tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85264568682222075582024-03-13T02:14:27.546-04:00 Growing Up BufordIn a small town dysfunctional familyUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger48125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8526456868222207558.post-25153055028236263152021-11-16T12:04:00.005-05:002021-11-18T00:33:45.472-05:00Crack Food Junkie: (The Hunger: Part Two)<p style="text-align: left;"></p><span><a name='more'></a></span><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7uHwbQrfBT_w1RxL08kjif2nj08nQGgBvb8o86885ue5xoN32-ssHHkIT5vVwR4YLZvZDF7J6ADFRvvQTDqckuf5Oq6Kz1KVqhsb1iI6xoyXclTMGRe3cOwhiqYBfCNkeCcfOQ9HSmeA/w586-h419/canstockphoto27605582.jpg" /><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;"></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">Mother was an
alpha female with an inferiority complex. Having power over something or
someone made her feel superior, and unfortunately, the only control she had was
over Daddy and us three girls. Daddy rarely argued with her. She doted on
Renay. Beat Vickie for the misfortune of having a health problem and tried to
turn me into Twiggy. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">She could not
abide a fat child. She was thin enough, and both my sisters were
string beans, and she couldn’t wrap her head around me being a chunky
monkey. I first plumped up just before puberty. She ordered Vickie and me
a blue and white checked skirt and matching vest out of the Sears
& Roebuck Catalog. Little Vickie’s outfit was almost small enough to fit
Renay. Mine would have looked tailored on Larry Mondello’s twin sister—had the
Beaver’s pal had a lookalike sibling. Mama was speechless. That was one of the
few times I had the last laugh.</span></span><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">My weight melted to 100 pounds in a few months, and everything was
copasetic weight-wise until I started working at Teens Diner and tried to eat
Danny out of French fries, cheeseburgers, and apple pies fresh out of the
freezer. Said deep-frozen apple pies would have tasted better had I heated them
in the oven first. </span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">I gain all the way up to 120 pounds in the 9th grade and added 15 more by summertime. </span></span><span style="font-size: 22pt;">Mama tried her level best to humiliate me into my former 100
pounds. She told me no boy would ever look at
my 4’11” 135-pound lard butt. But I was too rebellious to be fat-shamed. </span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">We were living in the house on the corner of Shadburn Avenue
and North Alexander Street when Mama came digging it in swinging a shopping bag
and a pissed-off look. She motioned for me to follow her into the big
bathroom and stopped in front of the wardrobe where she hung
my dresses. She whipped out a double-knit empire-waist dress
with long white sleeves and matching bodice that V’d into
a big gold buckle doohickey above a puke-green A-line skirt. </span></span><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">“Do you see this?” she sneered.</span></span><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">How on earth could I miss it?</span></span><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">“If you don’t lose weight, this’s the last dress I’ll ever buy you.” * </span></span><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">Did I cut out the Colonial chocolate cream-filled cupcakes,
Butterfinger candy bars, potato chips, Cokes? Pfffff!</span></span><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">I ate my small portions, my two hamburger patties, and small
helping of fries, with a sour look on my face. But little did she know
that I loaded up on candy, pastries, chips, and Cokes at Burel’s, Duncan’s,
Mrs. Mauldin’s, Shomake’s, and the Clover Farm. In summer, while she
worked, I bought hamburgers and fries at the North Pole on Hill Street and
Highland Avenue and Cheeseburger
Deluxe platters and chocolate milkshakes at the Dairy Queen
on Shadburn Avenue and Little
Mill Road. </span></span><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="eop"><span style="color: red; font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span><span class="normaltextrun"><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="color: red; font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">Around 1973, when I was a junior at Buford High School, our church
youth minister Daylen Moore decided to have a Miss Gwinnett Hall Baptist Church
pageant. Mama scoffed and called it a “Popularity contest.” The
winner was to be announced at a banquet in some restaurant. When informed that
Vickie and I were nominees and were required to wear long dresses,
she seethed and showed her teeth, and commenced to pitch
a high-O hissy fit.</span></span><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">“Daylen Moore is crazy!” she seethed to Mama Dorsey. “I don’t
have the money to waste on evening gowns and new shoes and hairdos! And
look at you, Cindy! with that big gut hanging over your waist! I’d
never be able to find a gown to fit you!”</span></span><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">(I weighed 165 pounds)</span></span><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">She must have gone hissing and growling to one of her coworkers at
Loveable or perhaps Lorene Wallis calmed her down because she changed gears
and went shopping and came home with two long-dress
patterns, red- and white-checked polyester material, sewing notions, and
wagged a longline bazooka bra at me. </span></span><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">The finished dresses were plain compared to what some of the
others wore to the dinner on the night Dian Allen was crowned, but I at
least didn’t give a fig. I didn’t expect to win. I was there for the
food. </span></span><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">The making of these dresses and the purchase of that bra set a
precedent. She refused to buy us ready-made outfits or me a regular
bra in the years before I left for college. </span></span><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> I wore
longlines into my mid-twenties when the day I said to my tatas, “I ain’t gonna
take it anymore!” and ripped that booger off.</span></span><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">As my first day at college approached, my brain warmed up. I went
on a diet and lost about 20 pounds. Mama finally decided she might be
able to find something store-bought to fit my girth. Mama
Dorsey took us shopping at Sears in
Gainesville. I took down a white, box pleated skirt like the one Aunt
Pam wore to get married to Mack Gaines, but Mama took it
away and hung it back up.</span></span><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">“It’ll make you look pregnant.”</span></span><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">She picked out two or three outfits. I was
so disgusted; I don’t even recall what they looked like.</span></span><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">Just over a month before I was due on the Tennessee Temple
University campus for Orientation, I came down with what I thought was a
horrible toothache. Nothing would ease it. Nothing. Aunt Pam took me to see Dr.
Armstrong in his office on Moreno and Church Streets. </span></span><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">“I’m sending you to an ear, nose, and throat doctor at
Peachtree Corners.” He said without telling me what the x-rays showed—despite
my being a month shy of 19 years old. Instead, he called Mama at Lovable with
the diagnosis of impacted wisdom teeth. Mama Dorsey took Mama and me to Dr.
James Sparks.</span></span><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">“I want to extract all three of them this Wednesday at
Shallowford Hospital.</span></span><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">” (In Norcross back then, I believe.)</span></span><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">“What about the fourth tooth?”</span></span><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> Mama
asked.</span></span><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">“She was born without it.”</span></span><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">Birth
defects!</span></span><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">He prescribed pain meds. Mama wouldn’t let me take more than one.
She was afraid I’d turn into a druggy if I took two. She took
them with Budweiser and Valium for her emotional pain, doncha
know, walking around a foot off the ground and daggers in her eyes.</span></span><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">Mary Swanson took us to Shallowford. I stepped on the scales, and
Mama did a full-body flinch at the 150-pound reading. You’d have
thought the scales read 600. </span></span><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">“I thought you told me you weighed 147!”</span></span><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">Mary kind of rolled her eyes and said, “Hospital scales weigh
more than bathroom scales.”</span></span><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">The next morning bright and early, my family showed up in my room.
A nurse came in with a gown and a cap. I was so scared that a doctor or nurse would lift my hem and peek at me, I tried to sneak into the operating room with my drawers
on. </span></span><span style="font-size: 29.3333px;">My fear was not unwarranted. </span><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">A nurse pulled up my gown, caught me granny-pantied, and
ordered me to take them off. After she pumped me full of drugs, I
didn’t care who looked where. </span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">Two orderlies came in. Instead of waiting for
them to bring the gurney over, I jumped up, tore over,
and climbed right up, flashing my butt for everyone in the room
to see. I didn’t think I was ever going to live that one down.</span></span><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">They took me into the operating room, and I woke up
coughing around a wad of gauze that must have protruded five or six
feet out of my mouth. I had never been so thirsty in my life. They rolled
me back into my room, and I started begging for water. But it was early
afternoon before they allowed me to drink and eat. I was in there for
three days, and Mama lit into me every time I was given a pain injection
due to the cost. </span></span><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">I drank chicken broth for a week at home before I could eat solid
food. Mama didn’t say a word about my liquid diet until the
Saturday she wanted me to babysit Frances Martin’s two children so she
and Frances could go barhopping. When I allowed as how I wasn’t
up to that yet, she let me have it with both barrels.</span></span><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">“You’ve been lying around for a week doing nothing but
reading, sleeping, and watching television. You haven’t picked
up a broom or a mop once! And you’ve gotten me in debt with that doctor and the
hospital! And you call yourself a Christian!
You’re nothing but a hypocrite!</span></span><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="color: red; font-size: 22pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">The day before I left for college, my long-lost one true love called out
of the blue and wanted to get together over hamburgers. I turned
him and the burgers and possible French fries and pie down, because I
knew that if I went, there would be no going back.</span></span><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">That night Daddy took Vickie, Renay, and me to a Western
Sizzler Steakhouse down the road, and not many weeks later, he disappeared
with his new family.</span></span><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">And then onward to college the next day, where I fell <span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-size: 22pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">belly
over waist </span>in love with a restaurant, but that’s the next <i>Hunger</i> story.</span></span><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; text-indent: 14.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span><span class="normaltextrun" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span><span class="eop" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="background: white; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="normaltextrun"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">* Except
from<i> The Hunger (Part One), Growing Up Buford, </i>July 14, 2020,<i> </i>Cindy
Wiggins Tapia</span></span><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> </span></span><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="paragraph" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;"><br /></span></span></p><p align="center" class="paragraph" style="margin: 0in; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">In Memory<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p align="center" class="paragraph" style="margin: 0in; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">Of<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p>
</p><p align="center" class="paragraph" style="margin: 0in; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="eop"><span style="font-size: 22pt;">Daylen Moore</span></span><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><span><!--more--></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8526456868222207558.post-16739651488522715952021-04-30T10:01:00.043-04:002021-08-31T09:07:08.940-04:00Bad Boyz<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href=" " style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="474" data-original-width="644" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJtblwYOxsB17MtN0jrBCgpeuWajtiYSvdJSnC_deGnCCN_Ok2jO2zUNPtTcHCTlEhOWXcMkaBVv2dGfjLN-48mIlUvUYg2kJ4hiQGwFf3e1OV7wgs7zyvuiaoSl6Opmb939yG4nXz65Y/w640-h472/BLOG+IMAGE.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">Daddy fooled around with his best friend’s wife, and Mama
got even with the Dutch Oven delivery boy. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">Then came the D-I-V-O-R-C-E, but they didn’t bother spelling
it out. Daddy went to live with his mommy on South Alexander Street. Mama moved
us girls in with Mama and Papa Dorsey and Aunt Pam on the corner of Hill and E
Park. Mama got a job at the University Yacht Club on Lake Lanier and took to
partying down every night with Winston filter tip cigarettes, Mr. Bud, and a
rowdy blond bugbear. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">Mama Dorsey frowned upon her debauchery. Papa ranted. A divorcée with little kids had no business
out painting the town. Mama swore she was going to do what she wanted to do
come hell or high water, which became her mantra and her tragedy. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">They reunited two years later and decided to pull up
roots. The memory of that trip lingers
in flashing black and white lights. Vickie is in the back seat. I am standing
up between Mama and Daddy as he wheels up 23 Highway toward an old and
unimproved life in Southern Pines, North Carolina.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">We returned to Buford several months later with a new baby
and moved into the bottom apartment below Mama and Papa Dorsey. Aunt Pam was
married to Mack Gaines by then. Daddy went back tooling leather for Bona Allen
Harness Shop, while Mama stayed home, and I entered Mrs. Garner’s second-grade
class at Buford Elementary School.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">In 1965, Mama hired Ula Mae to look after two-year-old Renay
and started working at The North Pole on Hill Street and Highland Avenue. It
was a smaller version of Al’s on Happy Days, owned and operated by Diane Fox’s
parents H.L. and Alice (Cain) Adams. One of her workmates was Danny Anglin, who
became a lifelong family friend and my future employer at Teen’s Diner just up
Hill Street. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">She left the North Pole and got on at the Lumite Plant,
housed in the old Bona Allen Shoe Shop on West Main Street. BYOB Christmas
parties followed, vacations to Rock City and The Lost Sea, and the Cherokee
Indian Reservation.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">Lake Lanier soon replaced the summer getaways. We spent every weekend, holiday, and two
weeks on the Fourth of July camping, boating, fishing, drinking, and fighting
like two possums in a poke. Sometimes their Budweiser-fueled bouts exploded
like gas on a campfire, and Mama Dorsey would appear out of the blue because
she just knew we girls needed her… <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">As an adult, I dealt with the abuse by lashing out, but
spent my childhood quaking in fear of her.
Mother. Wild brown eyes and bared teeth taking her demons out on the kid
she had cowed and shamed and frightened and beat. Me. A bitty little girl
smacked with coat hangers, hairbrushes, or the first thing she could grab up. A
child beaten with a leather belt so hard and so long that her daddy had to jump
in and stop it. Those lashes were carefully laid so that the welts and bruises
weren’t visible below the mini-dress hemline. A ten-year-old still playing with
dolls shamed for having the body functions of a teenager and told that she
would have to be careful because she could “easily become pregnant.” Terrifying
words to an innocent child who believed a mere kiss fertilized an egg. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">She refused to allow me to see my boyfriend because she
hated his mother. I was going to play the field, or her nick wasn’t Booger Bear
Tine. After a spate of dateless weekends, she decided I was mooning over that
guy. Thus began the winter Saturday nights when
I was ordered to call neighborhood boys to come sit with me on the couch
in the living room, while she bent her elbow at the kitchen table, sucking
coffin nails and sharpening her alcoholism with Mr. Bud. To hear her tell it,
she nursed those tall cans, but honey, I’m here to tell you she turned those
bad boyz up.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">And where was Daddy? Why, he was moonlighting at Lex Cates
service station, completely unaware of what she was forcing me to do—or he
would have flown out of his milquetoast demeanor and killed her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">I was born again on Sunday night, March 21, 1971, at
Gwinnett Hall Baptist Church. The following Sunday night, I was baptized. Daddy
refused to attend. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">After Vickie and Mama got saved, Mama started nagging Daddy
about going to church. He did relent to attending a single revival night. The preacher was full of stories and jokes,
and he sold his books and records out of his trunk in front of the church
doors, which insulted Daddy’s tender sensibilities. He swore never to darken
that threshold again. He told Mama she
was going to bust hell wide open. He
said Christianity had ruined Vickie and me, but there might be hope for young
Renay. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">And on it went until the Sunday night, Mama answered a phone
call from his paramour that thrust my parents into their second and last divorce.
