Tall, gray, gleaming, it rose before him as it always did when he crested the hill. Every day for how many years now had he walked this path in the early morning hours, arriving at this spot just in time to see the building outlined, stark and imperial, against a new sky bright with anticipation of the arrival of the sun?
It was an impressive building, a monumental building, the magnum opus of some now-wealthy architect. Too many stories to count for this old man, and yet today it looked smaller somehow. But then, everything looked smaller now. He thought of the times he had ventured into the lobby -- the momentary silent vacuum as he pushed through the revolving doors, to be met on the other side by the cool feel of temperature-controlled air and the heady aroma of fresh-ground coffee from the vendor’s cart by the elevator. He had no desire to go in today.
He stared long and hard at the building, thinking of the accountants and lawyers, stockbrokers and entrepreneurs who would soon be scurrying through its halls to offices with big windows and shiny, modern furniture. Sitting at their desks all day, their eyes looking through the obligatory pictures of wives and husbands, daughters and sons without ever stopping to really look at the pictures, without realizing that the day could come when all they had left was a picture….
He wanted to see the building as the beacon of ingenuity and enterprise it had always been to him, a symbol of all that was right and good about America. He wanted the sight of it to stir in him that sense of patriotism and pride he had felt so often before. But all he saw now was a pile of gunmetal gray stones stacked one on top of another. The forest green of the canopy over the front doors reminded him of jungles and camouflage; the shiny metal trim caught the first rays of the sun and threw them back into his eyes like the reflection of moonlight off a sniper’s scope. Lights exploded in the windows of the offices coming to life for the day; the explosions stayed painted on his eyelids when he closed his eyes.
Looking up, higher and higher, he watched the stories build one on another, until his eyes reached the top … the flag. The ultimate symbol of freedom, stirring softly in a breeze he could not feel here on the ground. He had a flag at home now, too, tri-folded and tucked away with pictures and letters and the telegram. He looked up again at the flag fluttering atop the cold, gray building, the flag he always thought he would be willing to give anything to defend. It should be at half mast. He had given too much.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
The Purple Vampires
We lived in one side of a duplex on Wroe Avenue until I was in the second grade. I remember the address — Twenty-two Wroe Avenue — because it rhymed. The owners of the duplex lived in the other side — nice old people who always gave us goodies. They were sort of like grandparents to us, until the night Mac had too many beers and tried to hurt my dad. We moved out shortly after that; but that’s another story altogether.
Things were different back then. No one seemed to worry much about their kids running all over the neighborhood. We used to get up on Saturday and, after we had our cereal and watched the really important cartoons, we would run out the front door and not be seen again until we got hungry enough to come home for lunch. Once we ate our bologna and cheese sandwiches (or, on really good days, fried bologna) we would take off again and come home, reluctantly, when it got dark.
We lived in probably the best neighborhood in the whole town. Oh, not the richest, not by far. Wroe Avenue was lined with duplexes and little houses, with bikes in the front yards and toys on the stoops. Dads got in their cars every morning and went to work, mostly to blue collar jobs, and even some moms went to work. But even though we didn’t have big houses and big, shiny cars, we had the very best neighborhood. And that was mostly because of the Purple Vampires.
The Purple Vampires was our club, and you could only be a member if you were invited by the others to join (I don’t think there were any kids on the block who weren’t members). Being the youngest, I was only allowed to join because my brother was The Purple Vampire, head Vampire, and besides, we started the club.
We all had club names. Most of them were really cool names, like my sister, the Green Witch. But my club name was Cucumber. That was because I loved to eat cucumbers and was always carrying one around to chew on. I thought it was a pretty stupid name for a vampire, but they told me I couldn’t have a “real” vampire name till I was at least eight years old. So if I had to be named after a vegetable, I figured a cucumber was the best one.
Despite the ghoulish names, the Purple Vampires were the good guys. Our mission in life was to protect the world — or at least our world — from evil, especially evil in the form of ghosts and goblins. The Purple Vampires spent a lot of time patrolling the Haunted Hotel. The Haunted Hotel was down the alley from our house, and across a street. It was big and gloomy, and people lived there all the time (it turns out it wasn’t a hotel at all, but an apartment building!). We could get in through the door by the laundry room, and it always had the same steamy, dusty smell you could smell if you stood by the vent outside the mud room at our house when Hattie (that was our babysitter — our mom was one of the moms who got to go to work every day!) was doing the wash. Then we would run up the stairs and explore all along the hallways. Nobody ever stopped us or asked us what we were doing; we pretty much went anywhere we wanted to go.
The hallways were long and very dimly lit. Most of the time my brother would give the rest of us Vampires an assignment at the Haunted Hotel, and we would split up to carry out our duties. Much of the time there was a beautiful damsel in distress, captured by evil villains and held for ransom. The Purple Vampire always got the job of rescuing the damsel while the rest of us had to distract the ghosts and overcome the evil perpetrators. We didn’t mind much, though, because we all thought it was much more fun to distract ghosts than (yuck) save damsels.
It didn’t matter what time of year it was; the Purple Vampires always had some wonderful mission or assignment to carry out. In the winter we made snow forts and had snowball battles against the ghosts from the Haunted Hotel (I often had to be one of the ghosts just because I was the youngest. I always lost.) Whenever we could convince our parents to let us, we would take our sleds and head for Dead Man’s Hill (which we named it and which we thought was terribly original), spending the day flying over the snow at speeds of at least a hundred miles an hour, dodging the ghosts or goblins or whatever evil persons were out and about that particular day. Then we would all troop over to our house for hot cocoa and sandwiches (or, on really good days, fried bologna).
Of course, the very best day of the year for the Purple Vampires was halloween. We were always on duty on halloween because, of course, there were more ghosts and goblins to battle than at any other time of the year. In order to sneak up on the ghosts, we always disguised ourselves on halloween and tried to blend in with the trick-or-treaters roaming the neighborhood. We did this by donning costumes and carrying pillow cases, just like the trick-or-treaters. We took our job very seriously; we even went door to door and gathered candy, so the ghosts would really believe we were just regular trick-or-treaters. It was a sacrifice, but we did it. In the days following halloween, we would celebrate our victory over the ghosts by eating all the candy and homemade popcorn balls and cookies we had accumulated. (This was in the days when people still gave out homemade halloween treats and no one would ever think of slipping a razor blade or poison in them.)
There was one halloween, however, where the Purple Vampires did not reign victorious and, in fact, which saw the demise of the beloved Vampires.
It started out like any other halloween. The Vampires all dressed in disguise and started our evening patrol of the neighborhood, pillow cases in hand. After a couple of hours, we returned to our homes to empty our pillow cases and start over again. When we reconvened in my front yard, our esteemed leader, The Purple Vampire, made the announcement that we would be going directly to the Haunted Hotel for our next round of battles. The rest of us looked at one another uncomfortably, because in the past we had always steadfastly avoided the Haunted Hotel on halloween. Not because we were afraid, mind you, but because we reasoned that all the haunts would be out haunting so what was the use of going to the Hotel? This night, however, P.V. elected to attack directly at their headquarters.
The others seemed to get into the spirit of it right away, although I followed somewhat reluctantly (I was the youngest, remember). Once there, however, I got caught up in the excitement and forgot my trepidation. We entered, as always, by the laundry room, and encountered no ghosts or other spooky things there. We made our way up, floor by floor, knocking on doors in search of spirits and finding none (but filling up our pillow cases again very nicely).
It must have been on the third or fourth floor that we ran into trouble. We were about half way down the hall when it happened.
