299 Days: The Preparation Page 2

  As they were going out the door, Grant said to the troopers, “Did I ever tell you guys about how Governor Trenton and I got really drunk when the Seahawks were in the Super Bowl and talked about how a guy like him would never be Governor?”

  It was going to be a great night.

  - Book 1 -

  Chapter 1

  A Forks Loser

  It wasn’t supposed to happen. Grant Wallace Matson was born on a cold day. He had multiple complications, and the doctors told his mother and father that he would probably not live through the birth. They had assembled all the equipment and nurses for a troubled birth; all the equipment they had back then.

  Well, there he was, crying. He was rushed straight into the incubator and what passed for a rural hospital’s intensive care unit in those days. He actually lived, and everyone was so happy, except for his dad.

  Oh, sure, things were great for the first week or two because they had expected the worst and it didn’t happen. But a needy crying baby soon started cutting into his dad’s recreational time, which was drinking with his buddies.

  Grant’s father, Larry Matson, liked to drink. He was an injured logger in Forks, Washington. Forks was an isolated timber town on the extreme northwest corner of Washington State. It was a rough town, but people basically kept each other in check. It was “rough” in the sense of people being tough and occasionally violent, but not raving maniacs. It was like lots of small rural towns in the 1960s, 1970s, and into the 1980s.

  Many people thought Larry was faking his “injury” to get out of working, and there was some evidence of that, although his back did seem to hurt a lot. That wasn’t surprising, considering how hard the work was out in the woods. Setting choker line—the wire around a downed log to be picked up by a giant log boom tower—killed and injured loggers on a pretty regular basis.

  To supplement their limited workers’ compensation income, Grant’s mom, Patty, worked hard as a waitress in one of the two coffee shops in Forks. She was taking a little time off for the new baby but she went back to waiting tables within a few weeks. Larry, who no longer worked, would take care of Grant and, later, Grant’s sister Carol. Larry hated that he had to stay home with the kids. And he let them know it.

  Patty Matson was a tough bird. Because she was determined to be a proper woman with a family, she would suffer in silence her whole life. That meant making sure Larry was a husband and a father. Without that, the whole thing would fall apart. She needed him, so she would put up with a lot, which included letting him treat the kids like crap.

  Grant had a relatively normal first few years. Carol was born two years later. Other than the abusive father and co-dependent mother, things were pretty normal in the Matson house. They had a little house on a five-acre country lot, a car, and a TV. They got by. One of the main ways they got by on such a small income was to have a few cattle and pigs and a garden. Everyone in Forks canned food, hunted, fished, cut their own firewood, and knew how to fix things. The Matsons were no exception, and Grant learned how to do all these things, just like everyone else in Forks.

  Gardening was hard, given the climate. Forks was near an actual rain forest. It rained so much in Forks that, by measured rainfall, Forks was technically a “rain forest,” receiving 120 or more inches of precipitation a year. The moisture blew in from the nearby ocean, and then hit the Olympic Mountains and came down for months every year. This meant gardening in Forks wasn’t too productive, but was possible.

  Grant would go out in the summer and pick berries for jam.

  They had several apple trees that led to more than enough canned pie filling and applesauce to last all winter. In fact, applesauce was at every meal from about fall to early summer. Deer meat was the norm. Grant’s dad never took him out hunting, though, because his back always hurt. Grant had to go out with friends and their dads, but he learned to hunt. He remembered getting his first deer as a freshman in high school with a 30-30. He was so proud when it went into the freezer. He, at age 14, was providing for the family. That meant everything.

  When Grant and Carol were young, Larry was a raging alcoholic. Over time, Larry quit drinking as much and was getting acclimated to being a “house husband,” which was so contrary to his tough-guy logger personality. Larry kind of loved his kids; he would be nice to them from time to time. But, his life wasn’t going the way it was supposed to, and he felt trapped with the kids in the house all day. He couldn’t stand that a woman was the breadwinner in the family.