She immediately started drinking and smoking again, spiraling down through the
years deeper and deeper into insane booze-fueled frenzies. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">One night in the kitchen of our Garner Street efficiency,
she started ripping into me for not emptying the cats’ litter box often enough,
for always being broke, eating her food, smoking her cigarettes, my penchant
for getting wild ideas like going to college and having dental surgery that
caused her to go into debt—over twenty years previously—and for being born in
the first place.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">Suddenly, she jumped to her feet and shook her fist like
Scarlett O’Hara in the Tara garden.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">“I want what’s mine!” She screamed at God.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">Then she called Charter Midtown, threatening to kill herself
if they didn’t send a taxi to bring her down to their mental hospital.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">A good Christian lady friend and my former Sunday School
teacher told me later, “Your mother called me one midnight and said she
committed herself to keep from killing you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">She was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. Her doctors
added Zoloft to her existing cocktail of purple Xanax, Lortab, and sleeping
pills. She bought a case of beer every day and wondered why she never had money
to buy clothes and doodads at the Buford Thrift Shop. She would clean house,
drink, and pop pills for over twenty-four hours straight and then pounce.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">I woke at night with her plundering around in my room. I
never knew when she was going to explode. I didn’t have a car, nor the money to
move out if I’d of had one. I was stuck and wallowed in the physical and
emotional abuse she had meted out to me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">I had every reason to hate that woman’s guts. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">Yet, against all earthly rationales, I loved her so. She had
never abandoned us. She went without so that my two baby sisters and I could
have more and do more. I sat at the kitchen table while she hand-stitched
Barbie doll clothes from castoffs in her ragbag. She made carpeted dollhouses
out of shoeboxes. When we begged her to buy us some snuff, she gave us a
sugared dip of Hersey’s Coco. She was the one person in all the world who would
have moved mountains for me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">I shall never forget one March Saturday I lay in my hospital
bed at Northeast Georgia Gainesville, boohooing for hours because I didn’t have
a way home. I’d been in there under obstetric observation for almost three days
already, and I wanted to go hoooome. And Mama sent an illegal drug wholesaler
to pick me up at 3 am. A nurse rolled me out. I took a gander at the familiar
big dude and went “Uhhhh” and jumped into his tank…<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">Early May 2006. Mama was admitted to Joan Glancy Hospital in
Duluth with feet so swollen she could not wear her shoes. Diagnosis: heart
failure, which was treatable. But bloodwork revealed a high<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">Alphafetoprotien (AFP) which is a tumor marker. A normal AFP
in adults is about 1%. Mama’s was around
97%. She had liver cancer. She would not
allow them to do a biopsy… <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">The last time I saw her awake was May 14, Mother’s Day. There was a goodly
group of family and friends around her bed when Vickie, Brittany, and I walked
in. She was gasping for breath behind her oxygen mask. Her eyes were glazed.
She was shrunken. Lack of oxygen had slurred her words. She was Papa Dorsey at
Northeast Georgia Gainesville in 1987 all over again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">I stood beside her, smoothing her hair back, and caressing
her cheek. A tray of food sat untouched on her meal table. I urged her to eat,
but she wasn’t hungry. She tried to get me to eat her cake.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">Nabo and I had never borrowed a penny from her, yet when I
turned to leave, she said, “Cindy, I have $200 dollars in the bank, if you need
it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">The following day, I was sitting at my computer in the home
office in our doublewide trailer on Whitehead Road in Sugar Hill when I spied a
dark head move past the front windows. It was Aunt Mildred.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">“They had to put your mama on a ventilator,” She said in the
foyer. “And, of course, she’s scared.” She glanced at the bag in her hand. “I
brought her things.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">Vickie, Brittany, and I arrived early the next morning to
find her in a coma due to kidney failure. The doctor advised she would likely
never wake up. And if she did, she would be in torment for a month while the
liver cancer finished devouring her. He gave us the option of pulling the plug.
Vickie and I decided to give her until that Friday to pass on naturally…<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">The phone rang at 5 am that very morning. Nabo answered,
jerked, and froze. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">“That was Bickie, her…” His voice trailed off.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">I rolled off
the bed praying, “Oh, my God,” over and over again because those were the only
words. I jumped into my clothes just about the time the silver PT Cruiser
pulled up. I ran out the master bedroom
door, climbed into the back seat and off we sped, trying to beat death to
Mama’s hospital bed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">Somewhere in the shadows of Buford Highway something went
out of me—and I think Vickie felt it too. I believe it was then Mama passed on.
It is my enduring hope that she landed in that city where by faith we on earth
can see from afar. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">We walked into her ICU room. She was lying there with closed
eyes and mouth ajar. I grabbed her up
into my arms and held her tight, wailing, “Mama! Mama! Mama!” over and over and
over…fifteen years ago today, Friday, May 19, 2006…<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">It took her almost thirty-two years, but she finally killed
herself. Daddy got her going, but she made the choice to pimp it. And no one on
earth had the power to say her nay. Because, as she swore to her mother, “I’m
gonna drank! And I’m gonna smoke!” And the smoke smoked her, and the drink
drank her dry as the ashes in the little urn on my dresser.</span><o:p></o:p></p></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"> </span></p></div><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8526456868222207558.post-21992292333508083032020-12-24T21:57:00.021-05:002021-08-28T10:41:17.763-04:00CHRISTMAS SHADOWS<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href=" " style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1084" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN5XfpaOZidoNd17LarFCFkqQVJLpAa2P2efNfg4D-E4RqRrmgs7kZnt3icfEeFuQnTFFz1MYBr4x1zaoQWOb5c2QsquzkLSv5-0JraPpH_dDZraMZzC_1maAbD2DhlJoECu3IkBVNa6c/w640-h426/BLOG+CHRISTMAS+ARTICLE.jpg" title="Buford, GA, 2010" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Buford, GA, Christmas 2010, </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">Photo Courtesy John Marbury</span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">All my Yuletide
memories stretch back to the year long ago when Christmas fell on the season of lilies and dogwood…<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I’m a Btown baby delivered by the legendary Dr. Harry Hutchens in 1956 at
Hutchens Memorial Hospital on Scott and W Park Streets in Buford. I came into
the world on the wrong side of the tracks a few blocks down from the magical mansions
I would one daydream on. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>Mama was seventeen years old, and I was her firstborn. Apparently, I did gymnastics
in the womb, and then one day I went stone cold still. Daddy rushed her to the
hospital, and Dr. Harry assured her I was just fine. When he slapped my butt, I
screamed, “You’re mean!” and I’ve been yapping ever since. </span><span><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span>My first home was down the street from the little hospital. Sometime after
that, we moved into the little house on Hamilton Mill Road where that little
brain clerk woke up and began to peck out the events of my life. I remember the day Vickie invaded our family in 1958 when I was some twenty-seven months old. Scientists say that children do not start retaining memory before age two. And </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0.2in;">yet...and yet...I recall events that happened way before my sister was born...</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>I have a vivid eyeball memory of the car pulling onto our red dirt yard. I screamed,
“Mama’s home!” Never mind the Peanut. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
commenced racing through the house and tripped over my little piano stool and
broke my front teeth off. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A dentist
pulled the fragments, and the permanents didn’t start coming in like forever. I covered
my snaggletooth smile with my hand like a<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>shy Cherokee child. With my natural frowny lips, I looked like a sad
sack in general and angry in particular. By the time my front teeth came in, my
habit of a sober face had set in, which made provision for bully fodder years
later.</span><span><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">True, I was sad and angry for years, and I still have my moments, but like
many melancholy people, I had what a creative writing teacher called a wicked
sense of “wry Southern humor.” I kept Mama in belly laughs. My funny faces rescued
me from a tongue lashing many a time. She’d go, “Don’t you make me laugh!”
And then she was rolling. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I have vibrant pastel memories of Vickie just not being anywhere in that house—chowing down and almost swallowing the carnival
glass that I found in a dresser drawer; crawling in between Mama and Daddy
in bed because I was afraid of sleeping in the front
bedroom all by myself; standing with Mama inside the bedroom door, watching
wharf rats swarm the kitchen floor; the day my little Benji dog went out to
play and vanished.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I say all this because in all those memories, I don’t remember once celebrating
Christmas in that Hamilton Mill Road house or in the one on the hill above Buford
Highway in Flowery Branch...not a dinner, not a tree, nor a visit from St. Nick,
nothing. Christmas is a blue season for
many and black for a lot. My parents may have upped their dogfights during the
happiest time of the year, and I may have tucked all the good with the bad in
the dark crannies of my mind.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>Everything changed for the better when Mama and Daddy divorced in 1960. </span><span><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Daddy moved in with his Mommy Gladys and Stepdaddy Guy Doster. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We two
girls spent dedicated weekends with Daddy. I hated those visits. Make no
mistake, I loved him, but I didn’t like Gladys, and the varmints
squeaking and grunting above the ceiling gave me nightmares—no hard feelings,
Tucker.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Daddy’s bedroom faced S Alexander Street. Vickie and I slept on either side
of him. As far as I know, they hit dreamland almost instantly, while I lay
there in the silvered shadows,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>listening
to the squirrels planning my barbeque from the attic above the closet. I developed an unconscious
fear of Tucker’s kind that blew wide
open years later when I bopped off High
Street and onto Shadburn Avenue and was gobsmacked by the millions of squirrels in the two trees in Luther Doster’s
front yard. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They sat there, frozen mid-chew,
staring at me. I turned and ran home as fast as my fat would allow. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did I
mention I was forty? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mama moved us in with Mama and Papa
Dorsey on Hill Street. She worked at the University Yacht Club and partied down
every night. She bared her teeth and clobbered us with a brush, a coat hanger,
or whatever was handy. She forced us to go with her on dates with a man who
would have mistreated her had we not been there. She made us dance in front of
strangers at dancehalls under the threat of a belt. One semi highlight was the
night they took us to what may have been the South
Eastern Fair. It was that big. She loved anything that scared us to death. Most times, I
was a disappointment. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Except for her
teeth-baring rages, nothing that woman ever did faze me, but Vickie was scared to death of everything from bugs to roller coasters. Mama took one look at The
Mouse and nothing would do but we had to ride it with her. Vickie burst into tears of fear. I was like
YeeHaaw! until that bugger started flying up and down and sideways on its
mountain tracks. Chalk one up for Mama in my name.</span><span><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was Mama Dorsey who took us riding around, who took us to see all of Elvis
Presley movies at the Buford Drive-in on Highway 20 in Sugar Hill. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was Mama and Papa Dorsey who rushed Vickie
to the Buford General Hospital when she stepped on a rusty nail and raced me to
that same ER when I threw a big coffee can off the steps and accidentally
jumped on it. It was Aunt Pam who told us bedtime stories and tickled my back until
I fell asleep.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mama loved our daddy and was inconsolable when he died twenty-two years
later. During those years they were divorced the first time, she was running on
heartbreak, you understand. I looked like him, and worse, I looked like Gladys.
I am convinced that is one reason we never got along. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>All these years later, I realize she did the best she knew how to do in the face of her demons. She walked me up to Tom’s Shoe Store, where Lefty Cole fitted me with a
pair of black and white saddle oxfords to wear with the cutest little
full-skirted dresses for the first day of my twelve years in school hell. She walked me down Hill Street to Buford
Grammar, going a mile a minute, while my short legs raced to keep up. She stood in front of the orange sink counters at
the back of Mrs. Dover’s class while I wrote my name on the blackboard and such
things first graders do to acquaint themselves with the new chapter in their
lives. </span><span><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We had the best Christmas that year, 1962. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On Christmas Day, Daddy stood in Glady’s immaculate living room, beaming at
what in my opinion were toys for boys. What stands out are two feed-the-green hippo
deals., where you tossed a white plastic
ball at their wide-open mouth, and if
your aim was true, their jaws clamped down on it. I’m sure I’d have loved it if
I’d been born the little Reggie Armond Wiggins he had so wanted.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mama was home that night, and when
it got dark, she insisted Mama and Papa Dorsey take Vickie and me riding around
town to see the Christmas lights. When we got home, Santa had showed up and
showed out. We never enjoyed so much bounty of his bag again. Along
with the bride dolls in their tan and black kitty-corner striped boxes were two
Barbie dolls with helmet hair, two white
mirrored vanities and stools, matching canopy beds, and oodles and oodles of
outfits. Oh and let’s not forget poor Ken and the mechanic clothes on his back.
What those two Barbies saw in him I couldn’t guess, but they fought over him
for years on the stage of my little girl fantasies.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>My parents remarried the next year, in early 1963, and we moved to Southern
Pines, NC, for a few months. After Renay was born, we were back on Hill Street in time for me to enter <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mrs. Garner’s second grade at
Buford Grammar. We moved into the apartment below Mama and Papa Dorsey. </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Bona Allen rehired Daddy. When Renay was two or three, Mama went to work at
the North Pole, a carhop/eat-in owned and operated by Mr. and Mrs (Alice Ruth
Cain) H.L. Adams on Hill Street and Highland Avenue. Money was spare, though we
never went hungry. Like her mother before her, Mama knew how to stock a pantry
toward lean times. Except for Sunday dinner, meals were simple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She refused to buy chips and cookies because we would just eat them. Uhhhh… We got
Cokes when we were sick. She did relent when we were camping on Lake Lanier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eating at Catfish King, McDonald's, and Burger
King were rare treats. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Holiday feasts
were much anticipated by a certain foodie, a friend of mine, you know.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>I do remember the Thanksgiving gatherings after Mama and Papa Dorsey rented the Frazier House on Carter Road in Flowery Branch. Every family brought their particular specialty every year. Mama always fixed green beans and mac and cheese. Mama
Dorsey roasted the turkey. She baked hens because their meat and broth tasted
better in the sage cornbread dressing. She always had a tossed salad for anybody who wasn't on a diet. She mixed ketchup and mayo together, it was the best dressing I have ever put in my mouth.</span><span><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Christmas festivities began when the big bag
of fruit and nuts arrived from wherever Mama ordered them. To this day, no
matter the month, the tangy smell of oranges triggers my Christmas memories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On a Saturday night near Christmas, my
parents hosted a bring-your-own likker or beer party for my uncles and aunts
and lake friends. The action took place in the living room to the tune of old-time boohoo country music. Daddy allowed me to play one single rock song, and
Teresa Hill and I would get down shaking our girlies. One year a man went “WoooHooo!” and that, friends
and neighbors was the last time a whole lotta shakin goin on at Daddy’s
parties.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On Christmas Eve we gathered at Mama and Papa Dorsey's for snacks and opening gifts. She always had a big tree,
usually, a live one strung with those big outdoor lights, balls, and silver tensile.
