What about your job at the firm, isn't that helping?"

"Yeah, sure. But law clerks only make $12 an hour, part-time. I only have time to work about ten or fifteen hours a week."

Caleb nervously pulled out a Camel and lit it.

"Mom, it's my car, some engine problems, couple hundred bucks, that's all."

"I will tell your father you said hello and you send your love. But I won't upset him, Caleb."

"Mom, I am not trying to upset him. . ."

"Look, I know you were suspended. Muriel told me. She is very worried about you. And you quit the law clerk position and Angela left. Caleb, if this is all starting up again, I will not allow you father to get sick over it. His heart can't take it."

Her voice began to quiver. Caleb had done it as usual.

"Look, Mom, I'm sorry. Forget that I asked. I'll be in touch."

"Caleb." He could barely hear her sobs as he hung up the receiver. He had heard those sobs before.

I'm sorry. This is permanent. There is nothing more we can do.

He threw the phone to the floor, ran his hands over his hair and yelled, "FUCK" as loud as he could. Why couldn't he get those damn words out of his head?

Mickey's was a dark, smoky dive where Caleb liked to go to be left alone. Other than Mickey himself, Caleb rarely struck up a conversation with anyone there. He just sat and drank his bourbon on the rocks and smoked his Camels.

"Things gottcha down, Law Boy?" Mickey asked. Mickey was a large muscular man with a clean shaven head, a bright red shirt and an earring. He loved to tease Caleb about his pending law student status. Especially since Caleb had gotten arrested after a bar room brawl one night. The cops had paraded him up and down the prison halls in his cuffs calling him "Law Boy." Thanks to Muriel's husband's connections, the charges were dropped.

"Women." Caleb took a swig of his whiskey.

"Women and children first." Mickey replied.

"Huh?"

"Women and children first, son. Always remember that. Women and children first."

Caleb finished his drink. He left Mickey a ten dollar tip. It was the last of his cash.

Caleb sat on the curb and watched the passersby. The sun was beating down and he was sweating profusely. His hair was back in a backwards baseball cap. He was dressed in old army fatigues, hiking boots, and on his shoulder - a knapsack. His red, glassy eyes were concealed by dark glasses. All he had in his pocket was a pack of Camels, a bus ticket and an address scribbled on a napkin.

The bus pulled up and Caleb climbed aboard. He had sold his car to buy the bus ticket and to live on for a while.

There was an empty seat by a window and there he sat. He didn't want to speak to anyone, he just wanted to left alone. Alone to stare out the window, watch the world go by - as he left the old Caleb behind in L.A. He was sitting on this bus and he was going somewhere. Caleb was on a journey and he had a destination. That was a fact. It was the truth. In Caleb's life, it was about the only truth he had ever known.

All the lies, the cheating, the manipulation. It was flashing before him just like the fields and the cows rushing by in the window. His life was a blur. His thoughts drifted back to a day long, long ago. He was twelve years old, Muriel was seven at the time. His father had taken him out back and they sat under a large tree which had grown up next to the wooden fence.

"Caleb, son. Your mother and I love you very, very much."

"Yes, sir." He stared at the ground.

"There is something we want you to know. We think it is time."

"Yes, sir."

"Your Mom and I got married and we wanted a little baby - a little boy just like you. We wanted a little girl just like your sister. But Mom and Dad weren't able to make a baby. Something was broken, son. Something was broken. So, we went to a very special place and there we found you. You were a gift to us from God. Your mother cried tears of joy. We loved you very much. We took you home and here you are. A few years later, we got your sister at the very same place. She is a gift too."

"Am I an orphan?" Caleb asked.

"No, orphans are little children who don't have parents. You have parents, Caleb. This is your home."

"I am adopted." Caleb answered.

"Yes son, that is the correct word. You are adopted. This doesn't mean your mother and I don't love you any less. If we could pick between you and your sister and any other children in the world, we would still pick you and Muriel. Do you understand, Caleb?"

"Where are my real parents?"

"We don't know, Caleb. We don't know much."

"Why did they leave me? Why?"

"We don't know that either Caleb. I'm sorry son, I wish I had the answers."

His father was becoming uncomfortable. "Come, let's go inside. Your mother is cooking dinner."

It was all very clear. Caleb's life was a lie. And ever since that day, he made damn well sure of it.

"Is this seat taken?" A gentle voice brought him back to reality, or what he perceived to be as real. An elderly woman with kind, gray eyes stood there.

"Sure, ma'am. Please, sit down."

