Author Archives: Susan

STARRY, STARRY NIGHT- A MEMOIR BY SUSAN A. CULVER

I hear my mother’s voice calling me, “Susan, Susan, it’s time to come in now.” I don’t want to go home yet. I gaze up at the inky blue star-lit sky. I imagine that I’m living on one of those far away stars looking down at my younger self. I see myself standing there in the moonlight with a thousand stars above me. My whole life is ahead of me. The lightning bugs are twinkling all around me. I hear the voices of my neighborhood friends laughing at a distance. I hear my best friend calling out my name. “Susie, Susie, your mom is calling you. You better go home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Photo by Robert Culver

I close my eyes and imagine myself on that faraway star lightyears away. And when I wake up in the morning, I don’t recognize the room I’m in. It smells differently. The room is painted in a weird color that I don’t recognize. My sister’s bed isn’t on the other side of the room.

I throw my legs over the side of the bed and get up and walk over to the window. I look outside. And where there should be the Lombardi’s house there’s nothing but a barren field. I shove the window open and, in the distance, I hear the sound of bells ringing. I say out loud, “that must be the church bells ringing. But where did the Lombardi’s house go? Where is Mr. Lombardi’s police car? Wait, where is the church? I rub my eyes over and over. I convince myself I must be dreaming. This can’t be real. I creep down the steps as quietly as I can. I’m terrified of what I might find. What if my mother and my father, aren’t there? What then? Will I be alone in this strange world?

When I get down to the bottom step, I peep around the wall and look into the kitchen. I don’t see my mother. Where is she? Where’s my mother? Oh, maybe she’s at Mass? Or maybe she’s in her room getting dressed? “Mom, mom, are you down here?” I call out. She doesn’t answer me. No one does. Then I notice that the kitchen doesn’t look the same. The table is smaller and only has four chairs instead of six.

The light over the table looks like an upside-down umbrella instead of the wagon wheel my father recently put up. There is an eerie glow to the room.

The table isn’t set. My mother always sets the table before she goes to church in the morning. The coffee pot isn’t percolating. I can’t remember any day in my whole life when the coffee pot wasn’t on when I got up in the morning. My parents drink coffee all day, every day.

I slowly creep over to the front window in the kitchen. I’m afraid of what I’ll find or what I won’t find. I look across the street. I stare outside onto Fellowship Road that is right in front of our house. There’s a road there but it’s a dirt road. And I don’t see Mrs. McFarland’s house or her garden. In fact, there aren’t any houses. There are instead miles and miles of fields.

I’m beginning to feel panicky. I break out into a sweat. I yell at the top of my voice, “Mom, Dad, where are you?” No answer. In fact, my voice echoes throughout the house. The house feels empty. As if there is no one else anywhere. I frantically run from one room to the next. My mother’s room has a bed and a dresser. None of her personal things are there. Her rosary isn’t draped across her mirror. The rocking chair that she sits in every day to say the rosary isn’t there. The bedspread I crochet for her isn’t lying at the end of her bed. It’s gone.

I run over and look under the bed for it. The bedspread isn’t there either. I practically rip off my mother’s closet door in my haste to see if my mother’s clothes are in there. Only empty hangers remain. I look in my father’s small closet. It is empty, as well. Save for his favorite slippers at the back of his closet. I feel a tear run down my cheek soon, followed by countless more. Where are my father and mother, where are they? Has someone stolen my parents? I hear my voice inside my head, screaming,” I want my mother and father, bring them back, bring them back.” I’m crying hard; I can hardly catch my breath.

I finally manage to breath normally and stop crying. I run out of my parent’s bedroom to the bathroom. I can’t open the door immediately it’s stuck. I yank it as hard as I can. It slams into to me, and bangs into my forehead. I feel a knot rising up. No one is in there, and there aren’t any towels hanging on the racks. My mother’s mirror isn’t sitting on top of the toilet tank, where she always puts it. I look at myself in the mirror. I appear the same except for the tear-streaked cheeks and the knot on my forehead. I touch it gingerly. The pain is real enough.

I don’t know what to do or where to go. And then I remember the phone. I can call one of my older sisters. And they will explain it all to me. Maybe my parents are at one of their houses. I run back into the kitchen and dial my sister’s phone number. The phone rings and rings but no one answers. I call my other sister. No answer. I dial 911. No answer. I call my best friend, no answer. I drop the phone and slide down onto the floor and start sobbing in earnest.

Then I decide to go down into the basement maybe they are all hiding down there for some reason and forgot to tell me. Maybe there’s a hurricane coming and all the phone lines came down. That’s happened before. I practically fly down the steps. I yell out, “ Daddy, Mom, where are you? Are you down here?” No one answers me.

I run over to the bilco doors and push as hard as I can. They fly open and slam down on either side. I step outside into what should be my backyard. The yard I have played softball and pitched tents and played hide and seek every summer of my life.

The Willow tree is there and the benches my father built around the massive tree trunk. This is the place where I seek solace and read all the long summer days away. I wrap my arms around its massive base.

I’m so happy to see something that I love so dearly is still here. The tree that offers me a retreat.When I need to be alone and shade from the sultry and humid Summer days. As I sit there, I look around and see nothing else that is familiar. Not the parking lot of the church, no sign of the pump house in the parking lot that I had climbed up so often and then slid down nearly breaking my neck every time.

I don’t see Popular Avenue that should sit right behind the church parking lot. Nothing, just an empty dirt road with no cars, no kids on bikes riding up and down the street, no kids on roller skates. Nothing, no one just me sitting here hugging my tree.

And then I think, where are the birds? Why aren’t the birds flying in the sky and nesting in my tree? How will I go on without all the birds that I love so well? I close my eyes tightly. And wait and wait and wait.

And the next thing I’m aware of is a bright light shining in my eyes. I can see nothing else. Just the unbearably bright light that blocks out everything else. I try to close my eyes but can’t. I try to raise my arms so I can touch my eyelids and see what is holding them open so wide. I can’t. It feels like something is restraining my arms. I begin to feel panicked. I try to yell out, but nothing comes out of my mouth. I’m screaming as loud as I can inside my head. But I hear only silence. I feel a tear make its lonely way down my cheek. What fresh hell is this? Have I been abducted by aliens? Are they going to experiment on me or cut me up in little pieces?

“Doctor, doctor I think she’s waking up. She’s crying. Untie her, take the light out her eyes.”

“Susan, this is Doctor Buckley, can you hear me? Can you see me?

My throat feels dry, I try to swallow, but I can’t there’s something lodged in my throat. I try to cough. But I can’t.

“Doctor, she’s trying to cough. Can’t you remove the tubes?”

“Yes, Susan, this is going to hurt a little. Take a deep, deep breath, and I’m going to pull the tubes out of your throat.”

Tubes out of my throat. What’s happening? I take a deep breath and feel a terrible sense that something big is pulled from deep in my throat. I cough and it’s out. I begin to see something besides the blinding light. My mother, my mother’s face, is there in front of me. I feel more tears running down my face. I say in a voice that I hardly recognize, “Mom, Mommy, where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you and Daddy. There was no one in the house or outside. I called everyone on the phone, and no one answered. Where were you? Why did you leave me all alone?”

“Susan, we didn’t leave you alone. We have been here all along. Do you remember what happened at all?”

“Yes, I remember I woke up and no one was home. Our house looked all different and so did our neighborhood. I couldn’t find anyone. Not even birds, they had all disappeared.”

“Susan two days ago when you were out playing hid and seek, I called you to come in and you must have fallen and hit your head. The doctor thinks you might have had a seizure. Remember you had them before when you were in church taking Holy Communion? But don’t worry you are going to be perfectly fine. And Susan, we would never leave you alone. We will always be here for you for however long you need us. Until you are grown up.”

I look at my mother’s sweet face and at my father’s face that for once had a smile on it from ear to ear. And I started crying again, only this time it was from happiness. My father said, “Oh no, here comes the waterworks again.”

My mother said, “Oh Harry don’t be such a grouch.”

To read more, enter your email address to Subscribe to my Blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

KARMA BITES

2 Replies

I came to Florida on business but decided at the last minute to visit my mother-in-law; she’s living in a full-care nursing home. That really means you are completely out of it, and need someone to feed you, change your diapers, and wash you. It’s the last stop before you move on to whatever comes when you pass from this life.

I haven’t seen her for five years. We sent her to Florida to my brother Chuck when we weren’t longer able to take care of her. The nursing homes are less expensive in Florida. I feel tremendous guilt about sending her there. But it all got to be just too much. So off she went on her permanent vacation to the Sunlit Village Home.

Deserted Island by Hoobychubes-Pixabay

I’m bringing my mother- in- law a small dictionary, and a mask of a greyhound. She used to love crossword puzzles and bet on the greyhounds’ way back when. Needless to say, I realize soon enough she wouldn’t need any of these thoughtful gifts.

I admit I didn’t expect to find her playing Canasta, but I wasn’t prepared to see her tied into a giant high chair, with a bib around her neck either. I try having a conversation with her, but she doesn’t seem aware that I’m here. She talks, or perhaps yells, would be a better description. She screams over and over.” I want chocolate.” After about one hour of this, I pat her on her now white head, and say, “I love you, Mom. I hope you see Peter soon very soon.” Peter is her deceased husband.