  That would get him drinking and hanging out with his friends to get back to what life was supposed to be in Forks: a logger drinking with his logging buddies.

  Larry smacked his kids around. It wasn’t vicious bone-breaking beatings; just a lot of slaps, sometimes in public. Screaming at the kids was common for Larry. Grant assumed all of this was normal.

  One time when Grant was in the sixth grade, he forgot to feed the family’s pig. His dad exploded and just started kicking him, really hard, knocking Grant to the ground. His dad kept kicking him, even when he was down. The kicks kept coming one after the other. Grant had the wind knocked out of him and thought he was dying. It was terrifying. It was like his dad went from being normal to some kind of animal who couldn’t stop hurting him.

  Grant could barely move after that and spent a few days recovering in bed. His mom said there was no need to go to the doctor’s office for Grant’s “fall.” Grant assumed it was because they didn’t have any money for the doctor. Later he would realize it was because of the shame that his mom would have felt if the doctor knew what had happened. Grant was bewildered that his mom wouldn’t protect him. He realized early on that he couldn’t count on others to protect him. He had to take care of himself in this world.

  His dad would go a few months without hitting the kids. He would be a pissed-off jerk for those months and still yell at them, but he wouldn’t hit the kids unless they did something wrong. The anger was sudden, vicious, and uncontrollable, and then it went away. It never ended with an apology. It was always the kids’ fault for whatever happened to them.

  His little sister, Carol, was a good sister. They had to band together to fight the “ogre” as they called their dad. Later in life, Grant could see how he naturally rallied people together to fight off threats. He had lots of practice from an early age.

  Grant and Carol would cover for each other and standardize their stories so they could stay out of trouble. Carol was a quiet girl, and she was very smart. She would stay out of the fights between Grant and their dad except when she just had to help her big brother. However, Grant thought Carol was a little too much like his mom by staying out of most of the fights. One day he said so. Carol shot back,

  “What am I supposed to do? Fight him with my fists?” She had a point. A person had to have the ability to fight, or people would pick on them. That’s just how it was.

  Grant had to protect his sister. When his dad was hitting her or screaming at her, Grant would lunge at him and try to help. He usually got his ass beat, but he couldn’t stand by and watch an innocent person be hurt. He just couldn’t.

  Grant was drawn to helping people in danger. From an early age, he would rush in and help people. His willingness to leap into danger made people think there was something wrong with him. Grant thought just the opposite; there was something wrong with everyone else for not helping. But he got it; they were weak. They didn’t want to rock the boat. They would let people be mistreated as long as they were left alone.

  Grant remembered when he was eight years old and riding his bike with some friends in Forks. An old man in the neighborhood was walking and fell to the ground. The man was holding his chest like he was having a heart attack. The other kids were scared. Grant went right over and tried to help. He didn’t know what to do. The man was turning blue and having seizures. Even at that young age, Grant knew the man was dying. There was no 911 back then, so no help was coming. The other kids scattered, especially when the seizures started.


  Not Grant. He stayed there with the man and held his hand. That’s all he knew how to do. Grant told the man that everything would be fine. When the seizures stopped, the man smiled at Grant. It was a peaceful smile. The man knew he was dying and that some nice boy came to comfort him. Grant smiled back, knowing that the man was going somewhere better. The man died with Grant holding his hand. It was the least Grant could do. He sat there holding the man’s hand until a police officer and ambulance arrived to take him away.

  Later, the kids playing with Grant wouldn’t have anything to do with him. “Grant touched a dead dude,” they said. They said Grant was weird for touching a dead person. They were probably ashamed that they hadn’t done anything, but they took it out on Grant by shunning him. Grant couldn’t understand why people hated him for doing the right thing.

