Technology
And while I could have worked, I just sat there, staring at my
screen, and I burst into tears. In that moment, I realized that
I was an orphan, as much as one can be in their mid-30s.
Pulling into the McDonald’s, I saw
people wearing their barn boots.
Yep, nothing had changed. It was
a big deal when that McDonald’s
opened when I was in high school.
Many of the kids in my class got
jobs there. When I knew they were
working the drive-thru, I’d go there
just to torture them, making it sound
like the speaker was breaking up and
other things, like trying to order
Chinese food. I wanted to work
there too, but Dad didn’t want me
to waste money on gas.
Sonja and Dad,
Sheldon, 1987
The cheerleader
who went in the
ditch (insert
joke here), 1995.
PHOTOGRAPHY BY
SONJA HEGMAN
Walking in, however, the place was
not the same. It had counters that
were conducive to people with
laptops, complete with outlets. It
seemed smaller, somehow. I ordered
breakfast to feel less guilty about
using the WiFi.
People stared. I clearly looked like
I didn’t belong there in my oversized
beanie, Macbook and Uggs. Wait,
that wasn’t it. I looked like a dirty
transient who hadn’t showered in
days. And while I could have worked,
I just sat there, staring at my screen,
and I burst into tears. In that
moment, I realized that I was an
orphan, as much as one can be in
their mid-30s.
I’d kept it together for as long as
I could. The drive and the memories
that resurfaced were too much. While
I had many good memories, I had
plenty of bad. And I knew that I’d
never be in Ladysmith or Sheldon,
ever again. Nothing was left there
for me. Once the house was cleaned
out, that was it. I was losing my
childhood.
When I got back to the house, it
was buzzing with people I’d never seen
before. I didn’t see one family member
and suddenly felt panicked. When I
finally found my aunt, she told me the
people were from my Dad’s church.
It made me feel a little better, but
it still felt like they were ransacking
the place. My brother kept himself
busy in the garage.
“What the hell is all this?” I asked
him. He shrugged and kind of rolled
his eyes, and went back to going
through his newly inherited tools.
Clearly, our sister had set this up
and didn’t tell either one of us.
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Going back into the house, people
kept asking me where my sister was.
When I asked what they needed, as
I was perfectly capable of making
decisions, I was met with, “Oh, we
better make sure that’s ok with your
sister.” OK. I wasn’t needed. I went
into the backyard.
The house sat on five acres of land.
A river ran through it and we had a
basketball court. I was the only one
of my siblings to grow up there. In
that moment, I realized how lucky
I’d been and that I actually cared
about Sheldon.
When I walked down the first hill to
the basketball court, I looked out
over the rest of the property and the
river. We used to play football there.
Over there, Dad showed me how to
shoot a gun. Trish and I walked back
there to sneakily smoke cigarettes.
More tears started flowing.
I walked down the second hill to the
river and wailed. The river was always
a calming place for me. It’s where I
sat nearly 20 years earlier when my
Mother was dying. But this day, I
think the river knew I needed to cry.
It was the only one who understood.
I pulled out my phone, knowing it was
a brick. I didn’t want to call anyone,
but felt the uncontrollable need to
take as many pictures of this place as
I could. Dad was fascinated that I had
a computer that fit into my pocket.
“So this thing is a camera?” he
once asked.
“Sort of, it’s a phone with a built-in
camera. It’s just easier than carrying
two things around,” I said.
“I’ll be, in my lifetime. Do you work on
that thing? I always knew you’d be
good with computers.” And on the
conversation would go.
In that moment by the river, I felt
thankful. I’d never felt thankful for
Sheldon. I always blamed it for holding
me back, but it made me who I am. The
people there made me who I am, for
better or worse. And those people
were in my old house, cleaning out my
Dad’s bedroom because I couldn’t bear
to do it. Being connected suddenly
meant something different.