There were a good number of us back in those days, and I reckon she bought for
each of us. One year we added exchanging names to our Thanksgiving tradition, but
she still bought for her five grandbabies. Christmas Day was a repeat of
Thanksgiving dinner.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>I look back with great joy at those years
when we were all still alive. Mama and Daddy, Vickie, Renay, and me; Aunt
Mildred, Uncle Larry, and Mike Elinburg; Aunt Pam, Uncle Mack, and Jason Gaines; and sometimes Mama Dorsey’s oldest sister, Edna of the flaming hair and rude
tongue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My sisters, me, Aunt Mildred,
Mike and Jason are the only ones still on the planet.</span><span><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We seldom had a tree at our house. Mama couldn't
tolerate shedding. We likely had an artificial tree but didn’t put it up enough
for me to have total recall. We kids would go to bed. Thirty minutes later,
she'd come running in with that wide-eyed cocky look she got when she was about
to wet her drawers. "SANTA CAME! COME ON."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And we'd just about break our legs getting to
the kitchen. She had pulled the hardware store dish cabinet out from the
fireplace—so Santa could climb out and lay our gifts about, doncha know. She
never left him a crumb or sip for his trouble, either. He might eat it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We never got much more than a doll apiece,
one or two other things, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>maybe an outfit,
but two magical years stand out. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I saw a big Colonial dollhouse in Allen’s
5&10 Cent store. I tore home and told Mama all about it. I knew better than
to ask for it, because we didn’t have the money for such a gift even bought at
a dime store. Christmas Eve Night, it was sitting on a card table she had
bought especially for it. Alongside the grey porch and white columns were plastic bags full of furniture,
decorations, and a little doll family of three. Mama was under the impression
those accessories were included but
found out differently at the checkout counter. She must have told them how much
I wanted it because they let her have everything at no extra charge. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The next memorable Christmas was the year I
saw a kiddy sewing machine in the Sears catalog. To my surprise, Mama ordered
it COD. That was also the year she bought my last Barbie because, at ten, I
looked fourteen. She said. “The only reason you’re getting one now is to use as a
model for the clothes you make.” Well, I had all kinds of Barbies at home that
would have done for that, but I kept my mouth shut…</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span>I can see us now, standing
around </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 19.2px;">in the American Legion 127 on Sawnee Avenue on Easter Eve.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0.2in;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 19.2px;">Mama and Daddy had a funny look on their faces.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 19.2px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0.2in;">Vickie wasn’t there, or in my shock the “next” day, I don’t remember
seeing her. In all my
remembrances this scene was in grayscale, like the black-and-white TV screens
of the day.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The next morning, I woke up, and it was
Christmas Day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I am persecuted that it’s not just a matter
of having forgotten the interval in the mists of time. I knew something was
wrong that very day. It was a feeling of loss. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I didn’t ask my parents about it ever because
I wasn’t one to talk to go to them about anything.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Those lost months shadow all my Easters and
Christmases, and I think it is one reason I get the blues during those holy
days. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>What had happened so badly that I blocked out
seven or eight months of my life?</span><span><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span><span style="font-size: medium; mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Dedicated </span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">to </span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Judy Born Brackett who inspired this article</span></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">and<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Kim McDaniel’s Tucker the Squirrel <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"> </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> </div></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span><p></p><br /><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8526456868222207558.post-15965224525134432172020-07-14T06:40:00.011-04:002021-08-28T10:41:38.719-04:00This Hunger (Part One)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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<a href=" " style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="797" data-original-width="800" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgASkMvB3ZDjtYkSIRgn8gylpHOZfy2k5Er_ZV85YX4A8jCBDAnBrbED29aoxk9iuo4dYgyGZlPQfV4an8HlQPznh8QGAaQT6vcxV3zvowsm77ve6MqLTKvPlyFcm_VsEmEP6xKg4ktc6A/s320/canstockphoto50558100.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">The second time I suspected I was pregnant, I was a
fourteen-year-old floor scrubber, dishwasher, and waitress at
Teens Diner on Hill Street. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">I’ve been a bean, and I’ve been a squash, and I’ve been a
watermelon. Can you dig it? Even when I was thin, I wasn’t thin enough.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">The truth is, I never got enough to eat. Now, make no mistake,
Mama always had a stocked pantry, but I always had this hunger—even when I was
a bitty little girl. I remember attending a potluck dinner somewhere out toward
Harmony. I must have been three years old. Someone brought fried
okra, and I would have eaten it all and licked the bowl clean had Mama not refused to let me have a second helping. Later, when I was eight or ten, I’d
eat five hamburgers at Mama and Papa Dorsey’s cookouts at the Fraizer house on Carter Road in Flowery Branch.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">“You’re going to be big as a barn,” Daddy would half-kid.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">I did have a fat spurt during prepubescence. I was
downright almost plump. Mama was aghast. She grabbed up the Sears catalog and
ordered me a chubby girl outfit. It arrived. I took a swim in it, and she sent
it back for a junior petite. I lost twelve pounds that spring—in all
the right places, someone commented.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">I’m sitting here, flashing back on our family campouts on the west
bank of the Buford Dam. Those days, I hated Lake Lanier like nobody’s business,
as some of you already know. It was the prime ignition to my parents’ violent
drunken fights. As Friday approached every week, I sought ways to get out of
going. I spent some weekends with Mama and Papa Dorsey, who once took me to
Mossy Creek to meet some of Papa’s people I’d never met. I sometimes spent a
night with Aunt Pam when Uncle Mack was working. We played Gin Rummy, baked
brownies, and watched Tom Jones.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">During my Buford High School days, I had friends close enough</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 18.6667px; text-indent: 28.8px;">—other than Susan Dollar</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 18.6667px; text-indent: 28.8px;">—</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">to
spend the night with. Kathy Cole and Jackie Waycaster. But Teresia Hill was
like my twin sister. We spent every hour we could together. We danced, walked
around Btown, talked about boys and sex, and everything under the sun. When I
was at her house, we ran around Lanier Mobile Home Park at midnight, setting
off firecrackers between holidays or hung out on somebody’s waterside deck. I
wore halter tops, swam in Lake Lanier without a life jacket, dabbled in smoking
and drinking, and went around braless. We’d lay across her bed, doing our
homework, topless. I kept one eye on my book, and the other one cocked on
my cleavage. I'd never tose girls smushed against a bedspread before. We’d walk up
the trailer park lane, turn right, and head up to Buice’s Superette on the corner
of Shadburn Ferry and Buford Dam Roads for snacks. I usually had a bit of money
saved for when I eloped to Glendale, California, with my boyfriend in five
years, but I always ended up eating it. I spent many weekends at the
Hill’s North Georgia Mountain home. We double-dated with strangers and hiked
with the bears. The Hills always had a spread no matter where they were, including caramel cakes and cokes and we ate out.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">And then there was the church escape. Susan Dollar got me started
attending the Buford Church of God. I went for the Ponderosa Steakhouse
parties, trips to Six Flags, and the BCOG Campground. And to get away from the lake
for a couple of hours on Sunday. Daddy grumbled about having to take me, but he did, or Mama would have snarled and bared her teeth at
him. I wore my bathing suit home, took a quick bath in the clawfoot tub, and
donned an ultra-micro mini dress and high heels. He let me out at
the Busy Bee Loundermate where I summarily dashed in and blew my offering quarter on Coke,
chips, candy, and gum, then off across South Lee Street to Buford Church of God Sunday School. After
church, he took me home and I changed back into my swimsuit. As we were headed
back to the lake, one Sunday, I happened to look down and gasp at how wide my
thighs spread across the seat. I was 4 foot eleven inches tall and weighed 102
pounds. Uhhhhh. I went on a diet long enough to jump out of the car and hit the
sandwiches, chips, and Coke Mama had waiting.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">I hitchhiked to Atlanta with my boyfriend to play hippy in the
summer of 1970. We left on a Wednesday and a couple of plainclothes policemen
brought us back Friday night. Daddy picked me up at the jailhouse in
Lawrenceville. For the first and only time in my life, he hugged me and cried.
It was just a little too late. I walked into a packed house on Moreno Avenue.
The maternal side was truly glad to see me. The paternal wanted to get the
goods on my bedtime in Hotlanta.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">My teenage male cousin was grinning like a polecat in a sweet potato patch. Someone asked, “So, did y'all do</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">—”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">“Cindy wouldn’t do anything like that!” My little sister Vickie
snarled. That put the brakes on that subject.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">Me? I got up and headed for the fridge. Where else? I opened the
door and there on a middle rack was a restaurant tray that Danny Anglin had
sent over from Teen’s Diner. So, I sat down and ate one ice-cold burger
after another.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">I made it through the first day of school without a care in the
world because I was too morally bankrupt to be ashamed of what I’d done. When
the bell rang, I flew home. donned one of the white uniforms Aunt Mildred gave
me and backtracked to Hill Street for my very first day at Teens Diner, where I
began my descent into Fatville USA. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">Halfway into my shift, Danny would fix me a cheeseburger and fries. Just a few days afterward, I began sneaking apple pie out of
the icebox locker. I needed a jackhammer to slice it, but why let a little
thing like frozen solid spoil slapping a slab of fat on my thighs? Danny would
set the French fry warming pot on the window shelf, and I would gobble the
leftover fries.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">“Cindy, hand over that pot of fries.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">Uhhhhh. “I ate em.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">Hoo boy!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">At 6:30 pm, I’d go home and eat whatever Mama had cooked, usually
cornbread, dried beans, and fried potatoes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">And let’s not forget all the Colonial cream-filled chocolate
cupcakes, Baby Ruths, Butterfingers, Reece’s Peanut Butter Cups, chips, and Coke
I bought at Shomake’s and the Clover Farm to and from school. And then there
were the weekend raids on Mama Dorsey’s fridge, pantry, and candy dish.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">I gained twenty pounds right off. I hadn't a clue until my home ec teacher, Mrs. Grizzle, had me weigh to see what size clothes to sew. One hundred and twenty pounds! </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">"I do not weigh that much!"</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">"Yes, you do."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">"No, I don't!"</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">"Those scales are accurate."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">I shut up. We partnered up for measurements. My butt was forty inches. My partner died. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">And then I had a terrible thought.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">“I’m pregnant,” I told Arlene White and Teresia Hill at lunch. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">It took a few weeks, but I finally connected the weight gain with
food. I’d say, ‘calorie intake,” but I’m not sure calorie was in my vocabulary.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">Mama started nagging me about losing weight. She’d fix hamburgers
and fries and set two patties and a fry on my plate. I made up for it when she
wasn’t there. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">One afternoon she came home from shopping and made an ultimatum. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">“See this?” She held up a long-sleeved double-knit puke-green
outfit. “ If you don’t lose weight, this’s the last dress I’ll ever buy you…”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 28.8px;"><span style="font-family: times new roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 28.8px;"><span style="font-family: times new roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 14pt; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 28.8px;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"> </span></div><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></span></p><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0px;"><div style="text-indent: 28.8px;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"> </span></div></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 14pt; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; text-indent: 0px;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 14pt; text-align: center;"> </div></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><div style="text-indent: 28.8px;"><span style="font-family: times new roman, serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 18.6667px; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /></span></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8526456868222207558.post-18041841806698307252020-02-20T22:44:00.007-05:002021-08-28T10:29:27.444-04:00The Funky Shotgun Slug Jitterbug<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKvKgezQXDrtPB_l8IBLdmSO7GvHw6kXpO7STdN3UXH31vPki9VbqmmCit3cEOCNPEyMdnx5WAXdEpckW_lvbkS0ofSbB9yWbmevFnEkN-kNgBFwC-xXzk3dsqaze5c1lAd6g5LcIapdU/s1600/SS.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="247" data-original-width="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKvKgezQXDrtPB_l8IBLdmSO7GvHw6kXpO7STdN3UXH31vPki9VbqmmCit3cEOCNPEyMdnx5WAXdEpckW_lvbkS0ofSbB9yWbmevFnEkN-kNgBFwC-xXzk3dsqaze5c1lAd6g5LcIapdU/s1600/SS.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christine Dorsey Wiggins Sloan (Mama)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In the spring of 1977, Vickie and I flew the coop, also
known as the trailer on the hill across Sawnee Avenue from the American Legion
Post 127. We moved into a furnished flat at Eagle Creek Apartments. Our place
was around back where families with varmints were stashed. I earned my Coke and
bodice rippers by keeping children—a baby, three toddlers, a preschooler, an eight-year-old
girl, her younger brother, and a six-year-old boy who one day tracked Georgia red
clay across my kitchen and halfway into the living room. He turned around, looked at the mud and at me, and
said, “Get it up.” That, friends, was the last day I kept that stinker. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Vickie worked at Lovable
and spend evenings watching TV with her boyfriend. I read bodice rippers all
night and sleepwalked during the day, baked the shortbread our dear babysitter,
Eula Mae Stone, had ready for us after school many a day and popped
prescription diet pills. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Vickie and I
went to see <i>Smokey and the Bandit</i> in Lawrenceville the day Elvis died. And so
it went.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mama and Ernest Paul
Sloan came calling one afternoon. She walked into my living room with a pair of raccoon eyes. A man had asked her
something at the Legion, and when Sloan wanted to know what the man had said,
Mama blew him off, and he beat her up. I should have climbed up on a stool and
kicked him in his itty bitty with a pair of pointy-toed cowboy boots. But I
just stood there, blinking at them. She knew what he was capable of doing, but chose
to live with him anyway. So, I had not an iota of empathy for her. Little did I
know that my attitude toward her plight
was about to change, that the day was coming when I would have gone to prison
to protect her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mama was too ashamed to
go to work with two shiners, so she called in with “bad back trouble.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, there she was with no paycheck coming in
and about two more weeks until the black faded from around her eyes. Her bills
were coming up due. The cupboard was bare. And most important of all, she was
too broke to stock her fridge with Mr. Bud. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Can we move in with you?”
She asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“What? No! You cannot
move in with me!” The utter nerve! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So, I gave them my bed
and slept on the couch. She did an ultra-clean in every room and rearranged my
kitchen stuff. I overheard her tell Mama Dorsey, “Cindy doesn’t even know what
drawer to put the silverware in.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Uh, what? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She went back to work,
and Sloan hung around me and the kids all day. She finally saved up enough to
rent a little house from Gertrude and John Ray Buice down a long driveway off Garner
Street. Not long after, Pam took me to Lovable for a job interview with Phyllis
Dix and to the Buice’s house on School Drive to rent
the single-wide trailer next door to Mama and the monster.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sharp as a tack, wasn’t I? A pig for abuse,
huh? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I ate supper with Mama
most nights and then ran home in the utter dark, which didn’t bother me until I
started reading Jeff Rice’s <i>Kolchak the Night Stalker</i>. Twenty-one-year-old
me would light out the door, look for vampires, and hightailed it across the yard
and into my trailer and slam<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the door. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">As far as I knew,
everything in what Renay called the <i>Little House on the Prairie</i> next door was
as </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">copacetic as it could get with a nut and a psycho in
the same dump. Apparently not</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">. </span><span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">One day
I looked out the front window in time to see our stepmother, Tempye’s sister Carla
Cannon drive past with Renay in the car. Either something had happened, or she
was tired of the same old same old fights and Sloan’s obsession with her. To
this day, I have no idea which or either. Daddy got word of it, and Carla whisked
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>her off to Hartsfield Airport to fly out to
Texas to live with Daddy and Tempye.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mama came home and threw
a fit. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Why didn’t you stop
her?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Uhhhh, what was I
supposed to do? Fly out the door and chase Carla’s car to the airport? It took Mama
five seconds to simmer down. She marched out the door and was back in no time
with the first load of her belongings.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I’m leaving Sloan!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Uh-huh.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sloan packed his stuff
and left out in the light blue Plymouth Impala that Mama had been awarded in her
divorce from Daddy four years previously. She flat refused to sic the law on
him. So, he had free wheels to drive up and down the long dirt driveway that
led to my trailer. Down he would roll, turn around in the side yard, and roll
back toward Garner Street. One afternoon, instead of turning around, he parked,
got out, and came to our door and demanded to be let in. The next day, Aunt Pam
to me to Justice of the Peace Wendell Peevy to <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>swear out a warrant. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I’ll just put the cause
as Criminal Trespass,” Mr. Peevy said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">They arrested Sloan that
very afternoon. His mommy bailed him out soon enough, but he quit harassing us.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Maybe a month went by. I
was keeping two little girls at their house on Spouts Spring Road for a week
while their parents were on a trip. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Someone
rapped on the door. I opened it up, and there stood Mama, Sloan, and Sloan’s
mommy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Cindy, get your
pockerbook and these girls, you’re going to go to the courthouse in
Lawrenceville and drop the charges on that warrant. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I don’t have the money
to drop the charges.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I do. Let’s go.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So we went. I fully
expected to see Sloan back living in my trailer, and he was. But not for long. I
don’t know what blew him out the door that time. I seldom did. He was just
there, then he wasn’t, then he was. Ad nauseam. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So the
wheels of time squeaked by, and he was gone again a few weeks before Vickie married
Jeff Davis in December 1977. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mama came
home with a bad case of the I-do blues and asked Sloan to move back in. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span>In mid-January 1978, I
came through one night, and he was strangling her at the kitchen table. <o:p></o:p></span></span><span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; text-indent: 19.2px;">His face was a furious red. Engorged blood veins stood out from his forehead. </span><span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; text-indent: 19.2px;">He looked as if he had to do something or burst wide open.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Let her go!” I shouted.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“No! I won’t! I’m going
to kill her!” Then he giggled. “She says that after I kill her, I’ll have to
kill you too.” I glanced at her. Her eyes were defiant. I was sick.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So, there we were. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He ordered me to sit down and finally unwrapped his
hands from around her neck. And the clock ticked toward our fate. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">What do you do to wiggle out of a monster’s clutches?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I’d never make it to the
yellow phone on the wall just outside the kitchen. I pictured myself jumping up
and running across the living room and down the hall and leaping out the other
door and breaking my legs for lack of a stoop. He would have caught me before I made it a
foot from my chair and the snickerdoodle would have gotten realer than it was.