My brother, The Purple Vampire, led the way, with my sister right behind him. As usual,I brought up the rear. The other Vampires were scattered throughout the Hotel, looking for ghosts and gathering candy. My brother knocked on a door as usual, knock knock knock, but the door didn’t open. Instead, we heard a knock knock knock right back at us. We looked at one another, perplexed, and the P.V. knocked again — knock knock knock. After a couple of seconds, we heard, knock knock knock. We tried just knock knock, and heard knock knock back.
We weren’t sure what to do, but it was clear that this was no normal situation. As we were looking at each other in confusion, we heard a big, long scraaaaaatch on the inside of the door. This was very puzzling, but, being Purple Vampires, we couldn’t just leave. There might be ghosts in there that needed defeating!
We were standing in the dimly lit hall outside the door with no one else in sight, trying to decide what to do. It was silent now, and almost eerily still.
Just as The Purple Vampire lifted his hand to knock one more time, the door flew open and a...a...a monster jumped out into the hallway, waving his arms and screaming. My brother went flat against the wall in terror, and my sister and I took off running down the hall as fast as our feet would carry us, screaming at the top of our lungs. We hit the staircase and nearly fell down them, so terrified were we. Down, down we ran, and out the door by the laundry room, across the street, down the alley, and home, where we collapsed sobbing into our mother’s arms.
When she finally calmed us down enough to talk, she asked where my brother was (we weren’t ever supposed to leave his side), and hysterically we told her that a monster had captured him. Just about this time, however, in he ran, laughing. Laughing!!!
It turns out that the monster wasn’t a monster at all but just a regular person all dressed up like one. Because my brother hadn’t run off (I guess it didn’t matter that he was paralyzed with fear and not able to make his legs work!), the “monster” had given him a Coca Cola and a quarter — a whole quarter! Well, of course, then we wanted to go back and get a coke and a quarter, too, but my mother wouldn’t hear of it. In fact, we all got in trouble because the Haunted Hotel was off limits to us in the first place, so we couldn’t go out again that night.
Even though we now knew that it hadn’t been a real monster, nevertheless the business of the Purple Vampires lost some of its attraction, and we went on to other things. But sometimes, especially around halloween, I think back on the Purple Vampires and that one night when I was more frightened than I had ever been or than I have been since, and it still sends delicious chills down my spine.
Things were different back then. No one seemed to worry much about their kids running all over the neighborhood. We used to get up on Saturday and, after we had our cereal and watched the really important cartoons, we would run out the front door and not be seen again until we got hungry enough to come home for lunch. Once we ate our bologna and cheese sandwiches (or, on really good days, fried bologna) we would take off again and come home, reluctantly, when it got dark.
We lived in probably the best neighborhood in the whole town. Oh, not the richest, not by far. Wroe Avenue was lined with duplexes and little houses, with bikes in the front yards and toys on the stoops. Dads got in their cars every morning and went to work, mostly to blue collar jobs, and even some moms went to work. But even though we didn’t have big houses and big, shiny cars, we had the very best neighborhood. And that was mostly because of the Purple Vampires.
The Purple Vampires was our club, and you could only be a member if you were invited by the others to join (I don’t think there were any kids on the block who weren’t members). Being the youngest, I was only allowed to join because my brother was The Purple Vampire, head Vampire, and besides, we started the club.
We all had club names. Most of them were really cool names, like my sister, the Green Witch. But my club name was Cucumber. That was because I loved to eat cucumbers and was always carrying one around to chew on. I thought it was a pretty stupid name for a vampire, but they told me I couldn’t have a “real” vampire name till I was at least eight years old. So if I had to be named after a vegetable, I figured a cucumber was the best one.
Despite the ghoulish names, the Purple Vampires were the good guys. Our mission in life was to protect the world — or at least our world — from evil, especially evil in the form of ghosts and goblins. The Purple Vampires spent a lot of time patrolling the Haunted Hotel. The Haunted Hotel was down the alley from our house, and across a street. It was big and gloomy, and people lived there all the time (it turns out it wasn’t a hotel at all, but an apartment building!). We could get in through the door by the laundry room, and it always had the same steamy, dusty smell you could smell if you stood by the vent outside the mud room at our house when Hattie (that was our babysitter — our mom was one of the moms who got to go to work every day!) was doing the wash. Then we would run up the stairs and explore all along the hallways. Nobody ever stopped us or asked us what we were doing; we pretty much went anywhere we wanted to go.
The hallways were long and very dimly lit. Most of the time my brother would give the rest of us Vampires an assignment at the Haunted Hotel, and we would split up to carry out our duties. Much of the time there was a beautiful damsel in distress, captured by evil villains and held for ransom. The Purple Vampire always got the job of rescuing the damsel while the rest of us had to distract the ghosts and overcome the evil perpetrators. We didn’t mind much, though, because we all thought it was much more fun to distract ghosts than (yuck) save damsels.
It didn’t matter what time of year it was; the Purple Vampires always had some wonderful mission or assignment to carry out. In the winter we made snow forts and had snowball battles against the ghosts from the Haunted Hotel (I often had to be one of the ghosts just because I was the youngest. I always lost.) Whenever we could convince our parents to let us, we would take our sleds and head for Dead Man’s Hill (which we named it and which we thought was terribly original), spending the day flying over the snow at speeds of at least a hundred miles an hour, dodging the ghosts or goblins or whatever evil persons were out and about that particular day. Then we would all troop over to our house for hot cocoa and sandwiches (or, on really good days, fried bologna).
Of course, the very best day of the year for the Purple Vampires was halloween. We were always on duty on halloween because, of course, there were more ghosts and goblins to battle than at any other time of the year. In order to sneak up on the ghosts, we always disguised ourselves on halloween and tried to blend in with the trick-or-treaters roaming the neighborhood. We did this by donning costumes and carrying pillow cases, just like the trick-or-treaters. We took our job very seriously; we even went door to door and gathered candy, so the ghosts would really believe we were just regular trick-or-treaters. It was a sacrifice, but we did it. In the days following halloween, we would celebrate our victory over the ghosts by eating all the candy and homemade popcorn balls and cookies we had accumulated. (This was in the days when people still gave out homemade halloween treats and no one would ever think of slipping a razor blade or poison in them.)
There was one halloween, however, where the Purple Vampires did not reign victorious and, in fact, which saw the demise of the beloved Vampires.
It started out like any other halloween. The Vampires all dressed in disguise and started our evening patrol of the neighborhood, pillow cases in hand. After a couple of hours, we returned to our homes to empty our pillow cases and start over again. When we reconvened in my front yard, our esteemed leader, The Purple Vampire, made the announcement that we would be going directly to the Haunted Hotel for our next round of battles. The rest of us looked at one another uncomfortably, because in the past we had always steadfastly avoided the Haunted Hotel on halloween. Not because we were afraid, mind you, but because we reasoned that all the haunts would be out haunting so what was the use of going to the Hotel? This night, however, P.V. elected to attack directly at their headquarters.
The others seemed to get into the spirit of it right away, although I followed somewhat reluctantly (I was the youngest, remember). Once there, however, I got caught up in the excitement and forgot my trepidation. We entered, as always, by the laundry room, and encountered no ghosts or other spooky things there. We made our way up, floor by floor, knocking on doors in search of spirits and finding none (but filling up our pillow cases again very nicely).
It must have been on the third or fourth floor that we ran into trouble. We were about half way down the hall when it happened.