That’s when I boogie out the door, never to return again. I decide to do something to lighten my mood. I see a sign that read, rent a boat, twenty dollars for half an hour. I decide to go for it. In hindsight, I should have checked the weather report, but that’s me act now think later.

Off I go rowing in the deep blue sea, I notice after about fifteen minutes, the water starts getting choppy, and the wind picks up. No prob. I can handle this. It turns out I can’t. The little boat starts a rocking, and I start upchucking my corned beef on rye with extra sauerkraut. Next thing you know, I’m way, way out, can’t see any land. I think I pass out for a while, or maybe my brain decides to take a little vacation of its own.

When I wake up, the boat is banging up against something. It turns out it’s an island. If you can call a clod of dirt, whose only inhabitant is a lone palm tree, an island. I pull the boat and myself onto the shore. And take a little look around. Takes about one minute to realize that I’m royally screwed. I think I guess this is payback for my bad karma with Mother-in-law.

I walk over to the tree, and at the very top, there’s a coconut. Using my amazing athletic ability, about one hour later, I find myself within one foot of said coconut. I start swinging one arm wildly and banging the trunk of the tree, low and behold I knock that sucker down.

That’s when I remember I’m terrified of heights. So, I stayed glued to that tree for another two hours before I gather the courage to climb down. Well, I climb halfway down, and slide the rest of the way, scraping most of the skin off my arms, and bare legs.

Once I arrive on the ground again, I take a look at my burning legs and arms, and start crying quietly, and then in earnest, reaching that level of crying known as the ugly cry. Glad no one is there to witness it, or even worse video it, and post it on YouTube.

I crack open the coconut with a nearby rock, and just like that, I have coconut milk, which I pour over raw, and burning skin. I go over to the mighty yacht and get the dictionary and tear out pages and stick them to my now oozing legs.

Just at this moment, I see a tourist boat floating by my little square foot of paradise. People are waving and taking pictures of me with their freaking cell phones. It’s at this moment that I put on the dog mask because by now, I not only feel like a dog but smell like one too.

To read more, enter your email address to Subscribe to my Blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

THE PURSE

2 Replies

I pull into the only remaining parking spot at Shop Rite food store in Glassboro. I can’t believe how crowded it is. And then I remember today is the day that the Gloucester County bus transports the senior citizens to the food store. It’s not that I dislike older people, I ‘m no spring chicken myself.

However, some seniors perceive food shopping as a social event. They gather in groups in the middle of the aisle and gossip about one another. And they have debates about which is better frozen food or canned.

Shopping Cart- Google Image

I, on the other hand, detest food shopping. I want to get in and get out. After thirty years of food shopping, it holds no interest for me. It’s a task I must complete every two weeks. I’m not a foodie never have been.

I open the door of my car and sigh. I’m resign myself to the fact that I’m about to squander another hour of my life doing something I don’t want to do. I lock the door on my seventeen-year-old Mitsubishi Galant and walk over the corral where the shopping carts are stored.

As I get closer to the carts, I notice that there’s something in the first cart where mothers put their little kids. And low and behold, someone has left a large purse.

I look around to see if anyone is getting into their cars who might have left it there. Unfortunately, I don’t see anyone getting in or getting out of their cars. I pick up the purse and contemplate what I should do. Should I take it into the food store and leave it with customer service? Should I leave it in the cart in case the owner returns for it? No, someone will probably grab the purse take the money and credit cards and throw the purse in the trash.

Then I get the brilliant idea of looking into the purse for identification, possibly a phone number or address. I find the driver’s license. The owner of the purse lives in Clayton, a town about fifteen minutes away. There’s no phone number. Common sense tells me to take the purse into the store and give it to Customer Service.

But I don’t listen to common sense. I decide I’ll drive to Clayton and return it to the owner. Who may not realize where they left their purse. I get back in my car and turn on my GPS. I decide to take another quick look into the purse. I open it up, and I find an expensive-looking watch and some unopened letters, a gun, and handcuffs. And then I see drugs. Not the kind of pills I have in my purse, aspirin, and anti-acids. But illegal drugs or what I think are probably illegal drugs.

“Holy Mackerel,” I say out loud. I realize at this point I ‘m in over my head. I decide to take the purse and its creepy contents into the store to customer service and turn it in. I feel a bead of sweat dripping slowly down from my forehead off my chin. And more sweat follows.

Just as I’m getting out of my car to turn the purse over to the customer service, I sense someone is looking at me. I look to the right and the left. And I see a woman about thirty-years-old staring at me. The purse is wide open. This woman does not look happy. In fact, she appears as if she’s going to blow a gasket. Her face is distorted by anger, rage even.

I grin at her and shrug my shoulders. I see that doesn’t help. My first reaction is, she’s going to kill me. I try to get back in my car. and lock my door. But it’s too late. She’s grabbing the outside door handle and yanks the door open.

“What the hell are you doing with my purse?” She says.

“Oh look, I’m sorry I found it in one of the carts. I was just about to return it to you. I was looking in the purse for a phone number to call and let you know I found it. That’s all. I didn’t see anything. Here take it.”

“You didn’t see anything? Come on you’re coming with me.”
“No, here take your purse, I’m not going to tell anyone, anything. I’m not going anywhere with you. I have to go food shopping today. Look, you can check your purse. You won’t find anything missing. I have to go now.”

“You’re not going anywhere. Get in.”

“What? No, I’m not going anywhere with you. Just take the purse. Take it. I scream, “help” at the top of my lungs. It’s too late. That’s when she yanks me by the hair and pulls me over to the back of her car. Opens the trunk and shoves me in and slams the trunk closed. I bang on the trunk and kick it with my feet. And then I start screaming at the top of my lungs. But by then, she’s driving away. And nobody is going to hear me once we get on Delsea Drive, which is a really busy road all the time. I keep screaming, “help, I’m locked in the trunk.”

I begin feeling panicky. I’m sweating from my head down to the soles of my feet. It’s hot as Hades in here. I feel like I’m suffocating. I try screaming again, but only a squeak comes out of my dry throat. I keep thinking about a self-defense class I took years ago. They said, “whatever you do, don’t let anyone take you to a second location.” Or maybe I heard it, Oprah.

And that is when I start to lose it, hyperventilating, feeling like I was going to throw up. I begin kicking the trunk of the car with all my might, try to open it, hoping that it isn’t locked. No matter how hard I kick, it doesn’t budge.

I attempt to calm down and reason. Unfortunately, I’ve never been good under pressure. I always panic. Sometimes if someone asks me my name, I just stare at them blankly. I can’t remember my name at that moment. God forbid I get pulled over by a cop for speeding on making an illegal turn. My brain stops working altogether. I had test anxiety all through school even college. And now, my life depends on me getting my shit together. For all, I know, this woman is some sort of maniac or cold-blooded murderer. This could be my last day alive. I start praying; I’m not religious. But it might be worth a shot. “Help me, god, help me. I’ll be a better person. I won’t lose my temper so easily. I’ll start recycling. I’ll never tell another lie, ever. I’ll try to be more patient. Anything you want, god, just help me get out of this trunk and away from this murderer.”

I slow down my breathing, taking deep breaths, and slowly exhaling. I calm down a bit, and then the thought crosses my mind that maybe I’ll run out of air in the trunk and suffocate. I start feeling claustrophobic. I start yelling and kicking again, “help, I’m locked in the trunk, help, help, help.”

Suddenly, my brain kicks in a last-ditch effort to save my life. I remember that newer vehicles have an emergency release on the inside of the trunk. I’m on my side. I start feeling along the inside of the hood to the middle feeling for the release. It should be a small handle that I have to grab and then pull, and the hood should pop open after about two minutes, which feels like an eternity. I find the cable and follow it to the latch. I decide to wait until the car slows.

I’m sweating like a pig at this point, exhausted from the shock and terror I’m feeling. I don’t believe I’ve ever been so frightened in my life. I decide to start counting backward from a hundred to calm myself down. I’m on thirty-four when I feel the car slow down and comes to a halt. I pray we are at a light and not at this woman’s home. I pop the hood. I hear the engine is still running, I throw my legs over the top of the trunk and then with great effort push my upper body up and out.

I’m standing on the highway. A young woman driving a car directly in front of me is texting someone on her phone and doesn’t even see me. I run over to her car and start pounding on the driver’s side window. She slowly turns her head in my direction. I’m yelling as loud as I can, “help, help, help.” Which isn’t loud because my throat is sore from yelling at the top of my voice for whatever amount of time I have been locked in the trunk. I have lost all sense of time.

She opens her window half-way down. “Please let me in, the woman in the car behind you kidnapped me. She has a gun, please, I need help, let me in. She glances at the car trunk directly behind her. The kidnapper is now aware that her unwilling passenger has escaped from the trunk. Until she see s her talking to the driver in the car in front of her.

“Please, here comes the kidnapper, please, please let me in.”

“OK, get in. You can use my phone to call the police.”

“Please lock your doors; maybe you should start beeping your car horn to call attention to what’s happening.”

The driver of the car looks in her rearview window and sees an armed woman running towards her car. “Crap, here she comes, she has a gun in her hand. We have to get out of here quickly. The driver starts beeping her car until everyone is looking in their direction.

The other driver’s make room for the woman to pull her car out. She starts weaving in and out of the traffic. And then there is traffic starts moving forward.