But the biggest reason—had I known I could make it—was that I refused to leave Mama
to him. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the end, I scooted right up close and started talking to him in a soft, sweet voice. I do not recall the words.
But he calmed down and let Mama go to bed. So, she left me there with him. We
sat there, he and I, as he gave me the lowdown about his mommy problem. I’ll
leave that right there. He went to bed. Me? I sat up the rest of the night. No
way was I going to sleep with that thing in the house.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Daylight came and
revealed Winter Storm of 1978 had thrown <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a sheet of ice on the roads during the night. I
had little hope of getting out of there that day. Mama came through to put coffee
on.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“What are you doing up so
early?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Really? <i>Really?</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I’ve been up all night,
Mama.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Why?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I was too scared to go
to bed.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Why—oh! Well, he didn’t
mean anything by that.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">REALLY? <i>REALLY?</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Around <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>9 am, I called Aunt Pam and told her what had
gone down and begged her to allow me to move back in with Mama Dorsey and Papa on Hog Mountain until Lovable called me into work. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I’ll be down to get you
as soon as the roads clear up, Sandy.” (That’s what she called me—Sandy—because,
as she said, “I’m too lazy to say "Cindy". God bless her, I miss her so.)</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That very afternoon, somebody
knocked on the door. Mama opened it, and Papa Dorsey strode into the living
room. Uh oh. Mama was just like her daddy in looks and temperament, and they
both drank. But where she was cruel, he was just a cuss. He treated we three girls, like his own daughters. Papa walked in a chewed Mama and Sloan out while
I got my things. Mama was at a loss. Sloan sat bent over in a corner of the
couch, boohooing. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I’m sorry, Cindy! Please
don’t go!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Watch me, you son of a—!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I walked out and got into
Aunt Pam’s car and never lived with him again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">In February, Lovable
called, and I went to work in </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">the lace
department.<span style="color: #0d0d0d; mso-themecolor: text1; mso-themetint: 242;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Summer came, and Mama
started wearing long-sleeve button-up shirts to work.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Mama, aren’t you burning
up?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Yes…” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Well, why don’t you wear
something cooler?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I can’t.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Why?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“He cuts me,” she said,
tears bursting into her big brown eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“He <i>whaaat?”<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“He grabs my arms and
cuts me with a steak knife.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Call the cops on him!” I
said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“No.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I guess she figured living
with the devil was better than living alone. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She came home from work
one afternoon and found he’d left a note to her on the table.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Lies! Lies! Lies! Bye!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He had left of his own accord this time, and that should
have been the last of it. But it wasn’t. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He started doing his cute drive-by routine in the Plymouth
Fury again. She sent Uncle Mack to get it. That should have been the end. It
wasn’t.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sloan dug up a sage green tank of a car and stared up again.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Papa gave her a <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>lever action rifle and a box of shotgun shells. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I was visiting one afternoon when Sloan drove by. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She went into a panic. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She grabbed up the rifle and spilled the bright
red jackets all over the living room floor. I was cool as a cuke, baby. I
might’ve been scared witless of vampires, but when the snickerdoodle hit the high wind for reals, I was a
contender.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Give that gun to me! I’ll shoot him!” I would have too, and
she knew it and refused to let me blast my way into an orange jumpsuit…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Play it forward to
the day Sloan parked next door and climbed up to the stoop. Mama got the rifle.
She loaded it. She opened the door. She aimed it at the stoop. She pulled the trigger again and again, making Sloan
dance the funky shotgun slug jitterbug…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Mother somehow became friends with a certain coterie </span><span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">of gentlemen in Buford no
one dared mess with. And what is more, no one dared to mess with their people.
I could tell you who they are, and you would know them, but I ain’t gonna. Welp, they got wind of what Sloan had been doing. Soooo, one
night while Sloan was parked at the Legion, they took a sledgehammer and busted
out all the windows in his car. It was a warning, and Sloan knew it, and backed
off. Except…for years to come no matter where she was living…the phone would ring at 1 am and a
familiar voice would whisper “I still love you…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br />
<br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Memory <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">of<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Eastman Reggie “ER” Dorsey<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Hillbilly, Farmer Boy, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bona Allen Saddlemaker<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My Beloved Grandfather—I miss you so, Papa!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">July 1916 – July 1987<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"> </div></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"> </div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></span></p><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: black; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><div style="text-indent: 28.8px;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"> </span></div></div></span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8526456868222207558.post-84455555450290673532020-01-29T01:43:00.009-05:002021-08-28T10:42:28.505-04:00A Monster in Human Clothing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href=" " style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="474" data-original-width="717" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxjBOrT19G3Vk70Y9W9q7TBMfOAm6vu2_rVtkCc0WuDRHkqh7PVoWhrK-m1cqDGc5LyXFDj1VKIu_HQoZtNNvpnbSbPcRjTJXgAUVl7WQeqBm8C0sru_8wPpLKzCGcJ6GuTJP1L7mmhI4/w400-h264/AMERICAN+LEGION.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Buford's Iconic American Legion Post 127</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "times new roman", times, serif; text-align: center;">When I left Tennessee Temple University, I moved in with Mama and Papa Dorsey on Hog Mountain Road, just above Rattlesnake Creek in Flowery Branch.</span> (I
wasn’t about to move into the fury of Mama’s rental tin can on Wade’s Circle.)</span><span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> I didn’t have a job, nor did I try to find one. I never
cooked a meal. I thought keeping their single-wide trailer clean was enough to
earn my keep. I was so wrapped up in myself that it never occurred to me that I was disrupting their lives.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span>One Thursday night while I was watching <i>The
Waltons</i> a storm blew out of nowhere and rocked n rolled the trailer. Mama and
Papa Dorsey wanted to run up the yard to the safety of Uncle Mack and Aunt Pam’s house, but I dug my butt into the floor in front of the television set because I wanted to watch the rest of that witchy episode where Mary-Ellen gives birth to </span></span><span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">John-Curtis. Did I mention the trailer didn’t
even have underpinning? It’s by the grace of God we didn’t blow clear to Oz.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I stayed up all night most nights, sewing and watching TV
in the living room while they tried to sleep. I slept on a glorified loveseat. I had a fear of windows. When I confessed to a dread of peeping toms, Mama Dorsey gave me her bed and
slept with Papa. His bad back caused him to toss and turn at night thus they slept in separate beds. My big mouth further ruined her rest. I don’t know if she mentioned it to someone in the family,
but I was told, “You aren’t too good to live with your mother” and another family member ordered Mama to get “Cindy’s fat...uh...butt
out of there,” which thrust me into the hell of Mama’s drunken rages. She rented a better place and
came after me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It wasn’t so bad at first. She was glad to
have me with her again, but that didn’t last long…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was an old single-wide trailer on a hill across
Sawnee Avenue from the American Legion Post 127. It had white underpinning that
she ordered one of my sisters and me to whitewash, which did not engender my sympathy for that charming rascal Tom Sawyer. It had a wide front porch and a shady
backyard with a concrete picnic table, and a hot water heater that was gearing up
to bomb us into eternity for the plum sum of $15 per week. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Walk through the front door into the living
room and it's fake fireplace, turn left through the kitchen and down the hall past two small bedrooms
and a bathroom with a washer in it. At the end of the hall was the master which
was two inches wider than it's counterparts Mama and Vickie slept in the
hall rooms and Renay was given the larger room because “She lost her daddy,” as
in he abandoned her when she was eleven. That was always Mama’s excuse for
treating her better than Vickie and me as in the Christmas she bought the two
of us long, zip-up housecoats and Renay a stereo. But Renay's lack of a live-in Daddy didn’t mean Mama withheld
rage toward the future Junior Miss Buford.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The first night, I slept with Renay, who
slept with her radio on. I got up and switched it off. She got up and turned it
back on. Thereafter I slept on the lumpy vinyl couch. It was months before our
landlady allowed as how it would unfold into a bed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mama’s room had a hole in the floor under her
bed as big as Flowery Branch. Didn’t bother her. All I could think about was
wharf rats and snakes crawling into the trailer, but it was just another fear I
had to get past. Mama wouldn’t ask the landlady, Mrs. Ruby Thomas, to fix anything out of fear the
rent would go up. Not even when the hot water heater began shifting into blast off. So, I took the bull by the horns and marched next door anyway and banged on the side door and demanded she fix it. Mrs. Thomas was nothing but nice to us, and I doubt she even knew the hot water heater was bad, and I should not have allowed my anger toward Mama to get the best of me. She sent a guy
out. After he replaced it, he told Mama that it was a ticking time bomb. No
kidding. She went up on the rent five bucks per week, which beat bouncing off
the moon.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Mama kept that
trailer sparkling clean. You could eat off the floor and drink out of the
toilet, and if you made a mess, you were in deep snickerdoodle. Our little red yapper, Gypsy, was about
fourteen years old and at the edge of the Rainbow Bridge that year. She got
where she couldn’t control her bladder and Mama quit giving her water. During
the week when Mama was at work, I gave that poor pup all the water she wanted
and Clorox’d the floor after she had an accident. (Mama couldn’t smell, so she
had no idea what was going on.) But when Mama was home on the weekends, that
poor thing went thirsty. You know how dogs are about their water. Gypsy had to have
been in parched hell. Her glands finally quit working, and Mama had to have her
put down.</span><span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I asked Mama to try to get
me on at Lovable, but instead, she tried to marry me off to an old 30-something-year-old-man,
whose drop-dead gorgeous looks faded in the shadow of his ancient age. I kept
my nose stuck in a book, and he finally got the hint.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mama got used to me being
home and knowing I was trapped there, let loose her fury. She didn’t need a
reason other than she loved to get foot-stomping drunk and pitch fits.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One particular Saturday
night when Vickie was off on a date with her future husband, Jeff Davis, Mama
flew out of the blue at Renay and me with “I DON’T WANT TO BE A MOTHER ANYMORE!!!
GET OUT! NOW!” It was ten at night, dark
as a tomb out of the dim glow of the street light. I had never dared back-talked her when she was
mean and drunk, but I did that night.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“<i>YOU</i> GET OUT!” I
hurled back, which shocked her out of her fury. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And then along came a
monster in human clothing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mama loved to barhop with
her friends. When she couldn’t get a group up to go down to Atlanta, there
across Sawnee Avenue—to her delight—was the American Legion.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The American Legion is a Buford icon. My daddy was a member, and I can remember the Christmas
parties and Easter egg hunts of my childhood. Renay won the big basket one year.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Lori Kimbro-Head says, “Not
only Christmas parties and Easter egg hunts, but Valentine’s Day dances, St.
Patrick’s Day festivities, Labor Day BBQ and 4<sup>th</sup> of July cookout, Halloween
costume contest, Commander’s Ball where they elect a new commander or swear in
the old one for another year. The Ladies Auxiliary sells tickets for some nice
stuff to help with the Christmas party for the kids </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">They use.to have a turkey shoot. where you paid [for a chance to hit a bullseye. Whoever came
closest to the center won a turkey.] </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">They deliver Thanksgiving and Christmas boxes
to the shut-ins over in the housing projects. They give away a book scholarship to Seniors
from Buford and North [Gwinnett]. They
also have poker runs for members who have fallen on bad times, and they help
pay for funerals of members too.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span>What came out of the American Legion one night bears no reflection of that establishment. It didn’t even drink. It was a Vietnam
veteran, a mama’s boy, a psychopathic liar, a woman- and child-basher, one of the
worst kinds of cowards, and a </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; text-indent: 19.2px;">pedophile</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; text-indent: 0.2in;">.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mama walked over to the American
Legion around bar-opening time late that afternoon and returned just before
closing. She had forgotten her house key and knocked on the door. I opened it
up, and there she stood with a strange man.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“This is Sloan,” she said and led him off to bed. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He was there the next
morning and the next and the next. He was the nicest man Mama had ever brought
home. He didn’t work, and she didn’t care. He put cans of his mother’s homemade
vegetable soup puree on our shelves and trout in our frying pan. But most of
all, his presence kept Mama settled down up to a point. But woe the days he didn’t show up. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One afternoon in infamy, Renay decided to repot one of
her houseplants. In her bedroom. Uhhhh. Instead of sweeping the scatter of potting
soil into a container, she got it up with a bath towel. Instead of shaking it
outside, she tossed it into Mama’s immaculate dirty clothes hamper. Renay was
doing something in the living room, and I was on the couch, reading <i>Rich Man
Poor Man</i>, when the snickerdoodle hit the fan. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mama came thundering in like a bolt of lightning with her lips yanked away from her dentures.
Renay managed to run around her and down the hall and into her bedroom. Mama
tore after her. I threw down my book in dire dread of what Mama would do once
she got to my baby sister. I hammered down the hall after her. We faced off
outside Renay’s locked door. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“YOU LEAVE HER ALONE!” I screamed. “SHE’S JUST A KID!
NO WONDER DADDY LEFT YOU!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Oops.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She slapped me upside the head. And I slapped her
back. I’m not proud of it. To this day,
I cringe at the memory, even if it seemed to knock the rage out of her soul. She slipped around me and down the hall to the
kitchen and started cooking a big dinner.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sometime later, she called us to the table. “It’s ready!” She announced sweetly with an odd look
in her eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I was terrified that she had poisoned the food and
refused to eat until after she finished drinking for the night and started
forking it in. Paranoid? Look who raised me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span>A year after Sloan started coming around, Mama got
roaring drunk and married him. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; text-indent: 0.2in;">And the monster ripped off his human clothing. He
accused Uncle Mack of having a string of girls at the hotel on Lake
Lanier. He bragged about sleeping with a
fifteen-year-old girl. He got a job and bragged about slapping a female
coworker. He seemed overly attracted to Renay.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mama hosted a fish fry. After we
finished our trout, French fries, and hushpuppies, she started on Sloan about regaling
us with one of his Vietnam War stories. He sat there amid his family and looked at the floor. She wouldn't let up. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span>“Tell us about the little kids you saw who approached
soldiers with concealed grenades.” <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span>The living room and kitchen went so silent you could hear our landlady snoring next door. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; text-indent: 0.2in;">The only
tour of duty Sloan took was two years in the stockade for going AWOL right
after he was drafted.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Vickie and I moved to Eagle Creek Apartments in the spring
of 1977. I was in the kitchen when the wall phone rang. It was Renay. She had
gotten a ride home from school with a boy, and Sloan beat her up. I hit the
ceiling. I called him up and let him have it with both sawed-off barrels.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Cindy,” he laughed, “you know she’s been taking birth
control pills.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“You’re a liar!” And he was. Mama was astounded at the
very thought.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Renay showed up at my door. She was bruised. I called DFACs.