My brother, The Purple Vampire, led the way, with my sister right behind him. As usual,I brought up the rear. The other Vampires were scattered throughout the Hotel, looking for ghosts and gathering candy. My brother knocked on a door as usual, knock knock knock, but the door didn’t open. Instead, we heard a knock knock knock right back at us. We looked at one another, perplexed, and the P.V. knocked again — knock knock knock. After a couple of seconds, we heard, knock knock knock. We tried just knock knock, and heard knock knock back.
We weren’t sure what to do, but it was clear that this was no normal situation. As we were looking at each other in confusion, we heard a big, long scraaaaaatch on the inside of the door. This was very puzzling, but, being Purple Vampires, we couldn’t just leave. There might be ghosts in there that needed defeating!
We were standing in the dimly lit hall outside the door with no one else in sight, trying to decide what to do. It was silent now, and almost eerily still.
Just as The Purple Vampire lifted his hand to knock one more time, the door flew open and a...a...a monster jumped out into the hallway, waving his arms and screaming. My brother went flat against the wall in terror, and my sister and I took off running down the hall as fast as our feet would carry us, screaming at the top of our lungs. We hit the staircase and nearly fell down them, so terrified were we. Down, down we ran, and out the door by the laundry room, across the street, down the alley, and home, where we collapsed sobbing into our mother’s arms.
When she finally calmed us down enough to talk, she asked where my brother was (we weren’t ever supposed to leave his side), and hysterically we told her that a monster had captured him. Just about this time, however, in he ran, laughing. Laughing!!!
It turns out that the monster wasn’t a monster at all but just a regular person all dressed up like one. Because my brother hadn’t run off (I guess it didn’t matter that he was paralyzed with fear and not able to make his legs work!), the “monster” had given him a Coca Cola and a quarter — a whole quarter! Well, of course, then we wanted to go back and get a coke and a quarter, too, but my mother wouldn’t hear of it. In fact, we all got in trouble because the Haunted Hotel was off limits to us in the first place, so we couldn’t go out again that night.
Even though we now knew that it hadn’t been a real monster, nevertheless the business of the Purple Vampires lost some of its attraction, and we went on to other things. But sometimes, especially around halloween, I think back on the Purple Vampires and that one night when I was more frightened than I had ever been or than I have been since, and it still sends delicious chills down my spine.
Two weeks a year
Away from city lights
Away from dirty skies
Away from family fights
And into paradise.
Air perfumed and sweet
With spruce and pine and fir
The songs of birds to greet
And streams with fish to lure.
A time to lay aside
Conflict that always comes
When father tries to guide
His adolescent son.
Days when we run and play
With energy to burn
And days when parents say
“Now listen, so you learn.”
They always pick a spot
Of some historic worth
Where battles harsh were fought
To give our country birth.
The places Revere rode
The warnings he did sound
The places Redcoats strove
To keep our country bound.
We stand high on the bluff
Over the valley low
Haze, to our eyes, is dust
Of soldiers as they go.
As father paints the scene
Great battles, fought in mud
We see not the valley green,
But freedom fighters’ blood.
We hear the muskets fire
We hear the canons ring
The price paid to acquire
Freedom from the king.
And one more time the boy
Admits he’s not too wise
To hear his father’s story
And see time through father’s eyes.
Who Gives this Woman? -- Inspired by a true story
The phone call came the afternoon before the wedding, as Laura was going over her list of things still to be done. She answered it absent-mindedly; by the time she hung up, the list was forgotten.
It was wonderful news for Kelly, really. She’d been so disappointed when her mother had called to say she couldn’t come to the wedding. Laura’s heart had ached for her stepdaughter, whom she loved every bit as much as she did her own children. Kelly had tried to mask her disappointment, joking that two mothers at the wedding would be too confusing for a small town like Trinity anyway.
Now that had changed — Marilee had called to say she could make it, after all, and that she would be arriving sometime the next afternoon. Laura was pleased for Kelly and angry at herself for that sinking feeling she was experiencing. How could she possibly begrudge Kelly this small happiness? Out loud, she scolded herself, “Every girl should have her mother at her wedding.” Silently, her mind responded, “You’re her mother! You’re more of a mother to her than Marilee ever was!”
“No! I am her stepmother. I’ve raised her and held her and cried and laughed with her, but Marilee gave birth to her; and Marilee has every right to be at her wedding!”
“Mom? Who are you talking to?” Kelly bounced into the kitchen, kissed Laura’s cheek, and plopped onto a chair.
“Oh, just myself.” Laura answered, blushing. “Kelly, I have wonderful news. Your mother called and will be able to come tomorrow after all — she’ll be here sometime in the afternoon.”
“She’s coming?! She’s really coming?” Kelly exclaimed, jumping out of the chair. “Oh, oh Mom! She’s coming!” She danced around the kitchen.
Laura smiled at Kelly’s excitement, her jealousy evaporating. She was glad, really glad, Marilee would be there for Kelly.
That night at the rehearsal, there was some consternation about what Paul would say when asked who gave the bride away. They finally agreed that he would say, “Her mother and I” as originally planned. Laura quickly extinguished the thought that those words would have a whole different meaning now.
The next morning dawned bright and clear, and everyone rose early. It was Kelly’s wedding day! Kelly and Laura had planned to go finish decorating the reception hall. After the second time Kelly asked Laura when she thought Marilee would be arriving, Laura suggested Kelly wait at home, in case her mother arrived early. Laura could finish the decorating by herself.
“If you’re sure, Mom ...” Kelly looked up and smiled. “Hey, I just thought — you won’t mind if I call you Laura while Mom’s here, will you? I can’t very well call her Marilee!”
Laura smiled, smoothing the hair back from Kelly’s face. “That would be kind of strange, wouldn’t it? I’ll see you this afternoon.”
There was more to do at the hall than Laura had imagined, even (or especially!) with the help of seven-year-old Melissa and five-year-old Nicole. Not for the first time, Laura wished they could have afforded to have professional caterers handle the reception instead of doing it themselves. They didn’t get home until 2:00, and Marilee was already there. Laura felt herself steeling up for the encounter and forced herself to relax.
“Hi, we’re home!” the girls called as they rushed into the house. They stopped short when they saw the unfamiliar woman sitting on the couch with Kelly. Laura stepped past them, smiling.
“Hi, Marilee. We’re so glad you could come.”
Marilee rose gracefully, and Laura was struck by the differences between them. Marilee was lithe and tan, her sun-bleached hair pulled back in a pony tail. Her face was artfully made up to appear natural, and the few wrinkles that could be spotted actually looked like laugh lines. She was as pretty as Laura remembered, and suddenly Laura was unhappily conscious of her own shortcomings. Her hair hung down around her face in strands, damp from humidity and hard work. She hardly ever wore make-up but now wished she’d at least put on some mascara. Her clothes, a pair of well-worn jeans and an old tee shirt of Paul’s, were covered with dust and nearly dripping with perspiration. Marilee, she noticed, wore a brightly colored sundress that looked as crisp as if she had just put it on.
“I was just telling Mom all the details about tonight. You know, where she’ll sit and all that. I can’t wait for her to meet David.” Turning back to Marilee, Kelly gushed, “Oh, Mom, he’s so wonderful! Sometimes I wonder what he sees in me!”
Marilee smiled, glancing at Laura. “Why, Kelly dear, you’re a beautiful girl. You come from good stock, you know. You have my mama’s eyes.”
Laura turned toward the kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink, Marilee?
“No, thank you. I know you must have tons to do to get ready, so Kelly and I decided I should take her on over to David’s. It’s so clever of you all to have an garden wedding.”