The woman driving my getaway car keeps saying out loud,” My God, what have I got myself into?” She says it about five times. I put my hand on her shoulder in an attempt to reassure her. She practically jumps through the roof of the car. “What the hell are you doing? Why are you touching me?’

“I’m sorry I was just trying to calm you down. Thank you so much for saving my life; only one in a million people would have done that. I was so lucky you were behind the getaway car.”

“Getaway car, what do you mean, did you rob a bank or something? Are you a bank robber?” Then she starts saying my god, my god, my god, what did I get myself into?”

“What? No, I’m not a bank robber. I was in the Shop Rite parking lot to do my food shopping. And I found a woman’s purse in the baby seat of the shopping cart. I was looking into the purse to find a name and address so I could contact the owner or return it. Then I decided it would be better to turn it into the Customer Service of Shop Rite. And I was just about to do that when the owner showed up. Unfortunately for me because when I looked in her purse, I found a loaded gun, and drugs and a large sum of money, expensive jewelry, and handcuffs.”

“So anyway, she sees me looking in her purse. She comes barreling over to me, and if looks could kill, I would already be dead. She was in a rage. I tried to explain to her what happened. She wouldn’t listen. She grabbed me and dragged me over to her car and threw me in the trunk. And then she drove away. I know she was going to kill me. Why else would she throw me in the trunk? I remembered that newer cars have a trunk release. And I managed to open the trunk and climb out. And that’s where you came to the rescue. I owe you a debt of gratitude; you absolutely saved my life.”

Just as I finished recounting my experience to my savior, I hear a police siren and turn and look in the back window, and I see two cop cars following us. “Oh, thank god, the police are here? You should pull over.”

“Call the police? No, I didn’t have time to do anything. Someone else must have called the police when they say you get out of the trunk and get into my car.”

“Mam, can I see your driver’s license, please, and insurance card?”

“What, I didn’t do anything I was trying to save this woman’s life. She was locked in the trunk of the car in front of me, and she managed to escape. I was driving her to safety.”

I realize that mam, but I still have to see some identification. You too mam.”

“Me, I don’t even remember what happened to my purse, it might still be in my car at the ShopRite Food store in Glassboro where I was kidnapped. It is a black 2003 Mitsubishi Galant.”

“Alright man, I’ll have that checked out. Are either of you injured?”

“No, thank god. But that maniac threw me in the trunk. She had a gun. She was going to kill me because I found her purse and looked in it. She had a loaded gun, handcuffs and drugs, and a lot of money.”

“Alright, I understand, unfortunately, both of you are going to have to go make a statement at the police headquarters. The two of you can get in my vehicle, and I’ll have my partner drive your car to the station, miss.”

I look at her, and she looks back at me. I say,” I don’t know if I should laugh or cry.” So, I start laughing and crying at the same time. We hug each other.

“Oh, by the way, my name is Sandra. Sandra Gioiella. What’s your name?

“I’m Mary Guilfoyle. It’s been an interesting day. I don’t usually drink, but after this, I would really appreciate a beer, how about you?”

“That’s a date, lunch, too, on me.”

__________________________________

THE WAITING ROOM

2 Replies

I arrive fifteen minutes before my appointment. The parking lot is packed. I drive round and round looking for a place to park. Waiting for someone to leave so I can park in their spot. No luck. And then I see three isles over someone is about to get into their car. I head over in that direction as quickly as I can.

Just as I arrive at the aisle, I see a Mercedes Benz pulling into the aisle from the other end. They practically fly towards the parking spot and wait while the car backs out. This pisses me off to no end. I pound on my steering wheel and yell out,” damn.” I arrive at the parking spot, and the guy who stole my spot is out of the car and locking his car. “Hey, that was my spot; you stole my spot.”

The Waiting Room

He looks over at me and shrugs his shoulder and starts walking toward the doctor’s office. I yell, “jerk.”

I decide to drive to the parking lot in the business complex next door. I find a spot in the Merrill Lynch parking lot. It just so happens that this is the building where my investment broker’s office resides. So, if anyone questions me, I can just say that I stopped in the office to speak to Tod Pinto. Parking spots in this business district are rare.

I lock my car and walk towards the doctor’s offices. As I walk through the door, I realize I’m late for my appointment and that it doesn’t matter because the waiting room is full, packed to the rafters, overflowing.

This is my first appointment at this office. I see a sign that says Sign In at the main reception area. I get in line. Yeah, I have to wait in a line to sign in. I realize this is going to be a long morning. After ten minutes, I step up to the Sign In window and wait there. After a moment or two, the person behind me says, “just sign in they’ll call your name when they are ready for you. After you see the doctor, you go to the sign-out desk. That’s when you pay and show proof of insurance.”

I turn around and look at the person who’s talking to me, and she is ancient. No, I’m not exaggerating she’s as old as the hills, older than dirt, on her way out. “Thanks for telling me. This is the first time at this office.”

“Oh, a newbie, well good luck finding a seat. You have to get here a least a half-hour early or more to get a parking spot. And it’s the same for getting a seat. Sometimes you have to wait until someone is called into the doctor’s office and then jump into the seat immediately.”

“What, you have to be kidding me. They should just move to bigger offices. This is ridiculous.”

“This is their new office they’ve only been here for a little over six months. This practice has the best eye specialist for macular degeneration, diabetic retinopathy, and glaucoma in South Jersey. There’s a waiting list to come here.”

“Yeah, I had to wait for a cancellation to get an appointment. This is nuts.”

“Well, good luck. Oh, hey, somebody just got called into the exam room. Grab the seat before somebody else does.”

I mumble, “thanks.”

I literally throw myself into the empty seat. In fact, I almost topple over into the row of people behind me because of how hard I hit the metal chair. I hear someone say, “lookout, he’s going to fall.” And all the people jump up in anticipation that I’m about to descend on all their frail and decrepit old bodies.

My chair rocks back and forth, back and forth. But at the last moment, I manage to stabilize it. I say out, “Jesus that was close. I turn around slightly and say,” Oh, sorry, folks. I didn’t mean to scare the shit out of you, my bad.”

I hear some old lady, saying,” Oh dear, oh dear.” I honker down in my chair. I don’t move for about ten minutes; then I realize that I have to go to the bathroom. I know I will lose my seat if I get up, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to hold it in much longer. I start squirming around in my seat like a five-year-old. The lady next to me looks at me with some concern on her face. “Are you alright? Are you sick or something?”

“No, I just have to go to the bathroom. I didn’t go before I left because I was late leaving.”

“Oh well, I’m just waiting for my husband to come out. I’ll put my purse on your seat. And if anyone says anything, I’ll just tell them I’m saving it for my husband. And he’s going to be right back.”

“You would do that?”

“Of course, we all have to help each other out when we can don’t, we? Or, where would we all be?”

I look over at her. She is smiling, and her blue eyes are twinkling. That’s the only way I can describe it. Her eyes were smiling too. She looks at me and says,” Go on, it will be fine.”

“Oh, good, you’re back. Have a seat.”

“Thank you, that was kind of you.” She shrugs her shoulders and smiles again.

Just then, the automatic door opens up, and a man moves slowly into the room. He is using a walker. He takes two steps forward and then stops to rest. Then another two steps and stops. I realize he is using some kind of breathing apparatus.

I mumble under my breath,” dear god.” He slowly, excruciatingly makes his slow and painful walk up to the Sign-In desk at the front of the office. I watch him attempting to sign in. He has trouble because he has to take one hand off his walker to sign in. He wavers a little. It looks like he is going to fall. He’s rocking back and forth. I jump up and run to the desk.” Hi, I say. Can I give you a hand?”

He slowly turns his head and looks at me. “Yes, I would appreciate that. My niece was supposed to come with me today, but her baby got sick and she had to take him to the doctor.”

“Did you drive yourself here?”

“Yes, but it was slow going, especially since my vision isn’t what it used to be.”

I looked at him and thought dear god, should he be driving? “Listen, why don’t you take my seat over there? See that pretty lady with the white hair. Oh, wait, all the ladies in here have white hair. I ‘ll show you. You can have my seat, it’s almost time for my appointment, and I don’t mind standing for a while.

“Oh really, young man, that is thoughtful of you. I would love to sit down.”

“Ok, why don’t we head over to the seat, and you can rest up before name is called in for your appointment.”

As I follow him over to the seat, I notice several of the people in the waiting room are watching our slow progress across the room. And the strangest thing is that they are all smiling and nodding their heads at me. For some reason, I feel a lump rise in my throat, and my eyes well up with tears. I have to wipe one tear away as it threatens to run down my cheek. For some reason, I feel better at that moment than at any time in the recent past.

“Here we are, why don’t you let me help you sit down and I’ll put your walker at the end of the aisle. If you are still here after I go in for my appointment, I’ll wait for you to see the doctor and help you out to your car.”

“You would do that?”

“Of course, where would we be if we don’t help each other out?”

“Thank you, young man, do you mind telling me your name?”

“My name is Mathew Muller. But you can call me Matt.”

“Well, that’s a weird coincidence my name is Mathew too. Thank you, Matt.”

“You’re welcome. Mathew.”

I move out of the aisle and stand by the window. And then I look all around the room. And I see people, just people. And I think these are just people not unlike myself. They have families that love them and friends. They have problems sometimes. Not so different from me, they have just lived longer than I have. Probably, people that I could learn a lot from. I lean against the wall and, then I hear a young woman call my name. “Mathew, Mathew Miller.”