They were like Meh. I’m serious.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“That is a domestic issue, ma’am,” the woman said in a
bored voice. “We can arrange a family counseling meeting if you wish.” I slammed
the phone down. You can't counsel a lunatic. What they needed to do was sic a Buford Pusser on his sorry
butt.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mama and Sloan were at the American Legion one
night when some guy said something nice to her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“What did he say to you?” Sloan asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Nothing,” she said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span>When they got home, he beat her up for not sharing what
the man had said to her. Both her eyes were black. She called in to work with
the excuse of a bad back and didn’t work for two weeks. She got behind with her
bills. They moved in with his Mother and Renay moved in with me. The situation at Mrs. Sloan's house didn't pan out, so they moved in with
Vickie and me. Oh, joy to the world. A month or two later they took Renay and moved to Garner Street. And I moved into the trailer next door<o:p></o:p></span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; text-indent: 19.2px;">—what a head-scratching thing to do.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I don’t know what—if anything—happened but the first thing I knew, our stepmother
Tempye Wiggins’s sister Carla picked Renay up and took her to Hartsfield
Airport to catch a bird to live with Daddy and Tempye in Waskom, Texas, about seventeen miles from Shreveport, Louisiana. Mama hit the roof, left Sloan, and moved in
with me. But the damage was done, and Renay refused to come back home.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span>I endured Mama’s fits, but at least the evil
stepfather was gone. Then </span></span><span style="background-color: #fafafa; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; text-indent: 0.2in;">Vickie Married Jeff Davis in December 1977
and Mama got a sentimental, sloppy case of the I-do blues and asked Sloan to
move back in. And then came the hostage situation.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; text-indent: 0.2in;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In Memory</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">of</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Tempye Wiggins</span></span></div>
</div>
</div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">September 7, 1945 - August 2, 2019</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span></span></span></p><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><div style="text-indent: 28.8px;"><span style="font-family: times new roman, serif;"><span> </span></span></div></div></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8526456868222207558.post-86333789314192687602020-01-11T20:45:00.011-05:002021-08-28T10:42:50.175-04:00When I Am Weak Then Am I Strong<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href=" "><img border="0" data-original-height="439" data-original-width="761" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbqIjdRmUbSahyXVUDKWg1dIA6mcrSFW_6XrMMOxbg7Xuz2IvisnU2y-F2dmbwFC8aVn4LG6sXVH8glWIi58xQnSLjgmsw8Laf6N_ZGmDD6WMXjtUm72nh0F_aw5qv2tJy5PO3GJ9f12w/w467-h269/112.jpg" width="467" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: left;">Christmas 2010</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">It's hard to get
down with a righteous boogie-woogie funky chicken when your legs are just
nine inches long in spike heels, but anybody can do the Moonwalk on a sheet of
ice...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I have a confession to make. I am a
former serial mover. I seldom lived in one place for more than six
months. I was restless and unsettled and disquieted and had itchy
feet. If I’d been rich, I would have moved to Bombay one month and the French <span style="background: white; color: black;">Riviera the next with a touch down in
Timbuktu in between.</span> It got to the point that I asked Mama to make
sure I had two burial plots so she could dig me up every few weeks and switch
me out from one to the other graves so I wouldn’t get bored dead.<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I don’t even know how many times I
lived on Hill Street because Mama and Daddy would get into it, put their stuff
in storage, and she would haul Vickie and me to Mama Dorsey’s apartment. They
would make up and round and round they went. I lived on Hamilton Mill Road and
Shadburn Avenue twice. Sawnee three times, and South Lee four times. You get
the picture.<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">When I left Tennessee Temple
University, I moved in with Mama and Papa Dorsey on Hog Mountain Road. (I
wasn’t about to move into the fury of Mama’s rental tin can on Wade’s Circle.)
I thought keeping Mama Dorsey’s trailer clean was enough to earn my keep. Silly
me. Mama rented a trailer across from the American Legion on Sawnee Avenue and
forced me to move into it when somebody ordered her to get “Cindy’s fat ass out
of there.” I was at the mercy of her drunken rages, but that’s fodder for
another story.<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I was told by family members, “You’re
not too good to live with your mother and sisters.” I knew that but who wants
to live with a spiritual bankrupt? “You’re twenty years old. You can get a job
and buy a car.” I knew that too, but I had a terminal case of inertia. I ended
up keeping kids in the trailer.<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I moved from Sawnee Avenue to Eagle
Creek Apartments on South Lee Street and applied for a job at Lovable, which I
should have done right out of college. I moved to Garner Street. After a
domestic hostage situation in 1978, I fetched up back on Hog Mountain Road,
hoping Lovable would call. Phillis Dix called on February 2, and I started
working in the lace department the very next day for $1.65 per hour.
Three months later, I was earning $1.90 per. HooHaa.<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Mama Dorsey called Mrs. Pearl Puckett
and arranged for me to rent a room in her Queen Anne Victorian on Sawnee
Avenue. I moved in a week later. The other roomers were Martha Seabolt, Pasty
Anglin (Danny’s sister), and a girl named Sue. In six months, I was living on
Shadburn Ferry Road with Mama. Sheer madness.<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">A year later, Melanie Powers was hired
into the lace department. We both were odd ducks, living under black clouds. I
was a backslider. She was an arch Christian at the time and tried her best to
get me to attend Buford Church of God. I might have, but she picked at me about
not smiling enough. Nagging and witnessing do not mix.<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I never dreamed we would share a house,
but around August 1979, Melanie and I moved to Cumming to support a pregnant
work friend. Let's call her Dana and her husband Drew. Drew was a deputy who
wandered off with a, uh, lady deputy, and tacked a poster of Miss Piggy
on his bedroom wall. After Dana’s baby was born, she let him come back home,
and I moved out. I was not going to live in the same house with a
man who had cheated on his pregnant wife. He later became a homicide detective.
When he stepped in a pile of snickerdoodle, he was busted down to a uniform,
then an orange jumpsuit after he committed coldblooded murder while on duty.<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I moved back in with Miss Pearl, then
went to help Aunt Pam and her son Jason on Hamilton Mill Road when Uncle Mack
kicked up his heels one time too many. Everything was fine until her boyfriend
pinched my 42C. <span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I bounced into a little redwood-colored
quasi duplex on Lee Road off Holiday. Lee Road was a blacktop ribbon that ran
straight down a hill. I could see Lake Lanier from the edge of the backyard if
I knocked back a shot of Black Jack and squinted my eyes just so.<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The landlady was a former beautician
who had retired to Florida. In her day, she lived in the main apartment on the
left and had a salon on the right. I moved into the salon. It had a medium-big
living area, full-size bed against the back wall. The kitchen was to the left
of the front door. No cabinets on the wall. The cookstove was a hundred years
old and stood under the only window in the place. The bathroom was spacious,
but it didn’t have a tub. The showerhead leaked, so I wrapped duct tape around
the pipe joint thingy. <span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I was too uppity to sleep in the same
room as the kitchen, I decided to sleep in the walk-in beauty supply closet. It
had shelves mid-wall to ceiling on two sides, clothes bar that stretched across
the other side, with just enough room to squeeze a twin-sized bed in
between. I set my entertainment center a foot from the footboard and
would shut the door, crank up the rock, light candles, turn off the lights, and
smoke me a fat doob—I kid, I kid. Honest. Mama hadn’t turned me on to pot
yet. <span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">A family lived in the full apartment
where the beautician once lived. The two units were connected by two padlocked
doors, one in the kitchen and one in the bathroom. I didn't have storage space
for my dishes and pots and pans, so<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I put a cheap plastic snap-together
shelf against the door across from the eating table. The family and I seldom
made contact. I would have scarcely known they were there had their dishwater
not backed up in my sink. It looked like watered-down Posse
Brunswick stew. Ewww. I had to start covering the drain with a heavy plate.<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">For company, I went off down to the pet
store on Scenic Highway in Lawrenceville to get a cat and came home with Baby,
a lap dog the size of a black-eyed pea, who commenced planting a garden of
snickerdoodle under the old-fashioned cookstove. <span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">One Sunday night, I was busy in the
kitchen when somebody started banging and jangling one connecting door and then
the other. Baby scrambled under the bed. I ran to the phone and called Hall
County PD. The racket stopped, but I was still scared to
death. I waited for the cavalry and fumed and trembled. About the time I went
to crawl under the bed with Baby, I heard a car pull into the yard. A
flashlight and a pair of calves walked past my window—did I mention that the
cookstove rose halfway up the window and almost met the edge of an
awning? He poked around outside and knocked on the door. I opened it
up.<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Did I say, Thank God, you’re here? No.
I said, “I need a gun!” Saying that these days would get me tased
while lying face-down with my wrists cuffed behind my back—especially if I was
black.<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">“No, you don’t need a weapon. We’ll
protect you.” <span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I be like, yeah, after the ax murderer
chopped down the door and chased me to Jot Em Down Waycross.<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">"I looked around," he said,
"and couldn't find anything out of order. Call again if you need us.
Bye." He lit out like Dunkin Donuts was having a fire sale. <span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Several months later, I found out the
bangers and janglers were two little messes who had come with their mother to
check the furnace. Said little messes wanted to see what was on the other side
of the doors.<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I’d been there several months when
Melanie Powers moved in. She had continued to live with Dana and Drew after I
left, but something had happened, and she didn’t want to move back home with
her stepmother and 300 poodle dogs. We didn’t get along at all, but I was good
in a pinch. She slept in the full-sized bed in the living area. During the
fall, the woman next door was evicted or flew the coop, and we moved in. It was
a countrified nice place and the woman had been kind enough to
abandon all her furniture.<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Then came blustery Halloween. The trees
were shaking and bowing, and my teeth were chattering. I had no idea how to
light the furnace, so I called Aunt Pam, and she promised to dig somebody up to
do it for me. Time passed. There was a knock on the door. I opened it up. And
there in all his green-skinned, bare-chested glory was the Incredible Hulk. He
roared. I screamed and ran for the pantry. After a shot of Black Jack and a
squint of the eye just so, I saw that the green thang was the 42C pincher. I
folded my arms over my chest, and he lit the furnace. He had to go
to work green the next morning because the food coloring wouldn’t wash out.<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I’d worked at Teen’s Diner, Tennessee
Temple U nursery, the Lovable Company Buford, and Rockwell International
Duluth. Lovable was by far the best place of all. It was family-run, and they
cared about their employees. We got to go to Six Flags every year for free,
including a nice BBQ lunch. At Christmas, employees with a perfect attendance
record had a chance to win a trip to Hawaii, and everyone got a bonus. After
a big boozy party with a live band, and a catered lunch, they closed for
Christmas week.<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Melanie and I woke up party day1981 to
a winter icescape. I never got cold, even outside in the wintertime and didn’t
see the point of having a heavy coat, scarf, warm gloves, or boots. She layered
on her Minnesota-winter wraps. I donned a thin coat and blue sneakers.<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">“Cindy!” Melanie cried. “Your fingers
will flash-freeze. I dug up a pair of knit gloves, and we were off—not. Our
cars wouldn’t start. That meant we’d have to stay at home and get our bonuses
next year. This we refused to do. We were bound and determined to get there.
So, we decided to hike up the hill to the roadside payphone at Bobby Lee’s
store on the corner of Lee and Holiday. For every step I took forward I took
one backward. (Think Michael Jackson doing the Moonwalk to <i>Billy Jean</i> in
the Pasadena Civic Auditorium in 1983.) When I started sliding sideways into a
ditch, she grabbed my hand and slid me up the hill. Somebody came to fetch us
at Bobby’s Lee’s, and we got our bonus. The weather cleared.<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">And then came the storm of 1982. It hit
in January. I was sitting there at my workstation, folding bra lace on a die
when the girl across the table looked at her watch.<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">“Wow!” she exclaimed. “It’s three
o’clock. The storm’s going to hit at four.”<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">“What storm?” I asked.<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I didn’t have enough Benson &
Hedges coffin nails or a crumb in my pantry. My supervisor, Faye Jones, let me
leave to buy groceries at Kroger. She told me to take my stuff home and come
right back. I did. Ten minutes later, Lovable closed their doors until further
notice.<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Lovable was divided into two main
departments. The people in Production were primarily from Buford,
Lawrenceville, Sugar Hill, and Cumming. A crowd in Shipping had hired a bus to
haul them to and from Atlanta every day. The storm hit before the bus
made it to Atlanta. The bus broke down on the interstate. People,
including Faye Jones, had to walk home. Ever after, if a single snowflake fell,
Lovable closed down.<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Melanie and I were watching <i>Little
House on the Prairie</i> when a news flash came on.<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">“You’ve been watching fantasy, now it’s
time for reality.” He no more than got “at four pm” out when snow
fell from the sky like two teenagers having a pillow fight in the clouds.
Vickie told me later that it thundered. Melanie and I went out to build a
snowman and throw snowballs at ten pm. I read and cooked pintos and cornbread,
and meaty vegetable soup. She made a pot of Veg-All beef soup with ketchup
instead of canned tomatoes. Ew. She was happy enough to share a big plate of my
beans and cornbread—sauced with a bottle of ketchup. Ew. After a few days,
we got cabin fever and started growling and hissing at each other like two
strange cats. Someone picked her up. Aunt Mildred and Mama showed up
in Aunt Mildred’s truck to take me to the bank and Kroger.<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The roads finally cleared up, and we
were back to folding lace. Someone had to pick us up, though, because our cars
were still cold-stalled. Sometime that week, they finally cranked up, but the
wheels were stuck in the yard. The two guys who lived across the street came
over to lend a shoulder. They got Melanie’s little Chevy Chevette out, but my
Vega would not budge at all. Melanie hung her head inside my window. All of a
sudden, she stepped backward and shot me a blue-eyed look that said, You
dumbbo.<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The gear was in PARK.<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I moved into an apartment with Mama and
her friend Ann Coffee Gee Parker at Eagle Creek. Melanie moved back home with
her stepmother and 300 poodle dogs. Melanie got married in August of that year.
I served at her wedding reception in the Family Life Center at the Buford
Church of God. That was the day I saw Mrs. Alice Hamilton for the last time.<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Melanie’s marriage lasted nine months.
She went on to be promoted to a computer position at Loveable Norcross. I quit
Lovable and went to work at Rockwell International Duluth. Six months later, I
got Melanie hired on. Her Daddy was a TV repairman, and she’d sometimes
worked at his shop, thus she excelled in the wiring department. The bad
blood between us eventually turned into a kind of peace. <span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Time wheeled on. I ran into the woman
we had once lived with, Dana, at Walmart.<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">“How’s Melanie?” I asked.<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">“She’s dead.”<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">“Wh<i>aaat?</i>”<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">“She killed herself.”<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I was too shocked to even to ask how
she did it. What difference did it make, anyway? And the guilt was like a
living thing. Wh<i>yyy?</i> What had been so terrible that she
had preferred death to precious life? Why hadn’t she cried out to Dana for
help? Why hadn’t I kept in touch with her?<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">She haunts me. She haunts my dreams.