Laura turned to Kelly. “I thought we were all going over together, a little later?”
“Oh, well, we were, mo....Laura.” Kelly said. “It’s just ... well, I thought I’d get there a little early and show Mom my dress, introduce her around, and all that.”
“Oh, well, yes, I guess that’s a good idea. You run along. I still have a couple of last-minute things to do in the kitchen for the reception.”
“Oh, maybe Mom and I can help you...”
“Kelly, dear, I’m atrocious in the kitchen! I’m sure your step-mama is much better at that sort of thing. Let’s just run on along and get out of her hair, shall we? I’m just dying to meet all your new family!” Marilee smiled sweetly at Laura and pulled Kelly toward the door.
“Well, okay ...” Kelly said uncertainly, looking between the two women. Half way out the door, Kelly pulled away from Marilee and took a step back into the house.
“Kelly, dear, what are you doing? Let’s go!”
Kelly looked at the beautiful woman who had had so little to do with her upbringing. “Just a minute, Marilee,” she said. Turning toward the kitchen, Kelly called out, “Mom? I love you, Mom.”
It was wonderful news for Kelly, really. She’d been so disappointed when her mother had called to say she couldn’t come to the wedding. Laura’s heart had ached for her stepdaughter, whom she loved every bit as much as she did her own children. Kelly had tried to mask her disappointment, joking that two mothers at the wedding would be too confusing for a small town like Trinity anyway.
Now that had changed — Marilee had called to say she could make it, after all, and that she would be arriving sometime the next afternoon. Laura was pleased for Kelly and angry at herself for that sinking feeling she was experiencing. How could she possibly begrudge Kelly this small happiness? Out loud, she scolded herself, “Every girl should have her mother at her wedding.” Silently, her mind responded, “You’re her mother! You’re more of a mother to her than Marilee ever was!”
“No! I am her stepmother. I’ve raised her and held her and cried and laughed with her, but Marilee gave birth to her; and Marilee has every right to be at her wedding!”
“Mom? Who are you talking to?” Kelly bounced into the kitchen, kissed Laura’s cheek, and plopped onto a chair.
“Oh, just myself.” Laura answered, blushing. “Kelly, I have wonderful news. Your mother called and will be able to come tomorrow after all — she’ll be here sometime in the afternoon.”
“She’s coming?! She’s really coming?” Kelly exclaimed, jumping out of the chair. “Oh, oh Mom! She’s coming!” She danced around the kitchen.
Laura smiled at Kelly’s excitement, her jealousy evaporating. She was glad, really glad, Marilee would be there for Kelly.
That night at the rehearsal, there was some consternation about what Paul would say when asked who gave the bride away. They finally agreed that he would say, “Her mother and I” as originally planned. Laura quickly extinguished the thought that those words would have a whole different meaning now.
The next morning dawned bright and clear, and everyone rose early. It was Kelly’s wedding day! Kelly and Laura had planned to go finish decorating the reception hall. After the second time Kelly asked Laura when she thought Marilee would be arriving, Laura suggested Kelly wait at home, in case her mother arrived early. Laura could finish the decorating by herself.
“If you’re sure, Mom ...” Kelly looked up and smiled. “Hey, I just thought — you won’t mind if I call you Laura while Mom’s here, will you? I can’t very well call her Marilee!”
Laura smiled, smoothing the hair back from Kelly’s face. “That would be kind of strange, wouldn’t it? I’ll see you this afternoon.”
There was more to do at the hall than Laura had imagined, even (or especially!) with the help of seven-year-old Melissa and five-year-old Nicole. Not for the first time, Laura wished they could have afforded to have professional caterers handle the reception instead of doing it themselves. They didn’t get home until 2:00, and Marilee was already there. Laura felt herself steeling up for the encounter and forced herself to relax.
“Hi, we’re home!” the girls called as they rushed into the house. They stopped short when they saw the unfamiliar woman sitting on the couch with Kelly. Laura stepped past them, smiling.
“Hi, Marilee. We’re so glad you could come.”
Marilee rose gracefully, and Laura was struck by the differences between them. Marilee was lithe and tan, her sun-bleached hair pulled back in a pony tail. Her face was artfully made up to appear natural, and the few wrinkles that could be spotted actually looked like laugh lines. She was as pretty as Laura remembered, and suddenly Laura was unhappily conscious of her own shortcomings. Her hair hung down around her face in strands, damp from humidity and hard work. She hardly ever wore make-up but now wished she’d at least put on some mascara. Her clothes, a pair of well-worn jeans and an old tee shirt of Paul’s, were covered with dust and nearly dripping with perspiration. Marilee, she noticed, wore a brightly colored sundress that looked as crisp as if she had just put it on.
“I was just telling Mom all the details about tonight. You know, where she’ll sit and all that. I can’t wait for her to meet David.” Turning back to Marilee, Kelly gushed, “Oh, Mom, he’s so wonderful! Sometimes I wonder what he sees in me!”
Marilee smiled, glancing at Laura. “Why, Kelly dear, you’re a beautiful girl. You come from good stock, you know. You have my mama’s eyes.”
Laura turned toward the kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink, Marilee?
“No, thank you. I know you must have tons to do to get ready, so Kelly and I decided I should take her on over to David’s. It’s so clever of you all to have an garden wedding.”
Laura turned to Kelly. “I thought we were all going over together, a little later?”
“Oh, well, we were, mo....Laura.” Kelly said. “It’s just ... well, I thought I’d get there a little early and show Mom my dress, introduce her around, and all that.”
“Oh, well, yes, I guess that’s a good idea. You run along. I still have a couple of last-minute things to do in the kitchen for the reception.”
“Oh, maybe Mom and I can help you...”
“Kelly, dear, I’m atrocious in the kitchen! I’m sure your step-mama is much better at that sort of thing. Let’s just run on along and get out of her hair, shall we? I’m just dying to meet all your new family!” Marilee smiled sweetly at Laura and pulled Kelly toward the door.
“Well, okay ...” Kelly said uncertainly, looking between the two women. Half way out the door, Kelly pulled away from Marilee and took a step back into the house.
“Kelly, dear, what are you doing? Let’s go!”
Kelly looked at the beautiful woman who had had so little to do with her upbringing. “Just a minute, Marilee,” she said. Turning toward the kitchen, Kelly called out, “Mom? I love you, Mom.”
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
School Days
The day is finally here;
the house is quiet again.
The shrill laughter of children playing
in the hose on a hot day,
and the whines of boredom on a rainy day,
disappear.
No one is running in and out.
No one is slamming the door.
No one is complaining that they’re hunnnngrrrryyy.
There are no fights to arbitrate,
no tempers to calm,
no hurt feelings to soothe.
When lunches are packed,
and homework is found,
and children are delivered safely to their
havens of education,
When all the early-morning clutter is picked up
and the breakfast dishes done,
the house is quiet again,
and for a moment you can relax
and enjoy the silence.
You can breathe deeply and look around at
a room that stays clean for more than ten minutes.
And while there are always so many things to do
and chores and errands to run
and preparations to be made,
maybe just for now, for this short moment,
maybe you can soak in a bath without anyone walking in,
or maybe you can read a chapter in that book that
collected dust all summer,
or maybe you can sit at the counter with a cup of coffee,
sit and look out the window for just this moment,
watch the squirrels and blue jays
and listen to the sounds of ...
quiet.
And when they come trooping home again
in the afternoon,
and lunch pails get piled on the counter
and backpacks dropped on the floor,
when papers fly everywhere, and you need to
see this and sign that and LOOK AT THIS!!!!!!!!