I walk up to the front of the room and she asks.” Are you Mathew Miller?”

“Yes, yes, I am.”

“How are you today Mathew?”

“I’m fine, just fine. Thanks for asking.”

“Well, Mathew Dr. Sarnow is running a bit late today so you may have a bit of a wait in the exam room. But I will start the tests before he comes in, and by the time, I’m finished he should be coming in to see you, all right?”

“Yes, that is just fine, thanks.”

__________________________________

MAMA’S BOY

1 Reply

Little Mama slowly opens her eyes and squints at the bright morning sun. The wind has died down. Last night she listened to the eerie melody the trees made as the wind blew its way through the woods. She made a nest of leaves and sticks and spent the night there as the storm rages on.

It isn’t raining anymore. Everything looks and smells differently. Branches are strewn all over, and a few trees have fallen onto the ground. Little Mama stands up unsteadily. She peers through the tree branches in search of a fallen bird nest.

Photo-sspiche3-Pixabay

If she’s lucky, maybe she can find a baby bird or two. Late yesterday when she left the nest in search of food, she knew there was a storm brewing. But she was hungry. She needs to eat so she could nurse her babies. They were sound asleep when she left.

But that was yesterday; anything could have happened to them by now. The kittens recently opened their eyes. As she is about to give up, she spies a baby bird lying lifelessly on the ground. She smells it and determines it hasn’t been dead that long and swallows it whole.

She leaps over the branches and debris along the path and makes her way back to her nest. Frighten that one of her kits wondered off. Last winter she had lost a litter due to her near starvation. Winter is never a good time to give birth. But she has little control over when these things happen.

As she makes her way over to the nest, she smells each of her mewling kittens. She realizes that one of them is missing. The one who always tried to climb out of the nest? Her heart sinks a little at the thought of another lost kit. Nature is cruel, and she’s learned the best way to deal with losses was with acceptance.

She’ll take care of the rest of her litter as best as she can until they’re able to take care of themselves. When they’re about six weeks old, she’ll begin to teach them how to hunt. She’ll wean them off her milk.

She lies down on her side in the nest. It’s a little damp but warm from the five kittens that lie sleeping bundled together. As soon as they sense their mother, they crawl over and find a place to nurse. They push and shove each other out of the way. Until finally, they all taste the sweet, warm milk, safe and warm. Little Mama sighs and falls into a fast sleep exhausted from her stormy adventure.

Big Red stumbles and cries. His stomach’s aching from hunger. He has looked for his mother all night. Finally, he gives up his search. He finds shelter in a hollow of a tree under some fallen leaves.

When the morning light wakes him, once again, his stomach’s growling, he has no memory of ever feeling this gnawing pain. He really can’t think about anything else. He even stops wondering what has become of his mother.

Just as he’s about to give up, he sees something fluttering just above his ahead. He doesn’t know what it is, but his instinct tells him to get it. He jumps as high as he can and grabs it with his sharp claws. He can hardly believe it. And he chomps down on it, and it stops moving. He swallows it. It tastes good.

It’s warm and fills his stomach the same as his mother’s milk had. He decides to find a place to take a nap. He starts walking through the woods until he sees another tree. Looking for a hollow place to sleep. He finds it and crawls under the musty leaves. He feels satisfied with himself.

He wonders what he’ll do next. And with that thought, he falls into a fast asleep. He dreams of how he caught the fluttering thing in the sky. And how he swiftly captured it. He feels safe.

He wakes up to an odd sound. He senses danger and looks from right to left. Trying to find the source of the strange noise. Without any warning, there is a movement right next to his bed. He lets out a frightened meow. And that is when he hears the strange noise again.

There’s a huge creature snuffling around him. Big Red is afraid that the creature will eat him, just as he had eaten the fluttering creature in the sky. He quickly ducks his head under the leaves and tries not to move.

“Daddy look., I think I just saw a little kitten in the leaves over here.”

“I doubt that, Chrissie, what would a kitten be doing out here in the woods all by itself? Come on, let’s go; your mother will be wondering what’s happened to us.”

Chrissie leans over and pushes the leaves out of the way. She yells excitedly.” Daddy look. It’s a kitten.”

Big Red knows he needs to get out of here. Or these giant creatures will surely make breakfast out of him. With that thought, he burst out of the leaves and runs through the wet leaves, and brush. He leaps over broken branches like the devil himself is chasing him. Of course, Big Red doesn’t know about the devil, but he knows something is chasing him. Something was about to make him their breakfast.

The next thing he knows, he is on a branch at the top of the tree. He has no real memory of climbing the tree. Let alone how he will ever get down again. The ground seems very, very far away. Big Red settles on the branch and digs his nails into it. But to his surprise, it’s comfortable. Maybe this will be his new home.

Chrissie and her father look up the tree. “Daddy look. The kitten is way up at the top of the tree. How will he get down? He’ll fall on the ground. Can you help him get down?”

“Chrissie, of course, he can get down by himself. He climbed, there didn’t he? He ran up there to get away from us. When we leave, he’ll come down out of the tree. And his mother is probably nearby and will come to get him. Let’s go home now; it’s getting late.”

“Oh, Daddy, please, please, please let me keep the kitten. I promise that I’ll take care of it.”

“No, Chrissie, that’s the same thing you said about the fish, and look what happened to him. Maybe when you are older, you can get a pet. Let’s go; it’s getting late.”

As the creatures start walking away, Big Red’s heart begins to beat more slowly. Suddenly a squirrel jumps onto the branch next to him. Big Red is so startled that he runs down the tree and is on the ground in a moment. He scampers over to his hiding place in the leaves.

He’s staring out through the leaves when something runs across his front paws. He lunges at it and grabs it with his sharp little claws. He holds it down. It is a strange creature, nothing like the giants that loomed above him earlier.

This is stranger yet, it’s small, and it feels hard and has many legs protruding from under its hard shell. Big Red tries to put it in his mouth. He feels it moving, not an all-together unpleasant feeling. He bites down on it. He finds it difficult. He opens his mouth slightly to get a better grip on it. Just as he is about to bite down again, he feels a sharp pain in his tongue. He opens his mouth wider, and the hideous creature makes his escape. Big Red decides to find something to eat that doesn’t try to swallow him first.

He feels and hears a weird feeling in his stomach. He knows it is because he needs to find something to eat soon. He looks around in every direction. He doesn’t even know what he’s looking for now. But he knows that when he sees it, he will know then.

As he looks out from under the leaves, he hears a weird noise like something is moving near him. He looks toward the sound, and he sees something is moving near his feet underneath the leaves.

He jumps up, and all but flies onto the moving leaves. He slams his paws with their little sharp nails into the leaves. He captures whatever was moving.

He pushes the squirming thing into his mouth and bites it. It isn’t moving anymore, He swallows it. It stops moving. Soon his stomach stops aching, and Big Red decides to look for a safe place to live.

He stealthily heads through the forest in search of a new nest and something to stem his thirst and hunger, which doesn’t seem to rest for long. He spies an enormous tree surrounded by piles of leaves that have recently fallen from above. As he makes his way closer to the tree, he hears a familiar sound. He isn’t quite sure what to make of it.

__________________________________

WIND CHIMES

2 Replies

As Marie sits on the porch, the wind blows gently through the chimes. The sound doesn’t make Marie feel happy. Instead, there is an empty aching feeling that deepens. A tear slides down her face. She doesn’t bother to wipe it away.

Wind Chimes- Pixabay

The sound of the chimes brings back memories of her life with her husband, Harry. At times it feels as if he has been gone a hundred years ago. And at other times, she feels as if he might walk through the door at any moment. He would be wearing his red and white, Banlon striped shirt with a pack of Pall Malls in his pocket.

Harry Carlyle was a creative man. He had many hobbies, but by far, his favorite hobby was making wind chimes. He was a voracious reader. He read on every subject. And although Harry wasn’t a religious man. He never attended church, nor did Marie ever see him pray. He was a spiritual man. He studied all the religions of the world, including Christianity. At the end of his life, Harry seemed to believe in Buddhism and often quoted the teachings of Buddha.

Harry believed that bells and chimes attracted positive energy and repelled bad luck. He believed in living in the moment. that the past is gone, the future hasn’t happened yet. Harry began feverishly, making chimes, and they hung all over the entrances of their small home. On windy or rainy days, the chimes and bells would ring with great fervor. It set Marie’s teeth on edge. But Harry lived for these moments.

Harry and Marie were unable to have children, and Marie built her life around Harry. Content when he was home, but she felt isolated and lonely when he went out. Marie continuously checks the windows to see if Harry had come home.

Harry’s sudden and unexpected death paralyzed Marie. She feels an emptiness so deep it must travel through her body and reach the center of the earth. Marie made the decision after Harry’s funeral that she would go on as if Harry were still among the living.

The next day Marie arose at her usual time and washed her face and brushed her teeth, and made breakfast. She finished her household chores as usual. She even caught herself making comments to Harry out loud.

Months have passed since then: unfortunately, Marie has found it harder and harder to keep up the façade. One day in the middle of changing the sheets, Marie happens to find Harry’s lucky coin under the bed. It was from China, and it had a hole in the middle and some incomprehensible symbols on it.