She appears in them with her platinum hair and big blue eyes and says, “Cindy,
I’m not really dead.” And I believe her, and I’m overjoyed, and I wake up and
the joy shatters.<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I just could not understand her
reasoning for the longest. Not until I saw death as an easy way out of the
terrible situation that I faced in 2012. But I was stronger—no, I was
weaker. <span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333;">And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for
thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.</span><span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); color: #333333;">—</span><span style="background: white; color: #333333;">2 Corinthians 12:9</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333;">When I am weak then am I strong.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: #e8e6e4;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">In
Memory<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Of<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Melanie
Powers<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span>Rest
Easy My Dear</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: medium;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: medium;"> </div></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 28.8px;"><span style="font-family: times new roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"> </span></span></div><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-size: medium; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></span></p><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><div style="text-indent: 28.8px;"><span style="font-family: times new roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"> </span></span></div></div></span></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8526456868222207558.post-32326477074314574162019-12-23T17:19:00.009-05:002021-08-28T10:43:16.889-04:00The Uhhhh Zone<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href=" " style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2B154dXWQAvy980MTqtiJsjCPNJbsd2oqpiwrBjCimRGBdsxCBq4L6TTfknguS6zr0f-ZM76ULu2XwVACMrm3B-imr4UMO_k8XA6UbvN25Yi-6O1b-bfQpeyQDL6ZoawRM3OKdwpItxs/s320/canstockphoto13689847.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span>“I love Brandon Lee,” read the vampire’s entry…</span><br />
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> I didn’t mean for it to
happen. It was just supposed to be a get-to friendship. But before I knew it,
we were holding hands…smooching…and soon I was having a full-blown
extramarital affair with Mr. HP Compaq. I stayed online all night and
most of the day. I ate and drank with it and nodded off on the keyboard. My
husband ate and watched TV in the dining room or bedroom and hit the hay alone.
We were together for five minutes once when I saw a baby possum clinging to my
red pea coat on the coat tree. I screamed, and he fed it a piece of KFC corn on
the cob.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">There are two sides to every story. I deserted his reality for a
cyber hallucination, but it was all his fault for buying a computer for me in
the first dang place. He hooked it up, and Vickie brought her daughter,
Brittany, then 15, to orient it, including signing me up for dial-up—how
do you spell AOL? C-R-A-P.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">After they left, Nabo and I sat down before the monitor, and I
created his user account. He typed in his password like a man hovering his head
over poker cards. When I asked him what it was, he looked at me as if I were
the spy, Mata Hari.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">“What if you forget what it is?”</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He rolled his eyes and snorted like a horse,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">“Me won’t forget, me,”</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">He forgot five seconds later, which blew a hole the size of a VW
Bug in his machismo. He never touched those keys again while I was within
eyeshot. But on those rare occasions when I was asleep or gone, he would slip
into my office and fool around, trying to boot up his account without using his
password. Uhhhh. I can just read his lips now “Ay yai yai!” Sometimes he turned
the computer off in frustration, which wouldn’t have mattered but getting
dial-up back up was like baking in the sun on JC’s Beach in July while waiting
for the next snowfall. I confronted him. He denied it. He finally gave up
and started disappearing to visit Mama’s or Mike and Daisy Maddox. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Now, Brittany had issued me dire warnings about the dangers
of the internet. “Don’t talk to anybody,” she said. “Don’t join MySpace or a
forum.”</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The thing was, I had spent most of my adult years afraid of
vampires and the dread of Charles Manson breaking out of prison and
showing up at my door with a “Howdy do!” So, what was a little internet
jeopardy? So, I joined the AOL Health Forum. I started talking to a
lady from out west via a diabetes discussion. She had just been diagnosed and
was seeking information about diabetic-friendly food. I tried to help
her. I really did. And what did she do? She sent me an AIM every single morning
while I was trying to eat breakfast and read the </span><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Atlanta Journal-Constitution</span></i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">. (I was not a chat-type gal back in those
ancient years.)</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">“Cindy! I’m making biscuits and gravy! Yum.”</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Well, I was eating a sausage and egg biscuit from Hardee’s, so I
kept my trap shut.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">This went on and on, until the day she popped up with something
else.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">“I just farted!”</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Congratulations!</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Fortunately, her married daughter moved back home and hogged the
computer. I went on to join MySpace—yawn. I spent hours upon hours reading
about celebrities on the RockaMonkey site. Each profile page had an email
comment box. I used it to tell everyone about a dream I had about Brandon
Lee—nothing girly-girl, if you get my drift. But I put the comment on Private because I was scared to death one of the readers would take umbrage and come
running down to Sugar Hill with a dagger on point. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I decided I wanted my own website. But about what? Brandon Lee
came to mind. I published Star Thriller Brandon Lee, in 2006. The site
went on to win an award for “an excellent resource for Brandon Lee.” I filled
that website with all kinds of apps and corny icons and sparkly fonts and
gizmos. I was as bad about acquiring virtual stuff as my parents had been about
buying camping gear. Not long after that February, I dived into the uhhhh zone
up to my eyebrows. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Three girls got on my chatbox, discussing Asian whoopie. I told
Nabo, and he wanted me to find out more about it. Uhhhh. I found a neat guest
book that caught on with the bat life.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I love Brandon Lee,” read the vampire’s entry. She left her
website address, and I had to go take a peek, didn’t I? I wish I hadn’t. There
she was, looking for all the world like the actress who would one day play Abby
on <i>NCIS</i>, with fangs dripping with blood. And I ran. I knew it
wasn’t real, but I am the gal who read <i>Koshak the Night Stalker</i> when
she was 21 and was afraid to walk twenty feet from her<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Mama’s Little House on Garner Street to her trailer.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">A guy from the UK sent me an email. The Subject was I’m a Bruce
Lee Fan. We exchanged emails for a few days. He told me that his mother was
just off <i>The Crow</i> stage the night Brandon died. She, he said,
overheard Brandon refuse to wear a bulletproof vest right before he opened the
door to the loft scene and was accidentally gunned down by Michael Massee. Can
you say Bull? I smelled it. The next day, he sent me another email.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">“Cindy, will you marry me?”</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Uhhhh. I reported him to my email security guy who said, “Sounds
like a real nutter to me.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I reported him to the FBI—<i>wot wot? </i> The feds all but
said that unless he started physically stalking me, there was nothing they
could do. I told Nabo.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">“Him shows up here, him” he said, baring his metal-capped teeth,
“Me keeeeel him’s ass, me.”</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I blocked the nutter. End of that story.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I joined a Brandon and Bruce Lee forum created by another UK
nutter. I rose to the moderator and then the administrator. And along came Witch Anna.
She would pop in and make loony posts. “I saw Brandon Lee in my bathroom
mirror,” and “I twisted my ankle and Brandon cried.” It came to a head when we
started planning a chat for February 1, 2007, which would have been Brandon’s
42nd birthday.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">“I’m bringing Brandon as my date,” Witch Anna said.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Uhhhhh. “You better not.”</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The forum creator frowned upon banning. Our membership count was
like 165 with 5 active posters. He didn’t want to lose one. So, I waited until
he was off vacationing in Scotland and banned her. That should have been the
end of her, but it wasn’t. She stalked me all over the internet for years to
come. I deleted her posts from my guest book and ignored her emails.
Her witchy brain finally warmed up, and she realized I wanted nothing to
do with her. She was spitting mad, and I was spooked, but fortunately, I saw
nether wart or heard a cackle again.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The creator was something else again. He claimed to want to hand
over the root of the forum to one of us administrators and move on. But it was
just hot air. He got into the habit of playing dirty tricks on our emotions. We
had another chat coming up on May 11, the 13th anniversary of <i>The Crow</i>’s
release. The creator was in Scotland again and couldn’t make it. I entered the
chat room to find everyone upset about a message left on the forum’s
chatbox. I went and had a look.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">“This forum is de-lee-ted.” Lee pun intended.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">It was indeedy dee.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I got the IP number address off the admin app and looked it up. It
was the creator. I was furious and let him have it with both barrels via email.
The next day, the forum was back up. I went into the office and he goes, “What
happened last night.” I lost it, baby, and he banned me, honey</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">On October 3, 2007, the RockaMonkey web creator started a forum.
He is a minor celebrity in California in his own right. He’s appeared on
popular shows on MTV and the Travel Channel. He runs two celebrity death
tours and a museum on Sunset Blvd. that boasts among other things, Jayne
Mansfield’s 1966 Buick Electra death car and Sharon Tate’s white demi-cup bra
on a bust and bricks from her 10050 Cielo Drive fireplace. Quinten Tarantino
consulted him about the Tate murders for <i>Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood</i>.
I have never in my entire life collided with a bunch of people who should have
been on Comedy Improv between lockup in Folsom Prison. And then there was
the member who was rumored to be a ghost. And the arguments and flame throws,
we had em.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Two grown forty-year-old men got into it over Jayne Mansfield’s
tatas. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">“They were real.”</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">“No, they weren’t.”</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">“Yes, they were.”</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Uhhhh. So, me being a smartbutt, posted a few lines from the <i>Monty
Python Let’s Have an Argument</i> skit:</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Man: Is this the right
room for an argument?</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Other Man: I've told you once.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Man: No you haven't!</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Other Man: Yes I have.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">M: When?</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">O: Just now.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">M: No you didn't!</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">O: Yes I did!</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">M: You didn't!</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">O: I did!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">M: You didn't!</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .2in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.2in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .2in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.2in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Then
there was the user, Mr. Freddy—as in <i>A <o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Nightmare on Elm Street</span></i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">. He was a nightmare all right. He was a
bully-in-waiting who hung out on the Sharon Tate thread. His facts were the
Word and nobody dared cross him. Except me. Of course. But not on that thread.
The creator’s manager updated the forum, and Mr. Freddy did not like it at a<i>lllll</i> and
mouthed off And I gave him what for. That pissed him off, but what
really bit his goat was my post appeared twice. Georgie howdy! He accused me of
duping it on purpose to double my warning. I did not. (It was a tech glitch.)
But he would not listen. He started stalking me all over the forum. Ditto the
one or two brave souls who took up for me. He said some things about our
mothers and fathers that I can’t repeat here. The manager permanently banned
him.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Enter Dougie, who thought the forum revolved around him. I allowed
as how it didn’t, and he called me seven variations of the worst word a woman
can be called. I finally swatted him out.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">It really got low down and nasty when Michael Jackson died. There
was a huge clique aka the Wacko Jacko Freaks. They posted one photo of him
after another, music videos, pointed out intimate things about him, and if you
bad-mouthed him in any way they would eat your lunch. Members of that
crowd were banned every single day. So, they got together and formed a Michael
Jackson forum, and invited me. I never caused problems on that thread or any
other, but at the time, I was furious with the moderators, so I joined, yay me.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">After a few days, I clicked on and saw the following post:</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I’m going to hack into RockaMonkey.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I’m like. <i>Wha?</i> I told her what she could do with
that plan.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Next day she was back:</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I’m going to hack in and destroy the moderator accounts.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I didn’t know her. I had no idea if she had the tech skills to
hack into a forum. So, I went to RockaMonkey’s moderators, who summarily banned
her. So, she and a hundred other banned members started a Facebook group just
and drug me through the mud. People I’d never had a cross word with said some
of the vilest things about me that you can imagine. They stalked me around the
internet and joined the forums I belonged to and spied on me and gave a report
on their Facebook pit of vipers.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I shouldn’t have read what they were saying, but it was like
watching a train wreck and being sideswiped by the caboose. I cried every
night. So-called friends were afraid to associate with me for fear of
retaliation by those nutjobs. I was posting on Facebook to one so-called friend
one day when my words literally faded from view when she touched the Block
button.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.2in;">I thought about revenge, but instead girded my loins and took the
higher road and was rewarded tenfold. I became a moderator and then an
administrator, leaving them in the dust of their animosity.</span><span style="font-size: large; text-align: left;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span><br /></span>
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">In</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Memory of</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Brandon Bruce Lee</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">1965 – 1993</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">And</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The fallen soldiers of RockaMonkey </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: medium;"> </div></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 28.8px;"><span style="font-family: times new roman, serif;"> </span></div><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span></span></span></p><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><div style="text-indent: 28.8px;"><span style="font-family: times new roman, serif;"><span> </span></span></div></div></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8526456868222207558.post-35207028263922204352019-12-04T19:32:00.009-05:002021-08-28T10:43:40.741-04:00A Bright Light in Brutal Darkness<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href=" " style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJw4aA685sx_YGKQhyphenhyphen5HyDZER5mps6uxOXTLixqMVQvTT6I7Vd4Gb7KN4xlTxqnwpxGmiJC9x_RZzYHKry3zznBIOPQqShTpzZ_kxvE3f5yvkPpU3YHWt6c1pcKQe9yRCIy5DnLkGqoNk/s320/canstockphoto25480436.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Bul-</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">ly </span><span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">/ˈbo͝olē/ <i>n</i> (18c)
a person who habitually seeks to harm or intimidate </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">those whom they perceive
as vulnerable. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: none;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Bullies get in your face. They growl and spit and punch and damage
your property. They stalk, spy, destroy your belongings, and spread rumors
behind your back</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">.
And swaggering like conjured demons, trolls the cowardly cyberbully,
hiding in anonymity in front of its computer screen. Bullies hate themselves
and everybody else and get their kicks and giggles by killing the soul and
sometimes the body of the innocent. (I’ve been stalked and spied on
by trolls from a forum. A black magic witch stalked me all over the internet
for years. And a whole dang Facebook group was formed just to drag me through
the mud. But those are part of a later story about my walk on the wild side
of cyberspace.)</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Why do bullies bully?</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">It makes them feel powerful and witty. And
causing depression, suicide, and murder is the cherry on top.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Fashion designer Tom Ford attributes childhood
bullying for his Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Ryan Halligan, 13, a student,
from Vermont, committed bullycide by hanging himself with a bathrobe tie
after being bullied by his classmates. Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold killed
twelve students and injured 21 others after being bullied at Columbine High
School in Colorado. Bully Ken McElroy was so despised by an entire
town in Skidmore, Missouri, that a gang gunned him down outside a tavern.
Witness refused to identify his killers.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I sneaked through six years at Buford Elementary
without being intimidated by those student trolls who get their feel-good by
preying on the weak, the small, and the different. I was all three. Other kids
weren’t as lucky. Two shy girls from poor families stand out during those
half-dozen years. I never heard or saw anyone physically abuse them, but words
can hurt deeper than a punch in the nose. It never failed that when they were
standing in the lunch line, some boy would run past shouting “Germs!” And to
those standing on either side of them, “Ewwwww! You’ve got Edith’s germs” or
“Sara’s germs!” Can you image? Some of you can.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">My middle sister Vickie and her best friend
Becky Dollar were bullied by two boys when they were seven years old. The two
punks harassed them every morning during their walk to school in second
grade. (We lived on Hill Street, and the Dollars lived in the housing projects
behind our house.) I don’t know why I didn’t walk with them any more than I
know why I never played with Vickie. Likely because I was walking down the
Yellow Brick Road with the Scarecrow. Vickie told Mama. Mama Bear was pissed.
