(Photo: My sister Kathleen on left and me, Maryanne, 1978)
With my sister's prompting my father found me. I had not seen my father since the night he wrecked my mom's big green Pontiac, Sky Chief. Of course, most likely there were several days between the night Sky Chief died and the day of my parents split up. The night my father wrecked our car was my last memory of my father's arms and face, until seeing him again at Mable's. When my father pulled up into Mable's dirt driveway I became openly giggly and very happy that my dad was rescuing me from Mable. After a huge hug and squeeze from my dad, I threw my first blatantly nasty "I hate you" look at Mable as I ran to the room I slept in to collect my belongings. I did not have much to pack. I grabbed and bagged a few pieces of clothing, which included a pair of brown shoes, a couple pair of under ware, a pair of socks (I don't recall wearing socks much as a child) two sundresses, a pair of shorts and a little shirt and maybe a tad more I really can't recall. I do recall that what I grabbed fit perfectly crumpled up into one paper bag and of course I had on my flip flops and some pants and a blouse. The one thing I did not want to leave behind and that did not fit into my bag was my Chatty Cathy doll that my mom sent me for Christmas. My toy doll had beautiful blond hair and on our first day together I learned that piles of sand in an Alabama yard such as Mable's were not the best choice to sit on and play for they are created by Fire Ants. I literally felt what "ants in my pants" was and it was not fun. Fire Ants are called Fire Ants for a reason; their bite burns like fire. Of course Chatty Cathy talked, but that is not why I loved her. I loved that funny doll so much because "she" was my friend along with my real friend Peanut. No matter how much Mable yelled, or struck out at me with her long clawed hands, or slapped me with a belt or wooden spoon, or ignored me and made me go without eating, Chatty was always nice to me. Peanut too. Peanut my friend was never mean and Chatty and Peanut made living with witchy Mable tolerable. I could talk to Chatty and Peanut and both knew how to keep a secret, especially dark secrets.
(Chatty Cathy 1961 vintage Google Images)
I could feel the slipping away of daytime even through the thick gray skies of winter. The thickness of gray would hide the sun, stealing away most of the sun's light and denying shadows. I did not need to see the sun or shadows because my senses would whisper to me how much time I had until true nightfall. I think that perhaps when you grow with the weeds outside the way I did, you can feel the earth and the sky just like a weed does. I was a weed in the sense of learning to be adaptive to my life's ever changing landscapes and I was developing a tenacious spirit with a strong will to survive. My weedy nature's tenacity and adaptability proved valuable as my years piled up behind me. My sweetest years were over by the time I was 5ish having witnessed the KKK burning a cross that opened the passageway to the reality of the ugly side of the human beast. I began to see that it was not just my parents who could not get along. I was learning people, in general, were not nice. My day began in a hostile place where the word love was never spoken and now, as the grayness of the skies spoke of late afternoon I found myself with my father and also my sister Kathleen and her husband plus another man who was called "pilot" and we were going somewhere far away from Alabama.
(image google images)
I was overjoyed by and overcome by the fact I was with family again. We all stood along side a small airplane that was red and white and the plane had a propeller. I was not a stranger to airplanes being a seasoned military brat so when I was told to jump in I eagerly let my father lift me high into the air and crawled aboard the four seat-er plane. Four seats. There were five of us. The pilot took his seat and my father sat beside as co-pilot. My sister and her husband sat behind the pilots in the only two other seats in the plane. I was put in the back with the luggage. Chatty too, rode in the back of the little plane with me. I curled up atop some suitcases loose like a piece of parcel and Chatty had to stand with her legs pinned by some luggage and she was looking right me. Her face is burned into my memory cells.
Chatty Cathy's face is burned into my head because of what happened in the middle of the night in that little plane that was our ride to Lubbock Texas. I was born fearless. I think many children are. Children are taught fear and the ugly things of life through experience. This night the little red and white airplane taught me a little bit more about fear. The night's skies were dark except for occasional lightening flashes. I remember my sister asking a bunch of questions that made no sense and her husband telling her to shush. I was fascinated by the temperament of the night skies outside the plane and ignored the voices in the cabin. The plane started to make funny noises and then those noises would stop - leaving a big gap of silence that silenced the grown-up passengers too. I put out my feelers and knew that something was wrong and my weedy senses made me feel tight inside as fear grabbed up my legs. Fear spewed all over the cabin from the adults as they began raising their voices. Lightening flash. Chatty Cathy's face would light up and I would see her staring at me coldly in the suffocating silence that would last for a second in eternity. My sister began crying and sobbing something about her baby because at 16, she was pregnant with her fist child. My father being my father was laughing and sharing his bottle of spirits with the pilot and my brother-in-law. Once, maybe twice my father yelled asking if I was okay saying my name in his spanish/gaelic/english drunken slur. Chatty's face would flash with light and I could see the fear in my doll's face.
The plane soon was not making any sound at all and I could hear the outside come into the cabin with us. The invading darkness with lightening joined my sister's crying, my brother-in-law's squeaking, my father's laughter, and the pilot's silence broken only by his radio calls for help. I know what "Mayday Mayday" sounds like and what it feels like from a 7 year old's perspective. "Mayday Mayday please make Chatty stop staring at me and make everyone be quiet", that is what my call for help was. I wanted to be outside of the plane because it was too tight inside once the plane lost its generator. In the middle of the mayhem of chaotic voices and lightening flashes and drops and pitches I began to see a row of blue lights in the distance. We were close to an airport in Little Rock Arkansas. The pilot used the blue lights to guide our plane toward the general vicinity of an airstrip. The little red and white plane was not so gently falling from the dark skies but yet, obeying the pilot. The pilot although a bit under the influence of booze was able to put us on the ground - without breaking up. The landing was not the best but I had been in a louder landing and to me sound made the difference between horrible and terrible. I looked at Chatty and decided we would part ways because she could not rid her face of fear. Once inside the airport the adults regained their composure and rehashed the experience we just lived through. I sat unseen and listened. With the relief of not crashing, everyone's appetites engaged and we dinned on vending machine candy. I ate my first and last Cherry Mash candy bar and drank an RC Cola. The Cherry Mash candy bar was more horrible than being in a plane with no power, looking at Chatty Cathy, in a storm, in the dark of night, over Arkansas.
With the plane fixed and we were all aboard again, we finally landed in Lubbock Texas. Texas is where I became acquainted with dust storms, more unsavory characters, strange adventures, and hunger. My life in Texas began the serious peeling away of my veneer called childhood.
to be continued ...
(All stories blogged by me are my property and protected under copyright laws. No part may be used or reproduced in anyway without my permission ~ Maryanne Mesplé)