It took her a while, but soon she was settled in. She seemed nice enough, but Caleb had really hoped for a seat to himself.

"Going somewhere, young man?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Vacation? Or to visit family?"

"Uh, visit family, you might say."

"Oh. That's nice. Family is so important. I just attended a funeral. A friend of my grandson was killed in a freak accident. Twenty-one years old. It was tragic."

I'm sorry. This is permanent. There is nothing more we can do.

The words again.

"Sorry to hear that," Caleb muttered.

"Are you married?" She was persistent on conversation.

Caleb looked at her and he smiled. He had never had a grandmother, adopted or biological. For him, his only family tree was the large one planted in their backyard when he was a child.

"Yes, ma'am. I was married once. I was very young."

"Oh? Nothing happened to her, I hope?"

"Oh, no. She is fine. We were both right out of high school. It wasn't meant to be. I really hadn't thought much about it until today. We were only married for a little over a year."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Things are so different today. You kids grow up so fast but then, you aren't grown up at all. I was married at sixteen. Had my first baby at eighteen. I was a grandmother at forty."

"How many children do you have?" Caleb asked.

"Well, I have seven -- but one of them died at childbirth. She was stillborn. Her name is Elizabeth Anna. My only girl, you know. I still visit her grave every year on her birthday." The old lady spoke as though these words were a source of comfort to her, not a source of loss or pain. "She is my savior and my guiding light."

Caleb would have asked more. But the bus had stopped. It was his station.

"Goodbye, ma'am. Nice chatting with you."

The lady looked at him and winked. "A good looking boy like you shouldn't carry that much baggage around in your heart. Your life should be as light as that knapsack you have there."

Caleb said nothing. He got off the bus and watched it disappear into the vastness.

The house was modest, middle class with a white picket fence and petunias in small clay pots lining the front walk. Two apricot poodles were barking suspiciously at him out the front window.

Caleb caught his breath and rang the doorbell. Inside the house, he could hear a baby crying. For one fleeting moment, he questioned whether or not this was the right thing to do. He had no idea what was before him.

After three rings, she finally came to the door. When she opened it, all the memories came flooding back -- the pain, the anguish, the words, the smells and the sounds.

Surprisingly, she looked exactly the same. The past twelve years had been good to her. Her curly, blonde hair was shorter now, but her face still youthful and her eyes still bright. In her arms she held a small child, wearing a dirty bib with food on his round cheeks and tears on his face. Another clutched her leg, with the same face and same hair. A set of lovely, healthy twins.

She looked at him as though she was in complete shock and yet expected him to be there all at once. He knew her, he knew her well. He knew he had to be the first to speak.

"Hello, Debbie. You look great."

One of the babies began to cry.

"Thanks. Caleb, you look like shit."

"I am shit."

"It's about time you came to that realization. I figured you would eventually. How long has it been? Twelve years? Twelve years. The most important first years in someone's life."

"I know." He paused. "Your children are beautiful."

"This is Austin and this one is, c'mere baby. This is little Douglas. And my oldest, Shelby, she is in pre-school right now."

"How is Doug? Treating you well?"

"Yes. He's fine. Thanks for asking."

"Look, I am not here to upset your life or your children or your husband. I am here to - to, oh, fuck."

Debbie had looked so hopeful. He saw that glint in her misty blue eyes. The glint that she had loved him once. A long, long time ago.

"Shit, oh, I'm sorry," he said motioning to the babies, who were both crying now.

"It's okay. They don't understand curse words yet."

"You know why I am here, Debbie."

"Yes."

The babies were suddenly quiet. Their crying spell had stopped as abruptly as it had started.

"You must go alone, Caleb. You know that, don't you?"

"I know that."

"Although we have that in common, the last time we will ever walk out of those doors together was twelve years ago. Except, of course, when the inevitable happens . . ."

"I know that too. I will go alone. This is for me."

"Room 411, West Wing."

"Thanks. Good seeing you, Debbie."

"You too, Caleb."

He turned to walk away. Debbie stood in the doorway with her two beautiful, perfect children.

"Caleb?" she called softly.

He slowly turned.

"Are you happy?"

"No."

He smiled. "But I will be soon."

He stood in front of the large, brick building that had appeared many times in his dreams. The long, sterile corridors looked and smelled the same. His footsteps still echoed like those out of a surreal horror film. He felt as though he were moving through vast amounts of Jello.

Caleb walked up to the nurse's station. A middle-aged woman glanced up at him quizzically as though she had never seen him there before. That was because she hadn't.