  Decades later, Grant would understand what was going on when he learned the term “sheepdog.” Sheep are blissfully ignorant and peacefully graze on grass while wolves are lurking in the shadows, planning their attack. Farms with sheep always had sheepdogs to guard the sheep. The sheepdogs can’t stand to see a sheep in danger so they rush in to help, putting themselves in danger. To a sheepdog, the thought of seeing a sheep hurt is worse than having the wolf attack the sheepdog. The sheepdog can’t help rushing into danger; it is innate.

  The other reason Grant would later understand that the sheepdog analogy was so fitting was that sheep are scared of the sheepdogs trying to protect them. After all, a sheepdog looks a little bit like a wolf to a sheep. They’re both in the dog family. The sheep can’t understand that a sheepdog would rush in to protect them because they wouldn’t protect each other. The sheep view the wolf-looking sheepdogs with suspicion.

  The sheepdogs, like Grant, accept that the sheep didn’t appreciate them, but they still can’t stand to see the suffering so they jump in to help. They can’t help it. It’s just how they are.

  Grant and his sister would escape the ogre Larry and the dreary Forks house by reading. The Matson kids were frequent visitors to the library in town. It was a pretty decent one. The local logging company that ran the town donated all the books. The great thing about the library was that their dad wasn’t there. Grant remembered his dad’s attitude about the library. One time Carol said, “Dad, we’re going to the library.” Their dad answered, “Good. You can bother the people there and leave me alone.” That about summed it up.

  There was a whole world in that library, a world outside of Forks and the ogre. It was full of stories from all over the world and from different time periods. Grant especially liked to read about the American Revolution. A small band of underdogs take on the most powerful people on earth and win! What a story. Grant could relate. These stories made a big impact on Grant as he grew up.

  One of Grant’s strongest memories of his childhood was his mom sitting at the dining table with bills and a checkbook and crying uncontrollably. They “got by,” but it was really a struggle. He would watch her cry and think about being rich. Not millionaire rich. Just rich enough so he wouldn’t have to cry when he paid the bills. That seemed impossible there in Forks, but Grant could sense that what he was thinking about would happen later.

  Grant got those feelings sometimes when it came to big things like what he would be when he grew up. It was hard to explain, but what he thought was going to happen in the future was just going to happen. He knew it was unlikely that a person could actually tell what was going to happen, but it seemed like there was a path to what he saw happening in the future. He couldn’t actually see the exact contours of the path. But it was there; someone couldn’t see it unless they were looking for it. Like a deer path in the woods. It’s there if a person is looking for it. Grant knew the path was taking him somewhere good—out of Forks. It was just going to happen. Maybe he would do all the work to make it happen, or maybe it just would happen. Or maybe it was a combination of both. He got used to this feeling.

  One day when Grant was about nine, his dad seemed mad. This sometimes meant Grant was going to get hit. He would walk on eggshells and avoid his dad, which worked part of the time.

  “Come here!” Grant’s dad yelled. Oh crap. Grant walked into the kitchen not knowing what was coming. His dad looked at him and, like he was talking to an adult, said to Grant, “You ruined my life.” Grant’s dad then explained how he could have been a photographer if he didn’t have to stay home, “and take care of you little brats.” Grant waited to see if he was going to get hit. After a few seconds of silence, Grant just left.

  It was weird. Grant, at the ripe old age of nine, thought what his dad had just said was so absurd. A photographer? His dad didn’t even own a camera. Grant knew he should be devastated that he was just told that he had ruined his dad’s life, but for some reason Grant couldn’t take it seriously. He just thought about how he was going to get out of there when he graduated from high school. He wondered how many nine year-olds were calmly making escape plans. He even felt sorry for his dad.

  But, Grant still hated his dad. Being told you ruined your dad’s life was actually a pretty good day compared to others. Getting beat up is no fun. Grant felt helpless, being so small and unable to fight back.