Marie walks out to the front porch and slumps into the chair. She sits and looks out over the overgrown Rose garden. Oh, how Harry loved roses. She can barely look at them. She feels like pulling the rose bushes out by the roots. She considers her life. She doesn’t believe she has the strength to get through one more day. She feels empty and so alone.

Unexpectantly she hears a small voice call out, “Hello, hi, I just love your chimes. I walk by your house every day on my way to school. I’m in the fifth grade. This is the first time I’ve seen anyone on the porch.”

“Well, hello, I’m glad you like them. My husband, Harry, makes them. I mean used to make them.”

“Doesn’t he like to make them anymore?”

“My husband died several months ago. You know you are going to be late for school, you better go.”

“Oh, I have a few minutes. I go to the Ben Franklin School. I’m in the Special Classes.”

“What kind of Special class? What’s your name anyway?” I don’t remember seeing you in the neighborhood before?”

“My name is Lizzie. My family just moved here from Philadelphia a while back. My daddy had to change jobs.”

“What about this Special class of yours?”

“Oh, my mom told me it is because I have trouble learning. Sometimes when I try to read all the letters get mixed up. It has another name, but I can never remember it.”

“Oh, that must make it hard for you.”

“Sometimes, but there are kids in my class who have even worse problems. My Mom tells me to do my best. I better get going, or I will be late. See you later.”

“Bye Lizzie, it was nice talking to you.” Marie watches Lizzie walks and skips down the street. Marie takes a deep breath and is surprised that the heavy feeling in her chest feels lighter. She decides to work in her garden. “I have really neglected these roses, look at these aphids.”

While Marie works in the rose garden, she thinks about Harry. She knows he wouldn’t have wanted her to give up on life. She knows that she had put up a wall so she wouldn’t feel her grief.

The more she thinks about it, she realizes that she put that wall up a long time before Harry died. It began to happen when she made Harry the center of her existence. Harry had brought the world to her. Once he passed, she found herself alone inside the walls of her home and the walls she created.

For the first time since Harry died, the tears ran freely down her face. “Oh, Harry, what will I do? I don’t want to live the rest of my life alone.” That night as she lay in bed, she realizes that there was still hope for Marie McFarland. And realizes she hasn’t thought of herself as Marie McFarland since she was married thirty years ago.

The next morning after she gets out of bed, she gazes at herself in the bathroom mirror and says, “Marie, you don’t look too shabby for a sixty-something lady.” And a smile spreads across her face.

After breakfast, Marie keeps glancing out the window. She doesn’t realize at first what she’s looking for. Then she thinks of Lizzie with her big blue eyes and her long braids hanging down her back. And her crooked smile. At that moment, Marie hears tapping at the storm door. She finds Lizzie standing at the door with her hand thrust forward. “Hi, this is for you. I know it isn’t as good as your husband’s, but I hope you might like it. I made it with all the broken colored glass my father gave me. He makes stained glass. It’s a wind chime.”

Marie swallows hard, because of the lump in her throat. “Lizzie, this is the nicest gift I have ever received in my life. Could you stop by for some cookies before you go to school tomorrow? What’s your favorite kind? I’ll make them for you?”

“Oatmeal raisin is my absolute favorite I love them, I could eat a million of them.”

“Oatmeal raisin it is then, I’ll see you tomorrow. You know you can call me Marie, that’s what all my friends call me.”

BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR

2 Replies

I knew it was a mistake when the words came out of my mouth. But unbidden, they slipped out of my thoughts and into the cold light of day.

“You don’t talk to me. Not when we are in the car. Not when we go out to eat. And not even at our own dining room table.”

photo by G. Altman-Pixabay

“What are you talking about? I talk to you all the time. Why, just this morning, I asked you if there was any coffee left and if you had washed my Hawaiian shirt, the one with the dragon on it?”

Katie looks at him with her eyes wide in disbelief. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about, Ron. I mean real conversation—the kind most men have with the wives that they supposedly love—the kind where you share your thoughts, your dreams, your hopes, and desires.”

“You want to hear about my thoughts, hopes, and dreams? Since when? I’m lucky if you ask me what I would like for dinner before I leave for work in the morning.”

“Ron, believe it or not, I am not your housekeeper or the cook. My sole purpose in life is not to wait on your hand and foot. I’m a real person with needs and wants.”

“What needs and wants? I work ten hours a day and come straight home every night. I don’t stop at the bar to drink a cold one—not that I wouldn’t like to—I sure would. The first thing I ask you when I walk into the door is how is dinner coming along.”

“Yeah, Ron, it’s every woman’s dream for her loving husband to come home and ask if dinner is ready yet. Do you know what I wish? I wish that I had married someone else. Anyone else? He wouldn’t have to be rich, although I wouldn’t mind that. He would just have to be a sweet, kind man who loved me and wanted to spend time talking to me. Is that too much to ask?”

“So maybe I should quit my job and stay home to keep you company all day. Of course, I don’t know how we’ll pay our bills and take that vacation you are always talking about. And then there’s the deck you wanted me to build this summer. I won’t be able to afford to do that either.”

“Ron, I never said you should quit your job. I ask if you could spare some of your TV time and actually talk to me or even have a real conversation at dinner.”

“Ok, ok, tonight we’ll have a real conversation. Wait, we just had a real conversation. So, we don’t have to converse until tomorrow night. Meanwhile, I’ll consider what to talk about. I will go in the bathroom until dinnertime and give it some deep thought. Just give me a holler when dinner is ready. See ya later.”

At dinner, Ron eats his meatloaf and mashed potatoes in record time. “Ok, Katie, I’ll see you later. I have previous plans tonight. I think I mentioned to you that Kyle and I will meet at the Hockey Puck to watch the game tonight and toss back a few.”

” No, you didn’t, Ron, but tomorrow night, you’re all mine. No TV, no internet, no Hockey Puck.”

“Yeah, yeah I’ll be home late, I’ll try not to wake ya.”

Katie watches Ron run up the stairs. About two minutes later, he comes down wearing his favorite hockey team shirt. He gives her a backhanded goodbye wave and is out the door.

Katie starts clearing the table and loading the dishwasher. She lets out a heavy sigh. She bathes and then goes to bed with one of her love stories.

The next evening, Ron comes through the front door and calls out, “Hey honey, I’m home.” His impulse is to ask what’s for dinner, but he suppresses it. Instead, he walks into the kitchen and gives his wife a kiss on the cheek and a shoulder hug. “Hey, how are you? How was your day?”

Katie looked over at Ron to see if he was serious and noticed he was no longer standing there. At first, she questions her sanity. She considers the possibility that she imagined the whole thing. No, he was here, gave her a kiss and a shoulder squeeze, and asked her how her day was, and the next thing she knew, he disappeared. She looks all around the kitchen, and he is just not there. Katie shakes her head from side to side. Trying to make sense of it. She calls out, “Ron, are you there? Where are you?”

“I’m right here; I just had to make a pit stop in the head to take a leak.”

“Oh, I thought I was losing my mind for a minute there.”

“Can I do anything to help you with dinner, hon?”

Katie’s eyes open wide. She knows she’s losing her mind now. “Really, well you could set the table, dinner is almost ready.”

Ron gets the dishes and starts setting the table. “Hey, Honey, can I get you a beer or anything? I think I’ll have a cold one.”

“Really, well, I would like a glass of wine; that would be nice, Ron.”

“Sure, coming right up.” Katie can hear him singing to himself. It sounds like. Let’s Get it On. Now, it all makes sense. That’s the song Ron always hums when he wants sex. Wow, he’s just unbelievable. On the other hand, at least he wants to spend time with her. Instead of going out with the boys or falling asleep on the couch, hammered.

After dinner, he offered to clean the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher. Katie thought he was laying it on thick but might as well take advantage.

“Sure, that would be great. I think I’ll take a bath. I’m exhausted. I had a rough day at work. Mr. Rathgab was on my back all day, telling Katie to do this and Katie to do that. Then he had the nerve to ask me to do some personal errands. I get sick of him. He thinks I’m his work wife or something.

When I finally get caught up, he drops about twenty files on my desk and says, make sure these get taken care of before you leave. Thanks, I have to leave, but my wife and I are going out to eat tonight. See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, he’s a jerk, Katie, but how about forgetting about work for now and just spending some time together tonight? You know, quiet time. After your bath, you’ll be nice and relaxed. I’ll see you in our room in about an hour.”

Katie was a little pissed off at Ron because he never wanted to listen to her talk about her problems at work, but it was all right if he whined about his boss every night at dinner and on the weekends when he stayed home. He never listened to her at all. She decides to let it go this time. Maybe they could still have a good evening.

When Ron called out from their bedroom, Katie was getting out of the tub, ” Hey, could you make it quick? I only have about twenty minutes. I’m supposed to meet the guys for a beer and shoot some pool.”

Katie thought her head would explode, and she was so mad. She decides to give Ron a little surprise of her own. She puts on her sexiest nightgown and walks slowly into their bedroom.

She stands in the doorway and says, “Well, Ron, honestly, I’m starting to get a migraine. So we’ll have to spend some quality time together when the hell freezes over.

“What are you mad about now? I set the table. We had a nice dinner together. And now you have a headache and don’t have time for me. Well, there is no pleasing you, is there? Nothing is ever enough. So, see you later, don’t wait. I guess I’ll make it a boy’s night out.

