A Teenager Joins the Cult
Part 1
My mom and step-dad learned TM when I was 12ish. It was after my mom had gone to the loony bin. She was in the nice part for people with eating disorders and depression not the padded walls part but try explaining that to the kids at school.
All my stepbrothers and I knew about mediation was that after work my step dad would sit in his recliner for a while quietly before turning the TV on and mom would go to her room.
If we got too loud playing baseball in the front yard my mom would scream out the window to be quiet because she was meditating. Adding to her fame in the neighborhood.
My mom didn’t scream at us as much any more so meditating seemed like it wasn’t such a bad idea. The strangest thing about it in the beginning was that my step dad actually did it. Instead of going square dancing or playing cards with friends they would go to the TM Center. My stepfather was a simple man. He was a shop foreman who could draw anything, made pancakes in animal shapes and built his own house. He didn’t read Leo Buscaglia books and go to group therapy like my mom. Meditation just didn’t seem like the kind of hobby they would share.
It was spring when they split up. They had argued often, less after they had learned to meditate, so none of us saw it coming. I was crouched down in the long grass of our front yard. I had just cut through the neighbor’s yard on my way home so I didn’t know what started the fight.
My stepfather was in the driveway next to our golden-rod boat of a car; he’s yelling at my mother, who I can’t see yet with one bony finger in the air, his lean muscles flexed under his plaid flannel shirt. My stepbrothers are in the car, deep in the back seat, waiting. It’s hunting season, bows not guns, the car is packed for the trip and my mom comes in to view. Here cheeks are red, her nose even redder.