When everyone is clamoring for your attention
and pulling on your sleeve
and looking at you with eyes shining with excitement,
and the pitch of their voices climbs higher and higher
as they all talk at once and try to be heard
over one another,
you can think back on that moment,
that brief, brief moment of quiet.
And you’ll be glad you had it,
but you’ll also be glad it’s over, and
the sweet, clear voices of your children
fill the house once again.
the house is quiet again.
The shrill laughter of children playing
in the hose on a hot day,
and the whines of boredom on a rainy day,
disappear.
No one is running in and out.
No one is slamming the door.
No one is complaining that they’re hunnnngrrrryyy.
There are no fights to arbitrate,
no tempers to calm,
no hurt feelings to soothe.
When lunches are packed,
and homework is found,
and children are delivered safely to their
havens of education,
When all the early-morning clutter is picked up
and the breakfast dishes done,
the house is quiet again,
and for a moment you can relax
and enjoy the silence.
You can breathe deeply and look around at
a room that stays clean for more than ten minutes.
And while there are always so many things to do
and chores and errands to run
and preparations to be made,
maybe just for now, for this short moment,
maybe you can soak in a bath without anyone walking in,
or maybe you can read a chapter in that book that
collected dust all summer,
or maybe you can sit at the counter with a cup of coffee,
sit and look out the window for just this moment,
watch the squirrels and blue jays
and listen to the sounds of ...
quiet.
And when they come trooping home again
in the afternoon,
and lunch pails get piled on the counter
and backpacks dropped on the floor,
when papers fly everywhere, and you need to
see this and sign that and LOOK AT THIS!!!!!!!!
When everyone is clamoring for your attention
and pulling on your sleeve
and looking at you with eyes shining with excitement,
and the pitch of their voices climbs higher and higher
as they all talk at once and try to be heard
over one another,
you can think back on that moment,
that brief, brief moment of quiet.
And you’ll be glad you had it,
but you’ll also be glad it’s over, and
the sweet, clear voices of your children
fill the house once again.
Stages -- Written for Tricia and Rich
Falling in Love
You meet: He’s pretty cute; she’s beautiful!
You talk: He’s interesting; she’s beautiful ... and smart!
You touch: A spark ignites.
Phone calls, long walks and talks.
The sun sparkles this spring; the flowers bloom brighter
and the birds sing sweeter.
Butterflies in the air; and in the stomach, too.
Your head cautions: Take it slow;
Your heart sings: This is it!
Is he? Is she? It could be!
He’s wonderful; she’s everything
a man could want.
Darling, I thought ...
That is, maybe ...
Oh, shoot! Would you???
Yes, oh yes! (Thank you, God!)
No one has ever loved like this before!
The Wedding
Plans and parties; giggles and teasing.
The days count down and then it's time.
The aisle stretches out endlessly; but
in a second she is by his side.
Her dress is lovely; her face is veiled
but he knows every freckle by heart anyway.
He’s so handsome in that tux (if she only knew
the hours spent tying the bow tie!)
Who gives this woman? Her mother and I.
If there’s any reason why ... let him speak now or ... forever ...
Their hearts stand still
but of course no one speaks.
I will love, honor, and cherish ...
I will love, honor, and obey ...
In sickness and in health
For richer or poorer
Till death do us part.
I do.
I do.
We did!
I now pronounce you ....
No one has ever loved like this before!
Marriage.
The honeymoon was lovely, and housekeeping begins.
Romantic dinners; flowers and kisses.
It’s not quite a game, but not quite real, either.
For a while.
Then babies come; not one, but two!
One or the other always hungry;
this one needs changing, that one needs feeding.
And this little one...this precious child
whose heart tries so hard to be healthy
but can’t.
Doctors, hospitals, surgery! So tiny and helpless;
Tears, sometimes silent, sometimes wracking
but tears and fears and oh! so many prayers.
Clinging together and praying.
And then ... she’s home! And though the years will
prove to be hard, with check ups and
worries, fevers and frights,
She’s home and God is good, oh He is so good to us!
The children grow, the family grows, the love grows.
School and church, clubs and groups and friends.
Birthday parties to give and to attend.
Mom, can you take me....
Mom, can you make me....
Mom, I don’t understand this math!
Dad works and is gone; mom works and is home.
She prays for his safety; he prays for her sanity!
So the years go, each busier than the last
and yet where have they gone?
How can these boys be thinking about cars?
How can these girls be getting so big?
And even the baby rolls his eyes
when he’s called “the baby.”
So much has happened over these last many years
Married forever, it seems.
And yet wasn’t it yesterday he lifted her veil?
Wasn’t it yesterday she promised “forever”?
The time goes so quickly, and by tomorrow
there will be weddings and babies of their own
for the boys, and the girls, and the baby!
And someday, a long way off but so soon!
When the house is empty
And it’s just the two of them,
He will look at her
And she will look at him
And they will think,
No one has ever loved like this before.
You meet: He’s pretty cute; she’s beautiful!
You talk: He’s interesting; she’s beautiful ... and smart!
You touch: A spark ignites.
Phone calls, long walks and talks.
The sun sparkles this spring; the flowers bloom brighter
and the birds sing sweeter.
Butterflies in the air; and in the stomach, too.
Your head cautions: Take it slow;
Your heart sings: This is it!
Is he? Is she? It could be!
He’s wonderful; she’s everything
a man could want.
Darling, I thought ...
That is, maybe ...
Oh, shoot! Would you???
Yes, oh yes! (Thank you, God!)
No one has ever loved like this before!
The Wedding
Plans and parties; giggles and teasing.
The days count down and then it's time.
The aisle stretches out endlessly; but
in a second she is by his side.
Her dress is lovely; her face is veiled
but he knows every freckle by heart anyway.
He’s so handsome in that tux (if she only knew
the hours spent tying the bow tie!)
Who gives this woman? Her mother and I.
If there’s any reason why ... let him speak now or ... forever ...
Their hearts stand still
but of course no one speaks.
I will love, honor, and cherish ...
I will love, honor, and obey ...
In sickness and in health
For richer or poorer
Till death do us part.
I do.
I do.
We did!
I now pronounce you ....
No one has ever loved like this before!
Marriage.
The honeymoon was lovely, and housekeeping begins.
Romantic dinners; flowers and kisses.
It’s not quite a game, but not quite real, either.
For a while.
Then babies come; not one, but two!
One or the other always hungry;
this one needs changing, that one needs feeding.
And this little one...this precious child
whose heart tries so hard to be healthy
but can’t.
Doctors, hospitals, surgery! So tiny and helpless;
Tears, sometimes silent, sometimes wracking
but tears and fears and oh! so many prayers.
Clinging together and praying.
And then ... she’s home! And though the years will
prove to be hard, with check ups and
worries, fevers and frights,
She’s home and God is good, oh He is so good to us!
The children grow, the family grows, the love grows.
School and church, clubs and groups and friends.
Birthday parties to give and to attend.
Mom, can you take me....
Mom, can you make me....
Mom, I don’t understand this math!
Dad works and is gone; mom works and is home.
She prays for his safety; he prays for her sanity!
So the years go, each busier than the last
and yet where have they gone?
How can these boys be thinking about cars?
How can these girls be getting so big?
And even the baby rolls his eyes
when he’s called “the baby.”
So much has happened over these last many years
Married forever, it seems.
And yet wasn’t it yesterday he lifted her veil?
Wasn’t it yesterday she promised “forever”?
The time goes so quickly, and by tomorrow
there will be weddings and babies of their own
for the boys, and the girls, and the baby!