Katie comes out of the bathroom in her flannel pajamas and an old robe. She decides to spend the night reading. As she’s getting comfortable in bed, she thinks that what she really ought to be doing is planning the rest of her life. And it’s abundantly clear that Ron isn’t interested in being part of it.

So, she removes her pen and notebook and starts making a list. Starting with a list of things that make her happy. Number one, find out what will make me happy in my life. That’s all she wrote, and it seemed like a great way to begin.

TOMORROW

2 Replies

When I was a little girl, my mother used to tell me every day that tomorrow may never come, enjoy today. I wasn’t sure what she meant, and I was afraid to ask? Perhaps she knew something that I didn’t know. Did I have some sort of terminal illness that I didn’t know about? Can she see into the future, and knows I’m going to die in some sort of horrible accident? I was a shy and nervous child.

Little girl eating ice cream -Pixelbay by Lucas

I ‘m preoccupied with worrying about what terrible event might take place tomorrow. I’m easily startled. If someone comes up behind me and says boo, I ‘ll jump and shake and then scream at the top of my lungs. After the kids at school found out how I was easily startled, they would sneak up behind me at least once a day and yell boo. And then all of my classmates would all start laughing. After a while, I didn’t want to go to school anymore.

My mother made me go to school. She comes into my bedroom and kneels down next to my bed and whispers, “Darlene, it’s time to wake up for school. You don’t want to be late, do you? If I don’t wake up right away, she starts tapping my shoulder, “Darlene, Darlene, wake up, wake up.” You’re going to be late.” Her final attempt, she yells as loud as she can,” DARLENE, GET UP, NOW.”

I jump out of bed, and then she whispers, “Enjoy your day, Darlene, tomorrow may never come.”

I started having difficulty sleeping because I don’t want my mother to come into my room and waking me up. I’m so tired of not sleeping. I have an even more difficult time waking up. And when I do wake up, I worry about what’s going to happen to me. It’s all I can think about. Will I get hit by a car, run over by a bus, trampled by the boy’s football team if I didn’t get off the field fast enough, or choke to death on a hotdog. The possibilities are endless.

I’m failing all my classes in school. I’m so exhausted from not sleeping at night that I fall asleep at my desk. My teacher sends me to the school nurse several times a week. She’s a kind woman. She lets me lie down on the cot in her office, and says, “Darlene, can you tell me what’s going on at home? Is someone hurting you?”

“No, Mrs. Pritchett no one is hurting me. I have trouble falling asleep. Sometimes, I fall asleep but I can’t stay asleep. Sometimes, when I do fall asleep, I have terrible nightmares. I wake up crying, and then I don’t want to go to sleep because of the nightmares. “

“What does your mother say about this problem?”

“She tells me to take a hot bath before I go to sleep. She thinks that might help me relax. But sometimes I fall asleep in the tub. One time I woke up and my head was under the water. Then I was afraid that I would drown in the tub, and I told my mother, “I only want to take showers from now on.”

She said, “Oh, Darlene, that’s silly. You’re not going to drown in the tub. But if it will make you feel better you can just take a shower.”

“Darlene, did your mother take you to the doctors for a check-up?”

“Yes, she took me to Dr. Hartman. He took my temperature, and weighed me, and listen to my heart. He said, “everything seems fine. Do you have any pain anywhere?”

I said, “No, I don’t have any pain. I can’t fall asleep, that’s all.”

He gave my mother a paper that said I should start taking vitamins since I was a little underweight. And he wants me to start eating better. Then he went into the other room with my mother and talked to her alone.

When my mother and I left she said, “Darlene, why don’t we stop at Friendly’s and get some ice cream we haven’t done anything fun for a long time. Would you like that?”

“Sure Mom. But I’m not that hungry.”

“Oh, come on, Darlene live a little, you only live once. Let’s enjoy today, tomorrow may never come.”

“After she said that, I lost my appetite. I thought the doctor might have told her some bad news. Then we went to the ice cream parlor. My mother got a root beer float with vanilla ice cream and all the toppings. I wasn’t hungry anymore, but my mother insisted on me at least eating a scoop. She said,” come on live it up, Darlene, how about some chocolate too or whipped cream on top.”

“Ok, Mom.” As we sit there eating, I look at my mother. And sure, enough she’s eating like there’s no tomorrow. Really shoving it in fast. I keep staring at her. Finally, she says, “Darlene, it’s impolite to stare at someone who eating.”

“Oh, sorry mom. Can I ask you a question?”

“A question, of course, you can ask me anything.”

“Did the doctor say I was sick or if anything is wrong with me?”

“Wrong with you? No, he said physically, you are fine. He thinks you are a little high strung that’s all. And you need to eat better and get more sleep.”

“High Strung? What does that mean?”

“Oh, it just means you seem nervous, that’s all. I told him that it was ridiculous that you are a normal kid who has trouble sleeping. He seems to think that having trouble sleeping indicates that something is bothering you.”

My mother looks at me for a moment after she says, “Darlene, is something bothering you? You can tell me anything. You know that, don’t you?

I don’t know if I can tell my mother why I can’t sleep or about how the kids tortured me in school. And I’m really afraid of what she might say. Am I going to die suddenly? Is something terrible going to happen today or tomorrow?”

After we left the ice cream parlor, my mother said, “how about if this Saturday, we do something fun? Is there anything that you would like to do, Darlene?”

“Fun, like what Mom?”

“What would you like to do, Darlene? We could go to the movies or the petting zoo, or we could ride bikes around the park, what do you say? Do you have anything you would like to do, Darlene, anything at all?”

“Well, I don’t know. I guess it would be fun to go out to lunch and then go to the movies on Saturday afternoon. You haven’t taken me to the movies since I was a little kid. I would really love to see the Dark Knight Trilogy. I hear the kids at school talking about it all the time. It just came into the theaters about a week ago. And we could get popcorn and candy and sodas. I would really love to do that.”

“Well, Superheroes are not really my thing. But who knows, maybe I’ll enjoy it? But maybe you would rather see that with your friends?”

Darlene stares at her mother and wonders how she could be so clueless about her. “Mom, do you know any of my friends? Did anyone ever come over to play or just spend time with me? “

“Well, Darlene, I can’t say when I remember the last time you had some of your friends over. Why don’t you ask them to come over?”

Darlene looks at her mother with her mouth open, nothing comes out. She starts feeling extremely angry at her mother. She doesn’t say anything for a couple of minutes. Her mother stands there and stares at her. Suddenly, Darlene yells out as loud as she can, “Why, why don’t I ask my friends over. Because Mother, I don’t have any friends. And I never have. Why didn’t you ever ask me before where all my friends were? The kids at school hate me. They think I’m weird. The teachers hate me too. Everyone hates me. Because I’m weird. You hardly even talk to me, and you’re my mother.”

“Of course, you have friends Darlene. Why are you always so overdramatic?”

“No, no, no. I don’t have friends, no one at school likes me.”

“Why do they think you’re weird?”

“Because I am weird. I’m afraid of everything. I’m afraid I might get a horrible illness, like cancer, and die. I’m afraid of crossing the street. I could get hit by a Mack Truck. I’m afraid I will live my whole life, and nobody will love me or even like me. And you know why mother, do you know why?”

Darlene’s mother looks at her and says,” No, I don’t where do you get all these crazy ideas anyway. It’s nonsense. And Darlene, I do love you with my whole heart. I want nothing but the best for you.”

“Mom, you never tell me you love me. You never tell me how smart I am, or how pretty or how kind. The only thing you say to me every day when I get up is, enjoy your day, Darlene, tomorrow may never come.”

“Oh, Darlene, I say that because I want you to make the most of every day of your life. I never had any idea that might make you think you were going to die, or that something horrible was going to happen to you. I’m so sorry I don’t tell you I love you, or that your pretty and smart. Because I do love you with my whole heart. I want nothing but good things in life to come your way. I’m so sorry I didn’t realize how sad and lonely you are. But I’m happy that you were finally able to tell me how you feel. How about we start with a little hug.” Darlene’s mother puts her arms out for Darlene.

Darlene hesitates momentarily and then steps into her mother’s arms for the first hug she has had in years. Tears start rolling down her face. And then she realizes that her mother is crying too. And they hug one another. “I love you too, Mom.”

They stay like that for a long time. And then Darlene’s mother says,” How about we start every day and end every day with a hug, Darlene?”

“Yes, Mom, I would love that. And then you can just say,” Good Morning, or Good Night.”

“Ok Mom, let’s go home now, I’m tired maybe I could take a little nap. And dream bout going to the movies tomorrow.”

“Ok, Darlene why don’t we head out. This is the best day I’ve had in a long time; I love you, Darlene, with all my heart.”

Darlene looks at her mom, and says,” I love you too mom, let’s go home now.” And the two of then set off on their walk home hand in hand.

__________________________________

GROWING UP CATHOLIC IN AMERICA IN THE 1950-1960’s

3 Replies

I was born in 1951at the height of the Baby Boom, which followed WWII. Hence the name Baby Boomers. I was one of a pair (of fraternal twins) Baby B was born seven minutes after my sister, Karen. Catholic families often had many children due to the fact that the only form of birth control that was allowed by the Catholic Church was the” Rhythm Method. Not a particularly reliable birth control method.