Mama Bear called the school. The two boys were scolded and warned to leave
Vickie and Becky alone. They did for a time but started it up again. This
time, I took matters into my own hands. One day after school, I
caught Vickie’s teacher at the door that bumped onto the playground and told
her what was going on. And what did the teacher say?</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Why, she said, “If I hear one more word about this,
you will be required to attend class during Christmas vacation next week,”
that’s what.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">If you’re in a position to do something about
bullying and fail to do so, that makes you a bully too.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I should have told Mama, but I didn’t tell
things.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The bullying ended when a Good Samaritan saw
what was happening one day. He was a big boy, and it didn’t take much talk to
make those two bullies steer clear of their little victims from then on.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t the end of Vickie’s bullying problems…</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">My first head-on collision with bullies came in
seventh grade. <span style="background: white;">I’d been friends with
Sandra Benton since fifth grade. During the seventh, she started running with a
clique, and I hung on the sidelines. I think they tolerated me because of her.
It was just in the way they looked at me. Everything was fine until
I took my part in the world of bullying by letting a smallminded
jealous somebody talk me into ending my friendship with Sandra. I called
her up cold and told her point-blank and nasty that I didn’t ever want to have
anything else to do with her. She burst into tears that have haunted me to this
day.</span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I’m also the fool who broke it
open in the lunch line the next day.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“Do you really like Sandra?” I
said to one of her best friends in the world. Uhhhh… </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">So, they got it in for me.
Naturally. And I don’t blame them for being angry, but they handled their anger
the wrong way. They should have just told me what to do and where to stick it,
but no. They wanted blood and might have gotten it, had it not been for two
angels.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The clique started a Hate-Cindy
club. It fizzled when other students refused to join.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">One recess, I was standing
alone out front near Mrs. Hamilton’s classroom when the enraged girls formed a
crescent before me and threatened to beat my butt. Then, a
funny look came over their faces, and they backed off and scattered. I don’t
know exactly what they saw, but I have an idea Mrs. Hamilton happened to be
looking out one of her windows when it went down.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The bell rang, I went back to
class. The desks were arranged in a wide horseshoe around the room. My desk was
the first one near the teacher’s desk. Mrs. Hamilton called the class to order.
Instead of instructing us to open our health books, she looked hard at the four
girls sitting near the coat rack and let them have it with both barrels via
mouth and lifted hand.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“But she—” One squeaked.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“I know what she did, but she
doesn’t deserve to be ganged up on. It better stop right now.”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">And across the room from me,
Mary Lee (Sims) Robinson piped up, “Cindy, if you ever need me, I’m there.”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I never expected a student to stand up for me.
I’ve never forgotten what Mary Lee did that day. Mary Lee rocked
then, and she rocks now. Mrs. Hamilton was already a favorite teacher of mine,
but that day my admiration for her knew no bounds.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Vickie was bullied again during
seventh grade at the middle school on Wiley Drive. This time by some girl who
sat near her in class. Said girl would help herself to Vickie’s purse and steal
her lunch money every day until another Good Samaritan youth, Nina Knuckles,
came along and put a stop to it.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I spent most of my high
school years reading during breaks. After lunch, three of us stood
with our noses stuck in a book and our backs to a wall. Cindy Younginer
(Costley) stood near the Coke machines directly across from
me. Medina Tatum hovered just up from the doors that opened onto the
back parking lot. Medina loved chewing gum and always had a pack or a dozen in
her purse. Bullies would pop by, asking for a stick. When she
refused to give them a plug, they told her she was going to hell, and she would
shoot them a big chewing-gum grin.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Wonder how they felt after she
died due to a car wreck in the summer of 1973?</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I was pretty much left alone
until the twelfth grade. The odd one did make cracks when my hemline dived to
my knees after I got saved in ninth grade. But in my senior year, two popular
girls did everything they could to get a rise out of me in art class. And,
worst yet, the art teacher made condescending gestures and remarks to me in and
out of class.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The girls asked nosy questions during class
about the time in the summer of 1970 when I ran away from home with my
boyfriend to be a hippie on 14th Street in Atlanta. They made fun
of me because I didn’t smile enough to suit them. The art teacher knew
what they were doing but never said a word. One day, she instructed each of us
to draw a picture on the portable chalkboard. One of those girls drew a
stick figure with a frowny face.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">"This's Cindy," she said, pointing at
her scratch. Said art teacher looked at it, at me, and nodded her agreement.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">One noon, I was sitting alone at a
table, eating lunch while reading a novel, when she walked through the
cafeteria and stopped by my chair.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">"Cindy, don't you have friends?"</span><span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">"Yes, but they're in the other lunch
period."</span><span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">She rolled her eyes, shook her head, and walked
on. What was the big idea? I had plenty of friends by then, including Arlene
White and the girls from Gwinnett Hall Baptist Church, but didn't share the
same lunch period with them. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Wonder if it would have made any difference
to those two girls and that teacher had they known my lips were naturally
turned down; I was a loner; and my home-life was a living hell. And they
made it worse.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I was miserable and depressed. And it all
created a black cloud of anger in me for years to come. Yet, I never had
thoughts of suicide or grabbing Daddy’s .22 revolver out of the wardrobe drawer
to shoot up the school.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">It was during that nightmare year that I was fortunate enough to
have Mrs. Myrtle Davis as my English Composition and Literature
instructor. She was a hard, no-nonsense Bible scholar. Don’t
yawn in her class. Do your homework or else. She thought <i>Jonathan
Livingston Seagull</i> wasn’t worth reading. <i>Love Story</i> was
trash. She criticized Billy Graham for wearing thousand-dollar suits while the
disenfranchised went hungry and roofless. She criticized Mrs. Wannamaker for
assigning her tenth-grade class to read James Orwell’s <i>1984</i> because
she considered them too immature to grasp the meaning. Lots hated her. I was
not her best student, but she loved me anyway. I could see it in her
eyes. I can see those merry dark eyes even now.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large; text-align: justify;">We were assigned to give a book report on </span><i style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large; text-align: justify;">1984</i><span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large; text-align: justify;">. But
I was such an arch Christian I refused to read a book with a single tame sex
scene in it. I knew about the bed lowdown because I thumbed through it to make
sure nothing like that was in it. I told Mama, and she, Mrs. Davis and I had a
sit-down in Principal Lamb’s office. They tried to get me to read the book
so I could graduate. I would not. I was ready to quit and take a correspondence
class. Finally, Mrs. Davis agreed to let me read </span><i style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large; text-align: justify;">Wuthering Heights</i><span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large; text-align: justify;"> instead.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Sometime later, I was researching my term
paper in the library when she appeared and sat down near me.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“Cindy,” she said, “I admire you for standing
up for what you believe in.”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">She</span></i><span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> admired <i>me?</i> <i>What?</i> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span>She was a bright light in brutal darkness, and
I will always love her. She instilled in me a love of reading in
general and English Literature, especially William Shakespeare, in particular.
And there shall never be another like her.</span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span><br /></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #0d0d0d; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span><br /></span></span></span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">For</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Mary Lee Robinson<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">In Memory<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">of<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">Mrs. Alice Hamilton<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"> </div></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 28.8px;"> </div><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span></span></span></p><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><div style="text-indent: 28.8px;"><span> </span></div></div></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8526456868222207558.post-22717205291257419902019-10-28T12:37:00.007-04:002021-08-31T09:11:23.928-04:00I See Dead People<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href=" " style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="326" data-original-width="471" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIL1usR3e_bQUpPft2Ewkz5Yt93DTbXF-gKo3dDkZhJmsQZoVV-yWa7EtksEWmA8-xf2DVc8O-DJhAHNcSdrXkjG8Yp7RHWlf2khcfthI5Mvv9gi0IHD90NwbobDDvdmaIkeDGhrvjUT0/s400/Garner+St.+House.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></span>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 107%;">The
bungalow on Garner Street was built in 1904</span>—<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 107%;">four years before </span><span style="color: black; font-family: "times" , serif; line-height: 107%;">the Bona Allen Renaissance
mansion. </span><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 107%;">In
my day, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a man and his daughter lived there until
she grew up, and he moved out. She got too scared to live in the house because
someone tried to break in on her, she said. So, she sold or rented it out to
three white witches who hung a pentagram in the front bedroom window. I think
they summoned some <i>thing</i> up…</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-indent: 0.2in;"> In December 2007, our landlady asked us to
vacate the doublewide on Whitehead Road in Sugar Hill so her sister could move
in. </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #333333; text-indent: 0.2in;">I took out a loan at People’s
Bank & Trust on South Lee Street and Buford Highway, and the house hunt was
on.</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Nabo was set against paying more than he was
paying on Whitehead, which was $0 and suggested we move into the house next door
to the house we’d lived in on Lawson Street. Never mind that it was so run down
it would make a rat cringe, cold as a black witch’s toes, and had bad
wiring. We went out there. The owner looked at Nabo as if he was out
of his noggin and advised us it was too dangerous to rent. Reckon? </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">One day, I noticed a Re/Max sign attached to the
fence in front of the big bungalow on Garner Street. I had resided in that hood
twice before and had always wanted to live there. Heck, I would have
settled for a peek inside. Be careful what you wish.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I got out and peeked in all the windows that
weren’t higher than a grasshopper. I was over the moon, and I knew Nabo would
love working in the grounds with its many trees. I counted eight pecans. The
front yard was blanket-size, but the back was almost as big as the section
behind my family house on Hill Street. To the right was a big,
dilapidated building with a carport on one side. The front room appeared to
have once been a chicken coop. Two doors on the left side bumped into two other
rooms. One was big enough for a small efficiency apartment.<span style="color: #333333;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I jotted down the number and hightailed it home
to get the details. That afternoon at six-thirty, Nabo and I met the beautiful
Dawn Pugh Gober out front. We followed her inside one of those great halls that
were common at the turn of the 20<sup>th</sup> Century. It had three
spacey bedrooms, including a master with an en suite bathroom. The living and
dining rooms were rather smallish in comparison. The kitchen was a galley with
a narrow </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">eat-in attached. There
was a clawfoot bathtub in the hall washroom.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">It was going for $900 per month, ditto the rent
deposit. We didn’t have $1,800 dollars. She must have seen it in our faces,
because she offered us a deal. Because I had not only lived for fourteen years
in an apartment across the street owned by Kilgore and Bruce, I was casual
friends with Marie Bruce, and I had gone to school with former Gwinnett
County Commissioner Tommy Hughes, she would waive the deposit until
a later date and knock $50 dollars off the rent each month if Nabo would
promise to maintain the house out of her pocket.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">So, Nabo, his amigo Al, our boarder Glynda, and me and my
toothache began moving. It took us a week to haul everything from the
doublewide—not because the house was nasty. It appeared immaculate
until the power came home, but it was a far, far cry from the shape the place
on Whitehead had been in. It took seven days to truck our belongings over
because Nabo and Al were working twelve hours every day at Benton-Georgia
in Sugar Hill. I picked Nabo up at six pm. He was fine until we neared West
Buford Baptist church, and then he turned sarcastically snarling mean because
when things rubbed against his grain, he took it out on me. This time he was
angry because the company had rescheduled the holiday vacation from four days
to three days. He had to work Christmas Eve Friday. Al met us at the house, and
they would go to the doublewide and hauled a single load over. Then
Nabo would cook supper for us.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">So, we started the last leg of our life together. While he worked,
I unpacked between smoke breaks. We had always lived together in semi-isolated
places, and it took me a while to get used to living in the city again. I mean
I was scared snickerdoodle-less. I kept the house locked. I buttoned it up
every time I stepped out to smoke in the Saturn and never shifted my eyes away
from the fence gate.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">He walked through the hall one day and warned me about hanging
“ol” pictures on the walls as I had done inside the doublewide, which I
had also turned into a quasi-replica of The Buford Thrift
Shop. He didn’t say anything about new photos. I had blown
up and </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">framed one that I had
taken when we lived on Lawson Street. He is posed among my </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">flowers on the front porch, dressed in a white
tee shirt, black jeans, black cowboy boots, sombrero, with his machete
held down at his side and a stoggie between his lips. He thought he looked
like un </span><span lang="ES" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">gran
hombre malo—badass, baby, excuse my French. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I thought sure he’d want it hung in the living room.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Why?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“I thought you would want</span><span style="background: rgb(248, 249, 250); color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">—</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“Why?”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I started bawling loud enough to summon Glynda. She shot in and
chewed him another anus.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So, he goes, “We could hang it over here.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“That’s my wall!” I shouted.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I had moved the surviving furbabies as soon as we were sleeping
there. Bruce Lee and Little Sissy adapted to their new surroundings. Mr. Big
hid out amongst the boxes in the dining room where he peed in Nabo’s sombrero
for a week. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Karma, baby.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">He set my home office up in the great hall. I was sitting there
one night viewing the Find A Death forum while Nabo and his amigos sat at the
kitchen table, drinking and jawing. All at once, I felt boots pacing up and
down the hall. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I turned to see who it was.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Nobody was there. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The paranormal activity amped up a few weeks later. Now, you can
laugh, roll your eyes, or say I’m missing a French fry, but what happened that
afternoon and later really occurred. I was again sitting at my computer when
some <i>thing</i> started bouncing energy bursts off the back of my
neck. The first time, my butt jumped a foot off the office chair I’m sitting in
as I write this.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The second time, I shouted, “Cut it out, you
bugger!” And it did.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We lived just a few blocks from where hubs worked and when the
weather permitted, he rode his bike. One morning about 6am, I opened
my eyes and saw him standing at the dresser getting his house keys and
billfold, then he walked out the door. I closed my eyes and heard
feet stomping around the bedroom. I thought Nabo had come back to
get some forgotten thing.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Opened my eyes.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">No one was there. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The footsteps continued. I was spooked, but I am
stubborn, and I decided not to let it run me out of bed. I closed my
eyes again, and the footsteps came around the bed, stopped, and the hairs on my
neck stood up as I had the impression of the ghost leaning over me. Oy
Vey. I got up and ran into the great hall.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">One afternoon Vickie and her youngest daughter Brittany dropped
by. While Brittany used my computer. Vickie and I were sitting out
on the front porch, smoking when the lady who lives down the street came
walking by. She and Vickie worked at Walmart. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">They gabbed, and I caught a word here and there, reading the side
of Vickie’s lips. At one point I picked up an entire sentence.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“She’s not afraid of stuff like that.”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When the woman walked on, Vickie explained, “She said you and
Nabo had stayed here longer than any other renter, because the ghost ran
everybody else off.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Play it forward to Christmas Eve 2009. Nabo had grilled
T-Bone, potatoes, and scallions. He ate in the backyard with the male boarders,
while I ate at my desk. I took my empty plate to the sink and for some reason
opened the back door. And Nabo was standing there—boo!—with a ten-week-old
puppy in his arms. The pup was white, had baby-blue eyes, and a red nose.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span>“Pitt Bull!” I cried, not unkindly.</span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span><br /></span></span></span></div>
</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href=" " style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3DmSbpdxz3jc4-JIrQ75hvGzuAreg4ztCWheNbs3us9vaqA08ppbTA1RclxH7lK9WfZDlMhTt8_0INCmV0oCmF7E6xEFu6SKnZU1s4_VMqSfgprWwV_W5SUTnczrDSYrZJBNrR9JK9YM/s320/ACC+19.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times new roman, serif;"> </span><span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">“His mother es una pit bull, but his </span><span lang="ES" style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">papá</span><span style="background: rgb(248, 249, 250); text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;"> </span><span style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">es un American Bulldog. Un amigo brought</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;"> </span><span style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">him by in his truck, him.