And someday, a long way off but so soon!
When the house is empty
And it’s just the two of them,
He will look at her
And she will look at him
And they will think,
No one has ever loved like this before.
The Runaways
The day we decided to run away, we had suffered a terrible injustice at the hands of our evil and wicked housekeeper/babysitter, Hattie (nowadays I suppose she would be a “domestic engineer/care provider,” but back then she was just a plain old housekeeper/babysitter). We only used the term “evil and wicked” on those days when some terrible injustice had been suffered; normally she was “our pal Hattie.” Unlike many children, my sister and I did not run away at every little excuse; indeed, this was the first time we seriously contemplated the possibility (I say seriously because, of course, we had contemplated it many times and even had a plan, which will unfold below).
We had been scolded and sent to our room for some crime, which I recall had to do with sneaking food — well, candy actually — that we weren’t supposed to have. In any event, we felt terribly abused and indignant and thus decided the time had come to put our plan into action.
Robin was somewhere around nine, so that would have made me about seven. We were therefore highly sophisticated and did not want to leave anyone with the misconception that we were whiny, pouty little babies who didn’t like being told “no.” A carefully worded good-bye note to our soon-to-be-bereaved parents ought to do the trick. As best I can remember, the gist of the note was that we were so terribly sorry to have put Hattie to the trouble of disciplining us for having a little snack, which we took only to stave off the pains of starvation until dinner time; and we certainly didn’t want to be the cause of any unhappiness to dear Hattie, who of course was allowed to have a snack any time she wanted; and since it was so obvious to us that our parents couldn’t really afford to keep us since we weren’t even allowed one little piece of candy, we felt it was in everyone’s best interest to leave our “warm little home” (we got that from Little Women) and strike out on our own, no longer being a burden to anyone.
Propping the note on our dresser, we packed our things in our Barbie Wardrobe cases. I left Barbie behind so that there would be room for my rubber band gun, my white plastic sunglasses with the “diamonds” in the corners, a note pad and two pencils, and six pieces of Bazooka bubble gum (unwrapped because I always unwrapped them to get to the comics). Robin, of course, took her Barbie and all Barbie’s clothes and didn’t have room even for one other thing. (I told her not to be thinking she was going to get any of my Bazooka bubble gum.)
Bags in hand, we sneaked down the stairs and out the front door ever so quietly. Hattie must have been in the kitchen because there was a delicious aroma coming from that direction which gave us pause for just a moment; then, resolutely, we turned our backs on temptation and marched off down the street.
Our plan was this: We would go down Riverside Drive to the bridge and cross over the river to the park. Then we would have to go all the way back across the park, clear to the other side, which was quite a long way (especially when you were seven). At the other end of the park was the Museum of Natural History, where our Aunt Ginnie worked as an archeologist. (She was only there when she wasn’t out “playing in the dirt” as she called it. We thought it must be a wonderful job to get paid for digging around in the dirt.) We often went to the museum, whether or not Aunt Ginnie was there, because it was the most wonderful place in the world. There were about a thousand rooms to explore (or maybe not quite that many).
One room had all kinds of animals — real, live animals! — and you could sometimes pet them. (Once my sister and I saved some baby bunnies from certain death and took them to the museum, where they were cared for....but that’s another story altogether.) In one room there were a bunch of old bones and pieces of clay pots, and on the wall was a mural showing cavemen and cavewomen and cavechildren, and scary-looking animals. There was even a dinosaur skeleton, which you think would be scary but really it was just big. One thing we always wanted to do was climb on top of that old dinosaur and slide down its big, long tail.
There was a planetarium where you could sit in the dark and look at stars right in the middle of the day! And there was a booth, too, where you could put in some money — a nickel or a dime — and a little bird food would drop into a cup. As soon as that food dropped down, a chicken would pull a string that rang a bell, and the food would drop again to where the chicken could eat it! It was the world’s smartest chicken. And there was a room that had a whole bunch of plain old rocks and stuff sitting around, and it didn’t look at all interesting until you flipped a switch, and the light went out and a magic purple light came on, and all of a sudden the rocks sparkled and were all different colors, and you could see things that you never could see with the regular light on! Plus it made your shirt glow.
But the best room of all was the mummy room. It wasn’t really just a mummy room; there were all kinds of things — Aunt Ginnie called them ‘artifacts’ — from mysterious places far away. But the best thing, the only thing we really cared about, was The Mummy.
It was a real mummy from Egypt, which was on the whole other side of the world. The Mummy was lying on a table under glass, and next to it stood the esophagus (which my brother named it and which we persisted in calling it, no matter how many times Aunt Ginnie said, “Sarcophagus, children, sarcophagus.”). The ‘esophagus’ was interesting, too, with all kinds of weird pictures on it, but it was really The Mummy that held our attention. Every time we visited the museum, we made up elaborate stories about The Mummy. Our favorite was that he was a great and powerful king who wasn’t really dead but captured by evil magicians and mummified so that the usurpers could steal his throne. If we could but release him from the glass cage and unwrap him, he would come back to life and bestow upon us immeasurable treasures (and candy).
Anyway, back to The Plan. We would go to the museum and, just before closing time, hide ourselves away somewhere (I thought we should hide in the esophagus next to the King, but Robin was just a little reluctant to be in the Mummy room with all the lights off). Then, after the museum was closed and we were alone, we could come out of hiding and explore. We figured we could live there pretty much forever; we would be regular tourists during the day, hide at closing time, and have the place to ourselves all night long!
Food wasn’t a problem, either, because they had a soda machine and candy machines there. The only problem was, we only had about thirteen cents between us, and Robin was pretty sure that wasn’t enough. What to do? As we walked down Riverside Drive that day, we spotted the gas station at the corner by the bridge. Of course! We would get a job there and earn some money, and then we could buy candy and soda at the museum. If we ran out of money, we could always go back and work during the day and then be back at the museum before closing time!
Boldly we approached the man who was working on a car. The car was up in the air, and the man was actually standing under it. I walked right up to him under the car while Robin, being older and maybe a little wiser, stayed back where she couldn’t get hurt if the car happened to slip off that pole that was holding it up.
I explained to the man that we were running away (Robin looked like she would have kicked me when I said that, except that she would have had to get under the car to reach me) and that we needed a job to earn some money for food. He looked at me and then at Robin, and then back at me, with a very serious look in his eye (although he must have had a nervous tick, because his mouth wouldn’t quit twitching). He was sorry, he said, but he didn’t have any work for us to do. However, he could offer us a deal.
He said that he thought we shouldn’t run away, because our parents would be very unhappy (with that, Robin and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes — that was, after all, the whole point of our running away in the first place). He said that if we would go home, he would give us a surprise. Of course we had no intention of going home now that we had started on our great adventure, but we were curious about the surprise, so we asked what it was.
The man went into an office and came out with a whole row of suckers, the kind where the wrappers are all connected in a big, long chain. They were green suckers, and there must have been a hundred of them! Well, maybe more like twenty. But anyhow, enough suckers to last us for probably three or four years.
I looked at Robin, and she at me. Hmmm. We would have to have a lot of money to buy that many suckers. Plus there wasn’t anywhere else to look for work between the bridge and the museum. The museum would be there forever, so if we took the suckers and went home, and then another time decided we must again leave, we could always put The Plan into action. After carefully considering all the pros and cons of the deal for nearly a full minute, Robin took the suckers and thanked the man kindly, and we turned around and headed back up Riverside Drive toward home, Barbie wardrobe cases held tightly in one hand and each holding one end of the sucker chain in the other.