"Is this the West Wing?" he asked.

"Yes. Can I help you find a patient?"

"I need Room 411."

"Sir, that is a highly restricted area. Are you of any relation to the patient?"

"Yes. My name is Caleb Martin. I am her father."

He followed the nurse into the tiny room. The walls came closing in on him like a bad childhood dream. There in the bed, she lay. There was so much equipment around her, he couldn't focus on what was human flesh and what was machine.

"You can get closer, Mr. Martin." The nurse could sense his fear and apprehension.

He walked up to the bed. She was much older now. Her arms and legs were strapped down. Her limbs periodically jerked, but he knew it was involuntary muscle movements. Her eyes rolled back in her head as it rotated from side to side.

She could not see him, for she was blind.

She could not hear him, for she was deaf.

She did not know him, for she was mentally retarded.

But her name was Tamera Martin and she was his daughter.

He had not seen her in twelve years. In all this time, for Caleb, she had ceased to exist. Caleb stared at the child, a human who, by medical opinion, should not even be alive today.

"I'm sorry. This is permanent. There is nothing more we can do," the doctor had said that day so very long ago. "She probably won't live past five or six years."

Debbie was crying, she blamed herself. The umbilical cord had been wrapped around the baby's neck, cutting off the oxygen to her brain.

Caleb, a mere nineteen, had no idea what he had gotten himself into - first the pregnancy, then the marriage - and now this.

He left Debbie six months later and never returned. He explained those two years to his friends as a period of "study abroad." He never spoke of her again - not to his father, his mother or even Muriel. The state took custody of the baby and he cut off all communication with Debbie after the divorce.

And now, after twelve years, he knelt on the ground by her bed and took her tiny, white hand. Skin that had never seen the light of day. The hospital tag around her wrist read, "TAMERA MARTIN."

He had abandoned her as his parents had abandoned him. Most of all, in all these tortured years, he had abandoned himself.

Caleb Martin had finally grown up. He knelt by the bed and sobbed like a baby.

The UCLA Law School Graduation Day arrived. His exams behind him, the state bar examination in front of him -- Caleb had a road ahead.

He walked to the front of the stage to receive his Juris Doctorate degree. Mr. and Mrs. Martin, Muriel and her husband, Danny, were all there. Mrs. Martin was crying and Muriel was tearing up a bit herself. This was Caleb's day.

He proudly walked up to the stage and shook hands with the Chancellor. He waved his diploma in the air. On the back of his graduation cap, appeared the words, "ALL FOR TAMI."

Later, at the reception, Caleb was mingling with his classmates he saw her in the crowd. It was Angela. What did he expect? After all, he had met Angela because her father was one of his law professors. She looked quite lovely and ethereal in an ivory linen dress with her dark curls pinned up high.

Caleb smiled at her. She cautiously nodded back.

He walked over to her. Angela was dumbfounded, as though she was totally confused and clueless as to how to react.

"Can I speak to you a moment?" he asked. She nodded. They stepped aside, in a private area away from the fray.

Caleb knew he was taking a big chance. Angela may still reject him, but at least he was being honest. It was time she knew the truth about Caleb.

"Look Angela, I know I was a pig, a liar and a cheat. I never told you some things because I was ashamed. I thought I wasn't good enough. My biological mother abandoned me to continue her career as a prostitute. My real mother was a social worker at the time, and was assigned to the case. The girl told her that my father was in prison. My parents decided to adopt me. Several years later, they adopted my sister."

He took a deep breath and continued. "Ever since I was a kid, I thought my whole life was a lie. I hid behind the lies. I was a nobody, I had no roots, no family."

"Oh, Caleb," she said softly.

"There's more. I was married once. I didn't want to tell you that either. I was very young, and I have a 12 year-old daughter from the marriage. Her name is Tamera and she is severely handicapped, living in a state institution, and . . ."

He paused. His mind had suddenly gone blank. All he could concentrate on were her sparkling, dark eyes. Tears were gently falling from them.

"And?" she barely spoke.

"And -- my name is Caleb Martin. I am 31 years-old, I have a Juris Doctorate, by the grace of God! I have wonderful parents, a great sister and a brother-in-law. . .and most of all, I have a precious little girl. She is my savior and my guiding light."

Angela stood and smiled.

"Would you like to meet my family?" Caleb held out his arm.

"I'd be honored," she replied.

She took his arm as they crossed the grassy lawn to Caleb's future.