"A Young Woman's Tale of Parenting the Parent"
Reviewed by Kathyrn Little
Posted June 17, 2012
Young Adult
Somehow Carol Lynch Williams manages to slip into the mind of a
thirteen year-old girl to tell her story. Lacey isn't your
average thirteen year-old. Her mentally disabled mother
relies on Lacey for her care and doesn't always make the
job easy. In an attempt to find normalcy, Lacey volunteers
at the library and finds her mother a cashier job. Things
go unexpectedly wrong on the first day when Lacey is told
her mother has gone missing. Lacey's character is the main draw to MILES FROM ORDINARY.
Remarkably patient, she truly cares for her mother, even
though she is frustrated at times. Through careful
detail, readers will see how a parent's mental illness
may affect a child. The supporting characters in MILES FROM
ORDINARY
functioned as just that...supporting. The plot itself is
relatively fast-paced through most of MILES FROM ORDINARY,
speeding
up at the very end. It is interesting to note that Carol Lynch Williams
focuses more on the small events than the
bigger picture. MILES FROM ORDINARY is definitely worth
picking up.
SUMMARY
Thirteen-year-old Lacey wakes to a beautiful summer morning
excited to begin her new job at the library, just as her
mother is supposed to start work at the grocery store. Lacey
hopes that her mother's ghosts have finally been laid to
rest; after all, she seems so much better these days, and
they really do need the money. Lacey has no father, and has
always been an outcast at school. People mock her when
she’s with her mother on the bus. But today could be
different: there’s the beginning of a friendship with a boy
from school, she’s working at a new job that reminds Lacey
of her cherished Aunt Linda. But as the hours tick by and memories come flooding back, a
day full of hope spins terrifyingly out of control....
ExcerptThere are mice.Lots of mice. Running all over my room. Letting out crying
sounds that grate on my ears. They crawl on my feet. My
legs. I feel them on my arms. Soft things with toenails like
blunt needles. “Momma?” I say. She’s dressed in a long nightgown. Her
fingernails are sharp like the tops of just-opened cans. “We
gotta get rid of the mice. We gotta call an exterminator.” I
hand her an old-fashioned phone. “You’re right, Lacey,” Momma says. But instead, she cuts at
her face with her nails. Deep wounds open up, split wide,
and blood, dark blood like ink, makes paths down her face to
the floor. She cries. “Stop that,” I say. “Stop it now.” But Momma doesn’t listen. Just cuts and cries. * * * I AWOKE with a start, my heart thudding in my neck. My whole
body felt like I’d been dunked in an ice bath. “Only a dream,” I said to myself, then glanced at the clock:
3:46 A.M. I started to close my eyes. The wind nudged at the
house. I could smell the magnolia tree. Something moved in the corner. “Hello?” I said, clutching my sheet to my chest. “Someone here?” There was no answer. The floor creaked near the closet. “Hello?” I wanted to sit up in bed, but I couldn’t quite move. “Granddaddy?” My voice came out small. It felt like all the
hair on my head was trying to get away from me. “Lacey?” Fear flashed a white streak behind my eyes. I gave a jump.
“Granddaddy?” “Lacey?” Momma! It was Momma! Crying out a second time from her room.
Her voice sad and scared and weepy. So the crying part of my
dream was real. And maybe there was a mouse near the closet.
A mouse coming from my dreams, alive and real? That was
ridiculous. Of course that couldn’t be. “Are you okay?” I called to Momma. I kept my eyes toward the
closet. Straining to see. Just darkness. No movement now. The night breeze pushed into my room. The smell of the
ocean. So peaceful. No more sounds from the closet. Good.
Good. I took in a breath to push my fear away. “Granddaddy,” I said, hoping he wasn’t close enough to hear
me, “this is my room.” A girl should at
least have privacy in her bedroom. My heartbeat slowed. “Lacey? I need you.” “Coming.” Man, was I tired. My eyes burned. But I threw my feet over
the side of the bed. As soon as I touched the cool wood of
the floor, fear surged in behind me. Run! I hurried toward
my mother’s room. It was like something chased me down the
hall though I knew … Did I?… nothing was there. A few more steps Go, go! and I made it.
“What is it, Momma?” I leaned against the doorjamb. Her
nightlight showed the pattern of flowers on the carpet. “I’m scared.” Her voice was shaky. Did she have a nightmare,
too? “Granddaddy keeps bothering me. Has he been coming into
your room? I’ve told him not to. To let you sleep because of
tomorrow.” Momma’s voice wasn’t even as loud as a whisper. I
had to walk to the side of her bed to hear. I could see her
slender form under the blankets. “And I told
him I have to sleep too, because of
you-know-what.” I nodded but Momma didn’t look my way. Just gripped the
sheet and blanket in her fingers and spoke like maybe I was
glued to the ceiling. “But he won’t let me alone,” Momma said. She glanced in my
direction, then back again. “If you get in bed with me,
Lacey, I think he’ll stay outta here for a while.” Had he been to my room? For a moment I felt
something behind me. Like someone watched. The feeling was
muddy, heavy. Almost on my shoulder. Almost pushing me
toward Momma. I refused to look back. Not that I could have
seen much of anything. The darkness was fat, almost
difficult, in the hall. “Will you sleep here?” “All right, Momma.” Forcing myself not to
hurry, Quick, move it!, I took my time.
Granddaddy might be the boss of this house, but I wasn’t
going to let him know he scared me, too. I climbed in next
to my mother and snuggled close. “Turn on your side and I’ll
scrooch up to your back.” “Okay, Lacey. Okay.” Momma was so thin I could feel her ribs. Could have counted
them. I could smell her sweat, too. “You go on to sleep,” I
said. “If Granddaddy comes back in, I’ll send him out.” Don’t let him come in here. And
then, You know he won’t. And
another, He could. “Thank you, baby,” Momma said. “You watch for him awhile.
But wake me if he tries anything.” I yawned big. “I will.” Here I was, all of fourteen years
old, and I was crawling into bed with my momma. You big scaredy cat, I thought. Don’t let him
come in here. You know he won’t. He can’t. Not possible. With Momma so near, my fears faded some. My heart slowed.
And at last I was asleep.
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