We both probably ate two or three suckers between the bridge and our street and were feeling quite pleased with ourselves as we approached the house. Catching a glimpse of Hattie shaking a rug out off the side porch brought us up short. There were a few things we had to consider.
Since Hattie was nonchalantly shaking out a rug, we deduced that she hadn’t yet discovered our note of farewell, which was a good thing, since we weren’t leaving after all. We had to sneak back into the house (if she hadn’t found the note, she probably hadn’t been up to our room yet and didn’t know we had sneaked out) and destroy that note.
However, since we weren’t supposed to have candy (which had got us into this situation in the first place) until after supper, we couldn’t very well traipse into the house with a whole string of suckers trailing behind. If we got caught on the way to our room, it would most certainly result in the loss of our bounty. Therefore, before sneaking back into the house, we would have to find a suitable hiding place for the suckers. None of our usual places would do, because our brother Donnie knew all of them, and our suckers wouldn’t be safe. We were definitely not going to share them with him. No, it had to be somewhere nobody would think to look for anything.
We crept up to the hedge in front of the front porch and crawled into “The Hedge Hole” — the space between the hedge and the porch where we couldn’t be seen from anywhere and where we had, in the past, devised some of our best schemes — and set about coming up with the perfect hiding place. I thought we should climb up the maple tree and tie the suckers to a high branch, but Robin reminded me that Abby Thornton was always climbing trees and might find our suckers, and knowing Abby, she’d eat them all before she came back down. Robin then thought we could climb on top of the garage and hide them in the rain gutter, but I suggested that if it rained they would be washed away and we’d never find them. We were stumped. Sitting with our chins in our hands, staring out through the hedge, we absently watched a squirrel running back and forth across the yard, collecting whatever it is that squirrels collect and taking his plunder back to his nest in the tree out front.
The tree out front! The tree with the squirrel hole just far enough up where Robin could reach on her toes and I could almost reach if I jumped. Why couldn’t we put our suckers in the squirrel hole? The squirrel wouldn’t mind because he put all kinds of weird stuff in there — pieces of paper, leaves, acorns, buckeyes... No, it was perfect. No one, but no one, would look for our suckers in the squirrel hole, not even Abby. And the squirrel wouldn’t eat them, because they were, after all, wrapped up in plastic.
Since Robin could reach and I couldn’t, I stood look out for her as she ran to the tree and stuffed our precious suckers into the hole. The squirrel was on a branch over her head scolding her the whole time, which made me very nervous — I didn’t want Hattie to come out to see what was wrong with that stupid animal.
After she had safely tucked our suckers away, Robin and I crept along the side of the house until we were under the kitchen window. Just as we figured, Hattie was in the kitchen humming a song and fixing dinner so it would be ready when our folks got home from work. We knew she’d be in there for a good long time, so we ran back to the front of the house and in the front door, careful to not let the screen bang. The front door was right there by the staircase, so it wasn’t any problem slipping up the steps to the safety of our room -- deftly stepping from the third step to the fifth in order to avoid the squeaky fourth step.
The note we left was still propped right where we left it, so we hid it in the closet (thinking we could use the same note if we ever ran away again because it was, in our opinion, a work of art). When Hattie came to tell us we could come down, we were sitting on our beds with our hands in our laps, like angels (Hattie looked at us very suspiciously since we weren’t known to be angels very often).
You might think that we lived happily ever after with our almost-lifetime supply of suckers and that was the end of the story. Sadly, it wasn’t so.
When our parents came home that night, they had a surprise for us — we were all going to the Cincinnati Zoo the following day, which was Saturday. The Cincinnati Zoo was a wonderful place, almost as interesting as the Museum of Natural History, and we were very excited. When we returned home late Saturday night, we fell into bed exhausted, and on Sunday we spent the day telling Abby Thornton all about the zoo and making her jealous. Monday came and we went to school; the rest of the week followed, and by the next weekend Robin and I had forgotten all about our suckers. I don’t know how many weeks passed before we remembered, but when we did and Robin went to fetch them, there was nothing left but a bunch of plastic and some sticks that were pretty chewed up. That’s when we figured out that squirrels could chew right through plastic.
We had been scolded and sent to our room for some crime, which I recall had to do with sneaking food — well, candy actually — that we weren’t supposed to have. In any event, we felt terribly abused and indignant and thus decided the time had come to put our plan into action.
Robin was somewhere around nine, so that would have made me about seven. We were therefore highly sophisticated and did not want to leave anyone with the misconception that we were whiny, pouty little babies who didn’t like being told “no.” A carefully worded good-bye note to our soon-to-be-bereaved parents ought to do the trick. As best I can remember, the gist of the note was that we were so terribly sorry to have put Hattie to the trouble of disciplining us for having a little snack, which we took only to stave off the pains of starvation until dinner time; and we certainly didn’t want to be the cause of any unhappiness to dear Hattie, who of course was allowed to have a snack any time she wanted; and since it was so obvious to us that our parents couldn’t really afford to keep us since we weren’t even allowed one little piece of candy, we felt it was in everyone’s best interest to leave our “warm little home” (we got that from Little Women) and strike out on our own, no longer being a burden to anyone.
Propping the note on our dresser, we packed our things in our Barbie Wardrobe cases. I left Barbie behind so that there would be room for my rubber band gun, my white plastic sunglasses with the “diamonds” in the corners, a note pad and two pencils, and six pieces of Bazooka bubble gum (unwrapped because I always unwrapped them to get to the comics). Robin, of course, took her Barbie and all Barbie’s clothes and didn’t have room even for one other thing. (I told her not to be thinking she was going to get any of my Bazooka bubble gum.)
Bags in hand, we sneaked down the stairs and out the front door ever so quietly. Hattie must have been in the kitchen because there was a delicious aroma coming from that direction which gave us pause for just a moment; then, resolutely, we turned our backs on temptation and marched off down the street.
Our plan was this: We would go down Riverside Drive to the bridge and cross over the river to the park. Then we would have to go all the way back across the park, clear to the other side, which was quite a long way (especially when you were seven). At the other end of the park was the Museum of Natural History, where our Aunt Ginnie worked as an archeologist. (She was only there when she wasn’t out “playing in the dirt” as she called it. We thought it must be a wonderful job to get paid for digging around in the dirt.) We often went to the museum, whether or not Aunt Ginnie was there, because it was the most wonderful place in the world. There were about a thousand rooms to explore (or maybe not quite that many).
One room had all kinds of animals — real, live animals! — and you could sometimes pet them. (Once my sister and I saved some baby bunnies from certain death and took them to the museum, where they were cared for....but that’s another story altogether.) In one room there were a bunch of old bones and pieces of clay pots, and on the wall was a mural showing cavemen and cavewomen and cavechildren, and scary-looking animals. There was even a dinosaur skeleton, which you think would be scary but really it was just big. One thing we always wanted to do was climb on top of that old dinosaur and slide down its big, long tail.
There was a planetarium where you could sit in the dark and look at stars right in the middle of the day! And there was a booth, too, where you could put in some money — a nickel or a dime — and a little bird food would drop into a cup. As soon as that food dropped down, a chicken would pull a string that rang a bell, and the food would drop again to where the chicken could eat it! It was the world’s smartest chicken. And there was a room that had a whole bunch of plain old rocks and stuff sitting around, and it didn’t look at all interesting until you flipped a switch, and the light went out and a magic purple light came on, and all of a sudden the rocks sparkled and were all different colors, and you could see things that you never could see with the regular light on! Plus it made your shirt glow.