Susan Culver- high school graduation picture

We were a part of the ever-growing number of families in the working class. My father was the dispatcher for SEPTA the public bus company in Philadelphia. I grew up in a neighborhood of similar but not identical homes. We all had big backyards. We always had food on the table and clothes on our backs. I was the youngest so it was not uncommon for me to get the hand-me-downs. As did all the youngest in large families in our predominately Irish and Italian neighborhood in Maple Shade, NJ.

There was no “extra money.” However, since most of my friends were in the same boat, I did not consider it a big deal.

Being Catholic in a Catholic neighborhood also meant attending Catholic School. All other kids who didn’t go to Catholic school were called “The Publics.” And for some reason, we were told that this was a fate worse than death. If we misbehaved, we would be threatened with being sent to public school. Something akin to being sent to the third circle of hell.

The Classrooms were often too small for the large numbers of students occupying them. We often had to share books and desks. In first grade, I didn’t have my own desk right away and had to sit on a windowsill.

We were taught by nuns. Who considered themselves to be “brides of Christ.” In elementary school, I had St. Joseph nuns in high school I was taught by Franciscan nuns. The Saint Joseph nuns were a particularly strict order of sisters. They wore heavy woolen habits. Made from yards and yards of fabric. Their “habits” were fitted at the waist with voluminous skirts and a “belt’ that resembled a large rosary with a huge crucifix that hung down in the front. It clicked and clacked as they floated by seemingly without touching the ground. On their foreheads, they wore a “wimple” which was stiff as cardboard. And another piece that covered their chins. And a huge, white bib, that covered them from their necks to their chests, shoulder to shoulder.

I often wondered if they had hair underneath their veils. We were told never to touch the sisters for any reason. They were untouchable. I often wondered if they had ever been regular human beings or entirely another species. We were never brave enough or bold enough to question their words or their behaviors. No matter how unfair or unfathomable it seems to us.

Part of my Catholic School experience was wearing “uniforms.” The Our Lady of Perpetual Help uniform (OLPH) for girls was a maroon jumper with a white short-sleeved blouse, and saddle shoes, which were black and white. And a “beanie,” which was a maroon wool cap with a maroon wool-covered button on the top. Girls had to keep their heads covered at all times, especially in church. The boys wore dark pants, a white shirt, and a tie. The wool uniforms were itchy and uncomfortable especially as the weather became warmer. In the winter, girls were allowed to wear pants under their uniforms outside. But once inside, we had to take them off.

We were expected to stay neat and tidy at all times. My mother was kept busy washing and ironing our uniforms. The nuns kept order in the classrooms at all times. We were not allowed to talk back, or ask questions. Or heaven forbid chew gum in school. If anyone was caught with gum, they were forced to wear it stuck to the end of their nose for the rest of the day. If your behavior was out of line, you would sit in the corner. Your name would be added to a list on the blackboard. It was on there more than three times, you would be in for a world of trouble. And you warned it would go on your “permanent record.” Which we were told would follow you around for the rest of your life. The final threat was you would be expelled and never heard from again. This would be the ultimate embarrassment for your family, of course. What would the neighbors think? The sisters were not beyond using physical punishment, either. Rapping the knuckles with a metal-edged ruler, slapping, knocking the more rebellious boys down a short flight of steps. And name-calling, such as stupid, or lazy, was all too common a punishment.

There were some rewards in Catholic School too. You could become a hall monitor. Or you would be given a responsibility such as clapping the blackboard erasers. The greatest honor was being the child who crowned the Blessed Mother statue in the May procession.

On the first Friday of every month, we were all marched up to the church for Confession. There was a lot of pressure involved in going to Confession. Which was considered a Blessed Sacrament. Coming up with good sins to tell the priest, aside from the usual I got in a fight with my brother or sister, I lied. I was a quiet child and didn’t always have good “sins” to tell the priest. Sometimes, I felt compelled to “make up” more interesting transgressions. After Confession, we all had “pure souls.”

On Sunday mornings, we all went to the Children’s Mass at 9 am. During the Mass, if you were foolish enough to commit a transgression, the sisters would come up to the aisle where you were sitting and click a little metal clicker they had in their deep pockets.

My aisle often got into trouble because I always felt a compulsion to make all the girls in my aisle to start laughing. I would do this almost every Sunday without fail. Make a face or fart and cause a domino effect when my friend next to me would laugh, and then each girl next to them to giggle. The nuns would be clicking like crazy. We would be kept after school and punished by having to diagram sentences. Over fifty years later, I can still diagram a sentence.

In Catholic School, the curriculum was basic: reading, writing, arithmetic, history, spelling, science, spelling, English, and, more importantly religion. We had religion every day. In this class, we were given questions and we had to memorize the answer. If you weren’t good at memorizing your career in Catholic School was at risk. It turns out that I have an excellent memory. And I always received straight A’s in Religion and History and spelling. We’re not permitted to question these Religious beliefs. You were expected to believe on Faith. Anything less was considered a sacrilege.

Another important skill all good children needed to learn was the Palmer Method of Writing. We spent endless hours writing in blue books. We filled these books with strokes and ovals. It was tedious and a waste of time, and I was terrible at it since I was bored. We were using dip pens in bottles of ink. By the fifth grade, there were cartridge pens.

At that time there was a great deal of excitement about the Space Program. And a TV was brought into the classroom so we would all observe a space rocket being launched from Cape Canaveral. Not everyone had televisions back then. It was exciting to watch.

As far as sex education, in the eighth grade, we received a lecture. Of course, the boys and girls were in different rooms. The girls learned about menstruation. A very vague explanation was given and pictures of something (supposedly sperm) swimming towards a waiting ovum. No questions were allowed, and we were warned not to discuss this with the boys. One girl was assigned the important task of smuggling the little booklets out of the room under her jacket.

God knows what version of the truth the boys were told. I was still trying to figure out what a hickey was, let alone how someone got pregnant. No one bothered to tell me about the physical manifestations of menstruation, and I had three older sisters.

When it was time for my sister and me to attend high school, we had to take entrance exams. We were both accepted into St. Mary of the Angels Academy and Holy Cross High School. My parents made the decision that we would attend Saint Mary of the Angel’s Academy because it was an all-girls high school.

I was a shy girl all through my high school years. St. Mary’s was located in Haddonfield, NJ. Which was a higher income area than Maple Shade, NJ, where I grew up. There were some benefits to attending an all-girl school. One was girls didn’t have to fight for attention because there were no boys. In grade school, the nuns always called on the boys. Girls were told it was a known scientific fact that we could not comprehend Math or Science. Many girls at St. Mary’s found out that they were quite intelligent. In fact that they could excel in both Science and Math. We also had a basketball team that competed with other girls’ teams throughout the state of NJ.

The Catholic School system taught me many things: reading, writing, math, history, and basic knowledge of Science, French, and a smattering of Latin. It also taught me self-control, discipline, and determination.

However, it took me years to overcome the lack of self-esteem and inhibitions that sometimes overwhelmed me. Catholic high school did protect us for four additional years from the harsh realities of life. But I don’t know if they did us any favors considering the turmoil of the seventies that awaited us.

ANCORA

1 Reply

Ancora State Mental Hospital, NJ

When I was twenty-one years old, my boyfriend, Jimmy dumped me without any explanation. He just stopped calling me and wouldn’t answer the phone when I called him. I drove over to his apartment numerous times. He never came to the door. I drove to his parent’s house down the shore in Wildwood. Their summer home was right on the bay. Jimmy loved to fish and to sit on the peer and drink beer.

The first time I went out with him, he said, “Kathy, I want to tell you out front that I drink too much. And I got a dishonorable discharge from the military.”

I said, “dishonorable discharge, what does that mean?”

“It means, that I tried to frag my commanding officer, and they threw me out of the Marines.”

I stared at him and finally said, “frag, what does frag mean?”

It means that me and a bunch of my fellow enlisted buddies decided to get rid of him because he didn’t know what he was doing. And he was going to get us all killed, so we tried to kill him first.” One of the guys ratted us out to the commanding officer. And we were thrown out of the Marines.”

“You tried to kill someone?” I said with wide eyes.

“Yeah, that’s right. Now you know, so if you have a problem with me, then now is the time to leave.”

I sat there silently in the front seat of his car, and thought about it for a few minutes, but not too long. “But you didn’t kill him.”

“Yeah, that’s right we didn’t but not for lack of trying. We just weren’t successful at it.”

I looked at him with his big, blue eyes and sandy blond hair and thought, he didn’t do it, so he’s innocent. Yes, I know that doesn’t make any sense. I should have said, bye, good luck, don’t let the door hit you on the but on the way out. But I didn’t. I just said, “alright, do you want to go out and get something to eat or what?’

We went out to a drive-up called Stewards, and we had hamburgers and fries. Then we went to the movies. He never mentioned it again and neither did I. There isn’t any explanation for why I responded in this way. Other than, I just really wanted to have a boyfriend. I wanted someone to love me. I look back on that decision and realize I’m embarrassed by my choices, especially since not too long after that, he dumped me like a bad habit.

After I was dumped, I spent a good seven or eight months depressed. So depressed that I quit my job and stayed in my bedroom and cried and cried until I didn’t have any tears left. I thought my heart was broken. I felt broken. My parents didn’t know what to do with me and so they did nothing. Eventually, I tried to decide what to do with myself. I realized the first thing I had to do was get a new job.