  The worst part was the time he had to go to school with a black eye. Everyone knew what had happened. It was the most humiliating experience in his life. Words couldn’t describe how embarrassing it was. People, especially kids, treated someone differently when they knew that person was getting their ass beat at home. The bullies at school would pick on that person more. They sensed the weakness and wanted to get in on the fun. The decent kids would pity that kid, though. When he had the black eye, Grant got physically ill before going to school. He threw up and tried to stay home claiming he was sick.

  Grant’s mom wouldn’t let him stay home. She didn’t want to make Larry mad. In her mind, there was some sort of disagreement between Larry and her son that led to the black eye. It was their business, and she wasn’t going to get involved.

  Grant could never understand why his mom didn’t stick up for him. Actually, he could. She had the self-esteem of a turnip. But that didn’t excuse it. Mothers were supposed to protect their children, weren’t they?

  It was particularly hard for a sheepdog like Grant to understand how a mother could let this happen to her kids. People were supposed to protect the weak. All she had to do was tell Larry to stop or call the police, but she wouldn’t.

  Grant developed a strong dislike for people who could stop bullies but didn’t almost as much as he hated the bullies themselves. He and his sister would talk about why their mom wasn’t doing anything. Was it because they were bad kids? One time they both went to their mom and told her to divorce their dad. She cried for days.

  Larry Matson was a socialist. Grant remembered his dad always talking about “corporations” and the “proletariat.” Every bad thing that had happened to their dad was caused by corporations, like the logging company. By about middle school, Grant knew more about Lenin and Marx from listening to his dad than most adults would ever know.

  There was a little church across the street from Grant’s house. He noticed that every Sunday nice people who were dressed up went there. They seemed happy. Something good must be happening in that building, Grant thought.

  “Hey, Dad, can I go to the church?” Grant asked, one day. Of course it would be OK to go to church.

  “Hell no,” his dad said. A speech on how Christianity is used to oppress workers followed. Grant’s mother just sat there quietly, listening idly by while her husband basically set Grant on a course that could prevent him from ever going to church.

  One Sunday when his dad was out of the house, Grant snuck over to the church. It was a great place. It was full of normal people were who were so glad to have him there. After that day, Grant snuck over whenever he could. He felt like such a rebel going to church.

  It was hard to say how often he got beat up by his dad. Entire segments of Grant’s childhood were a blu
r to him; he just erased it from his memory. But Grant did remember one thing clearly; the day the beatings changed.

  A sophomore in high school, Grant was now over six feet tall. He came home from school one day and his dad was in the kitchen. His dad started yelling at him about some chore that hadn’t been done, and then started coming at him. Grant planted his feet, clenched his fist, and punched his dad right in the face. It hurt Grant’s hand, but it hurt his dad more. For a split second, the look on his dad’s face was total surprise. It was like he was saying, “You… just hit… me?” In that moment, it was obvious his dad had realized that Grant was now big enough to fight back. The bastard was scared.

  Grant loved it. The bully was getting hit for a change! Grant felt a surge of adrenaline. It was like he was fully alive and invincible. That felt really good (despite the throbbing pain in his fist). He wanted to do it again. Grant started chasing his dad through the house. He loved to see the ogre run like a scared little girl. This was for all the times his dad had hurt him and his sister. Hurt defenseless innocent little kids.

  Grant didn’t want to hurt the guy as much as he wanted the guy to quit hurting him. But, yeah, Grant did want to hurt him, at least a little.

  After showing the old man what a pussy he was, Grant waited for the inevitable retaliation. Sure enough, the next day he was home from school in the kitchen cutting a block of (government) cheese with a big knife. His dad came into the kitchen looking like he was going to kill Grant. Like he was going to actually kill him. It was a look Grant never forgot.

  Grant was terrified. He dropped the big knife and started to run. As he got out of the kitchen, he looked back to see his dad picking up the knife and starting to chase after him, with the huge butcher knife. Grant saw everything in slow motion. He was focused on the blade and couldn’t really see anything else. He couldn’t hear anything. All he could see was the knife in slow motion. The fear gave him super human strength.