But the best room of all was the mummy room. It wasn’t really just a mummy room; there were all kinds of things — Aunt Ginnie called them ‘artifacts’ — from mysterious places far away. But the best thing, the only thing we really cared about, was The Mummy.
It was a real mummy from Egypt, which was on the whole other side of the world. The Mummy was lying on a table under glass, and next to it stood the esophagus (which my brother named it and which we persisted in calling it, no matter how many times Aunt Ginnie said, “Sarcophagus, children, sarcophagus.”). The ‘esophagus’ was interesting, too, with all kinds of weird pictures on it, but it was really The Mummy that held our attention. Every time we visited the museum, we made up elaborate stories about The Mummy. Our favorite was that he was a great and powerful king who wasn’t really dead but captured by evil magicians and mummified so that the usurpers could steal his throne. If we could but release him from the glass cage and unwrap him, he would come back to life and bestow upon us immeasurable treasures (and candy).
Anyway, back to The Plan. We would go to the museum and, just before closing time, hide ourselves away somewhere (I thought we should hide in the esophagus next to the King, but Robin was just a little reluctant to be in the Mummy room with all the lights off). Then, after the museum was closed and we were alone, we could come out of hiding and explore. We figured we could live there pretty much forever; we would be regular tourists during the day, hide at closing time, and have the place to ourselves all night long!
Food wasn’t a problem, either, because they had a soda machine and candy machines there. The only problem was, we only had about thirteen cents between us, and Robin was pretty sure that wasn’t enough. What to do? As we walked down Riverside Drive that day, we spotted the gas station at the corner by the bridge. Of course! We would get a job there and earn some money, and then we could buy candy and soda at the museum. If we ran out of money, we could always go back and work during the day and then be back at the museum before closing time!
Boldly we approached the man who was working on a car. The car was up in the air, and the man was actually standing under it. I walked right up to him under the car while Robin, being older and maybe a little wiser, stayed back where she couldn’t get hurt if the car happened to slip off that pole that was holding it up.
I explained to the man that we were running away (Robin looked like she would have kicked me when I said that, except that she would have had to get under the car to reach me) and that we needed a job to earn some money for food. He looked at me and then at Robin, and then back at me, with a very serious look in his eye (although he must have had a nervous tick, because his mouth wouldn’t quit twitching). He was sorry, he said, but he didn’t have any work for us to do. However, he could offer us a deal.
He said that he thought we shouldn’t run away, because our parents would be very unhappy (with that, Robin and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes — that was, after all, the whole point of our running away in the first place). He said that if we would go home, he would give us a surprise. Of course we had no intention of going home now that we had started on our great adventure, but we were curious about the surprise, so we asked what it was.
The man went into an office and came out with a whole row of suckers, the kind where the wrappers are all connected in a big, long chain. They were green suckers, and there must have been a hundred of them! Well, maybe more like twenty. But anyhow, enough suckers to last us for probably three or four years.
I looked at Robin, and she at me. Hmmm. We would have to have a lot of money to buy that many suckers. Plus there wasn’t anywhere else to look for work between the bridge and the museum. The museum would be there forever, so if we took the suckers and went home, and then another time decided we must again leave, we could always put The Plan into action. After carefully considering all the pros and cons of the deal for nearly a full minute, Robin took the suckers and thanked the man kindly, and we turned around and headed back up Riverside Drive toward home, Barbie wardrobe cases held tightly in one hand and each holding one end of the sucker chain in the other.
We both probably ate two or three suckers between the bridge and our street and were feeling quite pleased with ourselves as we approached the house. Catching a glimpse of Hattie shaking a rug out off the side porch brought us up short. There were a few things we had to consider.
Since Hattie was nonchalantly shaking out a rug, we deduced that she hadn’t yet discovered our note of farewell, which was a good thing, since we weren’t leaving after all. We had to sneak back into the house (if she hadn’t found the note, she probably hadn’t been up to our room yet and didn’t know we had sneaked out) and destroy that note.
However, since we weren’t supposed to have candy (which had got us into this situation in the first place) until after supper, we couldn’t very well traipse into the house with a whole string of suckers trailing behind. If we got caught on the way to our room, it would most certainly result in the loss of our bounty. Therefore, before sneaking back into the house, we would have to find a suitable hiding place for the suckers. None of our usual places would do, because our brother Donnie knew all of them, and our suckers wouldn’t be safe. We were definitely not going to share them with him. No, it had to be somewhere nobody would think to look for anything.
We crept up to the hedge in front of the front porch and crawled into “The Hedge Hole” — the space between the hedge and the porch where we couldn’t be seen from anywhere and where we had, in the past, devised some of our best schemes — and set about coming up with the perfect hiding place. I thought we should climb up the maple tree and tie the suckers to a high branch, but Robin reminded me that Abby Thornton was always climbing trees and might find our suckers, and knowing Abby, she’d eat them all before she came back down. Robin then thought we could climb on top of the garage and hide them in the rain gutter, but I suggested that if it rained they would be washed away and we’d never find them. We were stumped. Sitting with our chins in our hands, staring out through the hedge, we absently watched a squirrel running back and forth across the yard, collecting whatever it is that squirrels collect and taking his plunder back to his nest in the tree out front.
The tree out front! The tree with the squirrel hole just far enough up where Robin could reach on her toes and I could almost reach if I jumped. Why couldn’t we put our suckers in the squirrel hole? The squirrel wouldn’t mind because he put all kinds of weird stuff in there — pieces of paper, leaves, acorns, buckeyes... No, it was perfect. No one, but no one, would look for our suckers in the squirrel hole, not even Abby. And the squirrel wouldn’t eat them, because they were, after all, wrapped up in plastic.
Since Robin could reach and I couldn’t, I stood look out for her as she ran to the tree and stuffed our precious suckers into the hole. The squirrel was on a branch over her head scolding her the whole time, which made me very nervous — I didn’t want Hattie to come out to see what was wrong with that stupid animal.
After she had safely tucked our suckers away, Robin and I crept along the side of the house until we were under the kitchen window. Just as we figured, Hattie was in the kitchen humming a song and fixing dinner so it would be ready when our folks got home from work. We knew she’d be in there for a good long time, so we ran back to the front of the house and in the front door, careful to not let the screen bang. The front door was right there by the staircase, so it wasn’t any problem slipping up the steps to the safety of our room -- deftly stepping from the third step to the fifth in order to avoid the squeaky fourth step.
The note we left was still propped right where we left it, so we hid it in the closet (thinking we could use the same note if we ever ran away again because it was, in our opinion, a work of art). When Hattie came to tell us we could come down, we were sitting on our beds with our hands in our laps, like angels (Hattie looked at us very suspiciously since we weren’t known to be angels very often).
You might think that we lived happily ever after with our almost-lifetime supply of suckers and that was the end of the story. Sadly, it wasn’t so.
When our parents came home that night, they had a surprise for us — we were all going to the Cincinnati Zoo the following day, which was Saturday. The Cincinnati Zoo was a wonderful place, almost as interesting as the Museum of Natural History, and we were very excited. When we returned home late Saturday night, we fell into bed exhausted, and on Sunday we spent the day telling Abby Thornton all about the zoo and making her jealous. Monday came and we went to school; the rest of the week followed, and by the next weekend Robin and I had forgotten all about our suckers. I don’t know how many weeks passed before we remembered, but when we did and Robin went to fetch them, there was nothing left but a bunch of plastic and some sticks that were pretty chewed up. That’s when we figured out that squirrels could chew right through plastic.
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