I talked to my older brother, John. “John, I need to get a job. I would like to work with children. Do you know of any jobs?” My brother recently worked as one of the therapists at Ancora, the state mental hospital. He lived on the grounds in a little house.

“Yes, I do, there are always openings at Ancora. You know the state mental hospital where I used to work. They have a children’s ward there. Anyway, I’ll give you her name and phone number if you’re interested.”

Of course, I know that he lived there and worked there. Apparently, he forgot that I used to drive all the way down there and babysit his kids for him. When he and his wife went out for the evening, before they would leave, he always said, “make sure all the doors and windows are locked after we leave. Some of the mental patients escape sometimes and can be dangerous. “

“Oh yeah, sure,” I said and nervously laughed. My brother was always joking around all the time. At least I hope he was joking. But you could never be certain with him. All the same, after they left, I locked all the doors and checked the windows.

When my brother and his wife returned from their night out, he wrote down the woman’s name and phone number who worked at Ancora and her name and number on a scrap of paper and handed it to me. “You can use my name as a reference.”

“Thanks, John, I appreciate your help. See you later.”

The next morning, I called her up. “Hello, Mrs. Coffey, My name is Kathy Bernard. My brother gave me your name and number. My brother’s name is Dr. John Bernard. I’m looking for a new position I want to work with children.”

“Oh, so you’re Dr. Bernard’s sister. We think highly of John. We were sorry when he left. Do you have any experience working with children or mental illness?”

“Well, no not really, but I love kids and would appreciate the opportunity to help kids.”

“Well Miss Bernard, first you will be required to take an aptitude test because Ancora is a state facility, and you will be a state employee. The next available test date is in two weeks, it’s in Trenton. Will that be a problem? And also, if you pass the test, you will have to take eight weeks of training and be tested at the end of completing the course. If you pass you will be a certified Psychiatric aide. “

“No, it’s not a problem.” Although the idea of driving all the way up to Trenton frightened me as I lack a sense of direction and often get lost, I would have to take the turnpike. The average speed driver on the turnpike is 75mph, and mine is 50mph. As it turned out following the NJ turnpike to Trenton was not that difficult. I found my way to Trenton without any problems. However, once I was in the city limits, I got lost and had to pull over and look at the street map I had brought of Trenton. Luckily, I can read and follow a map and somehow made my way to the state testing facility without any real issues. Of course, I arrived about an hour before the test was due to start. As I allowed myself extra time just in case, I became lost. I decided to wait in the car until I was supposed to sign in for the test.

At 9 am sharp I walk up to the state-building and through the double doors to the front desk. I sign in and take a seat in the waiting area and observe all the people who begin arriving to take the test. I ‘m shocked to see how many there are. There are people of all ages, male and female. I realize the competition is going to be tough. I try to remain calm.

The test monitor begins calling people by name. I ‘m called in with the first group of people. Everyone is asked for two forms of identification. I provide mine. The man in charge of testing gives us instructions and tells us the test will be timed. And we have to stop when we are told to, not one second later. I finish the competency test. I hope I did well. I really wasn’t sure how I did. I ‘ll just have to wait for the results. First, I have to find my way home.

About two weeks later, I receive a letter stating that I had passed the competency test and can report for training at Ancora State Hospital the following Monday at 9 am.

I arrived one hour early to start my psychiatric aide training. I find the classroom that I was told to go to almost immediately. I’m the first to arrive. Nine people arrive soon after I do. The first person to arrive after me takes one look at me and comes over and sits at the desk next to me. She smiles at me and I smile back. She says “I’m a little nervous about this.”

I respond, “Me too.” And we both laugh. She introduces herself to me, I’m Joan Hall.”

And from that day forward we stick together like glue. On the last day, we take a final test. And Joan and I score the highest grades. Joan scores slightly higher than me because I didn’t know the visiting hours for Ancora. The teacher asks us to stay after class to talk to her. She recommends that we both consider going on to become psychiatric nurses. As we scored high on the IQ test and high on the final test.

The classroom portion of the course isn’t difficult. When we are put on the wards to be trained. I admit I’m a bit nervous. When I was looking for the ward I was assigned to a young woman comes over to me and asks,” Do you know what time it is? I was somewhat taken aback by her appearance. She’s covered in what appeared to be small tumors all over her face and body. She’s young about my age. I look at her and say, I think it is about 8:45 am. Are you alright?’ She says, “do you know what time it is? Do you know what time it is? Do you know what time it is?” I have to admit I was a little shaken by her appearance and what she said. Most of all, I just felt pity for her. And wondering why she had to have the misfortune of being born this way. I feel sad for her. She walks away from me but keeps asking loudly for the time.

There are other patients walking around, shuffling their feet with seemingly no real purpose or destination in mind. Then I realize that they must be medicated. And the shuffling was some kind of side effect from a drug. I wonder if that is all they do all day—wandering from one hallway to the next. I wave at or said, “hello” to all the patients I pass. Occasionally, one of them responds, “hi,” and keeps walking. I wonder if any of them ever recovered or if they would always live this kind of half-life. As I walk down the hall, I notice there are giant highchairs lined up against the wall. And sitting in the highchairs are adults wearing diapers. They are strapped into the highchairs. They are silent. I can not comprehend what I’m seeing. Some of them have helmets on their heads and keep banging their heads against the wall. I admit I’m shaken by the sight of these unfortunate souls.

The first day Joan and I are assigned to work in the ward for bedridden patients with dementia. As we come onto the floor, I hear an old woman screaming, “I want my applesauce.” She screams this over and over again at the top of her voice. “I WANT MY APPLESAUCE.”

Joan and I look at each other. I was the first one to start laughing, Joan follows. Finally, I say. “Well, damn I’m going to find this poor woman some applesauce.” We start laughing again. I admit it was out of nervousness.

The dementia patients are either screaming at the top of their lungs or look catatonic. I have never been around anyone who has dementia before so it came as quite a shock. We’re going to spend a week in each one of these wards to find a good fit.

I want to work with children, so I’m sure this isn’t where I want to work. By the end of the week, it’s clear to me that I don’t want to work in the ward with dementia patients. Joan likes it there. She has a calming effect on these patients and decides to stay and work there. I ‘ll miss her, but I’m glad she found her niche.

The next week I ‘m assigned to work in the active psyche ward on the first shift. As soon as I enter the ward, I find the day supervisor. “Hello, I’m Kathy Bernard. I’m new to this ward, here are my papers I was told to report to you first thing.

“Oh good, I’m happy that you’re on time, I can’t tolerate people who are tardy. Your first responsibility in the morning is to supervise the woman’s showers. Here are the people you are to call for the first showers. Let me show you where the showers are located. As she walks with me to the shower room, she explains that I was to stand in the room and watch the patients while they are in the shower room. And make sure that order is maintained and that there isn’t any physical contact allowed between the patients.

I look at her. Perhaps stare with my eyes bulging out of my head at her would be a better description. And I repeat once maybe twice, “supervise the woman’s showers.” Keep in mind that I’m twenty-one years old and have zero experience with naked people or communal showers for that matter. Then I say, “ok.” And follow her to the shower room. It’s one big open space with showers spaced about four feet apart with a drain on the floor and a towel rack between each shower. And a shelf for the patients to place their dry clothes.

“Alright, here we are. And as I said the patients aren’t allowed to have physical contact for any reason.”

I repeat, “no physical contact.” Inside my head, I’m screaming, run, run, run away Kathy. But don’t. I stay there and wait for further instructions. There aren’t any.

“Alright, get busy; we don’t like to get behind schedule. Go out there and call the first ten patients in, keep it orderly.”

“Alright.” I say, and walk into the next room and yell out, “Alright, ladies, I want the people whose name I call out to go into the shower room and get a shower. Take off your pajamas and wash thoroughly from top to bottom, dry yourself and get dressed, and, most importantly, do not touch anyone else for any reason.”

And unbelievably that is what they do. The patients walk into the shower room and undress and get a shower, dry off, and then put their day clothes on. I only had one patient engage me in any way. She looks about twenty years old and has Downs Syndrome. She comes over and points down at her crotch and tries to hand me the soap. It takes me a moment to realize what she wants. And I calmly said, “What’s your name?” She says, Mary or Marta. I’m not sure which. “I think you know Mary that there isn’t any physical contact allowed in this room. Please return to your shower and then dry off and get dressed.”

She did just that. I’m shocked that I ‘m able to handle this issue with such calmness. And that I didn’t run away. At that moment, I recognize that I ‘m stronger than I ever knew. I stand in the doorway of the shower room and observe the patients. After they’re finished, I take the next ten women into the shower room, and all goes well. I realize that these are people just like me. They have mental health issues. And that I’m here to help and guide them and learn from them. I don’t know if I’m up to the task, but I’m going to do my best while I’m here.

__________________________________

M	T	W	T	F	S	S
					1	2
3	4	5	6	7	8	9
10	11	12	13	14	15	16
17	18	19	20	21	22	23
24	25	26	27	28

WRITE ON

Writer's Blog by Susan A. Culver

Author Archives: Susan

STARRY, STARRY NIGHT- A MEMOIR BY SUSAN A. CULVER

KARMA BITES

THE PURSE

THE WAITING ROOM

MAMA’S BOY

WIND CHIMES

BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR

TOMORROW

GROWING UP CATHOLIC IN AMERICA IN THE 1950-1960’s

ANCORA