This es the runt of the litter—" if that pup was the runt, I had</span><span style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">to wonder how big the others were—“ Him can’t find a home for this
one, him. I named him Harry…please…”</span></span><br />
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">How could I say no to a man
who had instantly fallen in love with a dog when he had never wanted a dog
before?<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">They say animals can see
dead people. And I think—no—I know he saw what was in that house. Had he
been capable speech, there’s end to what he could have told me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">So, began our three years
with the baby. He loved Nabo best, but I soon found he would eat any man who
showed up at the door when Nabo was gone. I’m talking about men Harry knew
well. He would not let them in the door. He would have given his
life to save mine if it came down to it. <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Harry slept between us at
night Several times I woke to see him sitting up at the foot of the
bed, staring toward the bedroom door. At least once, as I lay sleepless, he
came out of a dead sleep, whirled, and started staring. <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Time unwound, Harry's baby
blue eyes turned light green, and he grew and he grew and watched the door in
the night.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">One afternoon, I was
napping with Harry lying by my side on the bed, when he shot up like a bullet
and straddled my waist sideways, big boxy head cocked at the side table, ruff
up, green eyes wild, shaking like a leaf.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">“Wow! WOOOOOOW!
Wow Ahooo! Ahooo AHOOO O!” He was tracking
something I could not see from the table to the dresser to the fake fireplace
to the coat tree that we used to hand our robes on. (Nabo had told me what
sounds he made.)<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">It’s a terrible thing to
see a big braveheart like him scared out of his wits.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">He jumped off the bed, and
we got out of Dodge.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Had the white witches
summoned some <i>thing</i> up?<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">A friend, pktracy, on the
Find A Death Forum, is a white witch. She says that white witches never conjure
evil things up. Sometime in the past, someone “could [have been] playing
with a Quija board or some kids playing ghost hunters and asking the spirits to
communicate with them.”<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Sometime after that, I saw
it walk from the living room across the great hall and into our bedroom. <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">He had gray hair and was wearing dark pants and
a red button-up shirt.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I told Nabo about it one
day when Vickie was there.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">“She trusts in ghosts,
her,” he said and laughed.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">“Why are you laughing at me
because I see dead people, when you saw one yourself walk through a closed
door on Whitehead Road?<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
</span><br />
</span><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">In Memory</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">of</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">Dawn Pugh Gober</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">and</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">Marie Bruce</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"> </div><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span></span></span></p><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><div style="text-indent: 28.8px;"><span> </span></div></div></span></div>
</div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8526456868222207558.post-80843447884288950582019-10-17T09:06:00.006-04:002021-08-28T10:40:18.785-04:00Ghost Walking<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQPxZrsBZ5-RZz3ixyAIUnzHLx6iCNLUnM18ci_aJTRM2TSTSTLgM4e7W1E0IYFKbmaZyjma52TXkcied9zKmjPwuFFQ-Ci4BDpnBDb_b0ZUaUdMOi3l0Q3Cc2txoMCuL9IXDO4KsSkJo/s400/canstockphoto33388824.jpg" width="400" /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: .25in .5in .75in 1.0in 1.25in 1.5in 1.75in 2.0in 2.25in 2.5in 2.75in 3.0in 3.25in 3.5in 3.75in 4.0in 4.25in 4.5in 4.75in 5.0in 5.25in 5.5in 5.75in 6.0in 6.25in 6.5in 6.75in 7.0in 7.25in 7.5in 7.75in 8.0in; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">Have you ever seen
something that, on the surface, was perfectly normal and easily explained, yet
spooked you to the very bone marrow?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In early February 2004, our landlady put the
little pink dump on Lawson Street on the market. She gave us an option to buy
it. The thought of owning our own home thrilled us. She hooked us up
with a mortgage company agent who allowed as how we could put our current rent
of $500 per month on the $65,000 mortgage. And Aunt Pam allowed as how that was
highway robbery. We knew that, but we were too house-hungry stupid to care. And
then the agent found out Nabo was an illegal immigrant.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“It would be against the law to accept his
money, Mrs. Tapia, and we can’t accept yours because it might be
his.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“You can stay until it sells,” our landlady
said. But Nabo was so disappointed that he wanted nothing more to do with that
little house on a red aunt hill. The problem was, as always, we were broke, and
we had the babies to think of. Said babies were four tomcats: Mr.
Big, Bruce Lee, Panda, and Tango. It might prove hard to find a safe place for
them outdoors. (Nabo didn’t believe in keeping animals cooped up in the house
all the time). <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I called my dear old friend Frances Martin up
the next day via my relay service and told her all about it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Cindy!” she exclaimed. “I know just the
place!” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Turns out, because she was in such poor
health and her double-wide trailer needed more repairs than
she could afford, Shirley—Frances's older sister—had moved to
Kentucky to live with her son and his wife. And she was looking for
a renter!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Friends are God's visible guardian angels.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So, we rented it. For a song. The string being
that any repairs would come out of our pocket. No problem mending-wise. Nabo
knew all about plumbing, electricity, and everything else, including brain
surgery. I overheard him tell someone that his brain was a computer.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We would have moved straightway, but we had to
clean it up first. Shirley had reached a point in her illnesses where she could
no longer do anything for herself and apparently had no one local willing to
help her. And I'm not talking about your usual mop, sweep, dust, and scour. I’m
talking about dumping five rooms full of worn-out furniture down a hill off the
side yard. New creeping quarters for the rats and snakes amongst the rusted
husks of old cars.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The master toilet and vanity sink were out of
order. Big leafy ferns were dead in their fake terracotta pots in the great
room. Dead oak leaves littered the floor. There was a slice between said floor
and the baseboard next to the electric fireplace big enough to squeeze a semi
through. Below the windows cross the room, the floor was
springy with rot. And the furnace was dead. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My teenage nephew JD walked in not long after
we started cleaning and said, “This is the nicest double-wide trailer I’ve ever
seen.” Uhhhh.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We could have washed the glasses and
dinnerware and stuff in the kitchen cabinets, but Mr. Clean wouldn’t have used
that stuff had I soaked it for a week in Clorox. He took one look inside the
refrigerator and oven and his eyes almost popped out of his head. It was either
clean the fridge or renege on selling our itty bitty one to our landlady and
hauling it in from Lawson Street. He hemmed and hawed and decided I could try
to bring it up to his specs. I worked on that fridge all day one Saturday,
standing in a kitchen floor flooded by a broken sink pipe. I got it sparkling
clean, of course. I wasn’t my mother’s daughter for nothing. It was immaculate,
except for the three English peas trapped in a crevice below the freezer.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Ewwww! Tha’s nasty!” He cringed as if someone
had raked their fingernails across a chalkboard. “I’m not putting my
food in there, me.” This from a hombre who let Bruce Lee the cat eat directly
out of his plate during mealtimes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I scoffed at him and went off down to KFC to
buy a bucket and sides with the 80 quarters I found stashed in a jar in the
foyer closet. When I got back, he was loading the condiments into the fridge
door.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The range was another kind of filthy
altogether, baby. Nabo said it looked like Wendy's, KFC, McDonald’s, and the
Waffle House had been using it for twenty years without so much as a spray of
EASY-OFF. So, he dumped it out the back door. He bought another one at Home
Depot several months later. It was a cute little job with knobs that froze when
it got too hot. You had to pull the knobs off and use pliers to turn the gas
off. I lived in fear that one of the boarders wouldn’t cut the gas completely
off, and we’d bounce off the moon.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We filled ten big boxes and forty big black
yard bags full of everything you can think of. Then Nabo scrubbed
down the carpets and surfaces and polished the wall paneling with Pledge. It
took him a week to fix the plumbing under the sink. I was forced to wash dishes
in the guest bathroom when he was at work, mind you. He thought “badrooms” were
nasty—no matter how clean they were—and he didn’t want anything in there that
had anything to do with his mouth except his toothbrush.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So, we settled in, and time-wheeled on. In
August 2005, Nabo bought me an XL computer system. And I married the
Internet. How do you spell AOL dial-up? C-R-A-P. But it was better
than watching soccer, and the caller ID app was handy. Every
afternoon when Nabo got off work at Benton-Georgia, he walked down to the
shopping strip on Peachtree Industrial, and Nelson Brogdon to call me to come pick
him up. He would drop a quarter in the payphone, let it ring once and hang up,
saving a whole $1.25 per week. (I had the phone number memorized.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">It was a morning like any other. I rose early,
put a pot of 50% fake Kroger brand coffee on, and rolled down to Hardees to buy
my sausage and egg biscuit to eat while reading the Atlanta-Journal
Constitution and Gwinnett Daily Post online. That morning I did something that
I’d only done four or five times. My hand got away from me and knocked my
almost full insulated 20-oz cup of brown water over. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Splish splash my scattered Post Its
were taking a bath. But, fortunately, it didn’t slosh across my keyboard. I
went tearing into the master bath, grabbed a big green towel, came digging
it back into my office, and dabbed it up. The desk needed a good clean, anyway.
But I had rather use 901 Surface than Kroger half-caf.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That day was cool with clear skies at that
time of morning when the eastern sun wasn't yet strong enough to bounce off the
window panes and blur the monitor screen. I glanced out the double window and
saw an old man wearing black pants and a white shirt, bent forward, as if
walking down Missy Martin’s driveway toward Whitehead Road against a
strong wind. I watched until he disappeared in front of the single-wide trailer
that Missy used for storage. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I was chilled. No reason
why. I knew he had to be someone who had parked his vehicle out of
my line of view or a neighbor who had cut through from one of the bounding
back townhomes. I sat there watching, waiting for him to come into
view on the other side of the trailer. No car or truck, horse, or
broom, or walking dude went up or down the road. I went digging it to the
master bedroom windows.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The sides of the road and the driveway were
deserted.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So, maybe he didn't turn, maybe he just
hobbled straight across Whitehead Road into the thicket to nosh pine needles
and shrub buds with the rabbits. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That afternoon, Nabo came thundering through
the back door and into my office, big brown eyes wide and flashing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"I've been calling and calling for you to
pick me up, you!"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"I haven't seen a call pop
up." We looked at the app on the left side of the monitor
screen. The caller ID was empty. Tech glitch? Maybe.
Probably. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And then the rest of it came out. He goes
"Who's here with you?!?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Nobody. I've been alone all day. What is
wrong with you, baby?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I saw one man come in here!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">“<i>What?</i>”</span></b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Silence. Then, "I walk home
because you didn’t come get me. I got near the mailbox and saw one man walk through
the front door.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We scrambled into the foyer. He tried to turn
the doorknob. It was locked. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“You said he walked through the door?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He nodded. The expression told me he knew what
I was going to ask next.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Was the door open or closed when he walked
through it?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Uh...it...was closed.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Was it an old man?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Uh…yes.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The same old man I’d seen walking up the
driveway? A ghost. Because no human can walk through a closed
door, can they?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">In Memory</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">of</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">Frances Martin</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">2040 - 2005</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"> </div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"> </div></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 28.8px;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"> </span></div><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></span></p><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><div style="text-indent: 28.8px;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"> </span></div></div></span></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8526456868222207558.post-76492454032741088732019-10-07T04:07:00.007-04:002021-08-28T10:46:01.699-04:00The Little Middle<div>
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<a href=" " style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="238" data-original-width="184" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibXZkOxfszmDfDQ6qRzP0tgoNJCeXwxJTCIMsj8Ltx8BJ1Ewv2pAzxrIL5sR_jJRMdafaUSFOkHPpQkL2fD4PuHjfzsxMgJDqkqQUpJwTFXo56n4-tVWK4RgGwZtNXirLqaXSNSF-AhYk/w309-h400/THE+LITTLE+MIDDLE.jpg" width="309" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-small; text-align: justify;">Little Miss Vickie Lynn Wiggins Davis</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">She was left out, lost in the dysfunction
of our home life, overshadowed by the privileged older child and the favored
baby, accused of things she didn’t do, beat for something she couldn’t help…</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After
Renay was born, we moved back to Buford. I remember the thrill of Daddy hooking
a right off 23 Highway and rolling up Hill Street, and there in the
night was Buford Elementary School. I could almost see those orange counters in
Mrs. Dover’s classroom and the back door bumped onto the playground. The
swings were at the bottom of the hill, and around the corner of the building
were the monkey bars and the merry-go-round where I’d had a whirlwind
romance the very first day of first grade. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Daddy
nosed the car on up Hill, driving past all those places dear to my little
heart. The Clover Farm and the North Pole, Moreno Press, Mrs. Mauldin’s store,
the big Otto Whitney house, Shomake’s Self Serve, Dover and Cheek’s Garage.
And, oh, happy day! silvered in the moonlight next door rose the over-and-under
duplex where Mama and Papa Dorsey and Aunt Pam waited in the top apartment for
our arrival. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Daddy
parked in the back. A light went on in the kitchen before we had time to jump
out of the car and pound up the back stairs like a small herd of wild horses.
Mama Dorsey opened the door, and we crammed in for a few weeks. I don’t recall
the sleeping arrangements. Mama and Papa Dorsey’s bedroom furniture took up
most of the back room. Aunt Pam’s front room was spacey enough to hold the
usual furniture and two full-size beds. The couch in the living room was
slightly larger than a loveseat. It didn’t help matters either that
Papa and Daddy were sometimes at odds. I have no doubt in my mind that they
loved each other, but they were both moody, discontent men and two families
sharing the same rat hole does not make for an Ozzie-and-Harriet atmosphere.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">My
parents didn’t waste time finding jobs. Daddy went back to tooling leather for
Bona Allen, and Mama was hired on at The North Pole, which was owned and</span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> operated by Mr. and Mrs. (Alice
Ruth Cain) H. L. Adams, the parents of Bill, Michael Scott, and Diane Adams
Fox. It was a teenage haunt </span><span style="background: white; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">reminiscent</span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> of Al's on Happy Days. It was the first restaurant
in Buford to sell soft-serve ice cream. School kids would walk up to the North
Pole on lunch breaks and enjoy the best burgers, hot dogs, French fries, and
ice creams in town. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
they had enough money to move, they started looking for a place. Now, the
apartment below my grandparents was vacant, and I am almost certain that's
where Mama had already decided to move, but she humored Daddy, who was a
country boy raised on Bogan Road and wanted to live in the sticks. We went
prowling through a house in the big woods, peeping into closets and doing a
pee-test in the toilet. Walked out back, and Mama took one look at the well and
came to a dead halt. And I developed a case of the heebie-jeebies. When we
lived in Flowery Branch, I would lie around on Saturday night, listening to the
radio. It seemed they were always playing a ballad about a little girl named Cindy
who fell in a well, and they couldn’t get her out. So, I was relieved when Mama
hustled us to the car.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
did indeed end up renting the apartment under Mama and Papa Dorsey. While my
parents went about getting their furniture out of storage, Aunt Pam took me
down for a look around. “There’s some <i>thing</i> in this
apartment, Cindy,” she warned me just inside the back door. Her words cost me
many a night’s sleep. and time would prove her right.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ironically,
there were two covered ground wells in the backyard. Mama knew they were out
there. She had played in that big backyard when she was a kid after all. So,
what was the difference between a country well and a city well? Mama wanted to live
in the city and used the country well to get her way. It looks as if she would
have warned me away from them, but she didn’t—until she saw me out there
jumping up and down on one. “Cindy! Cindy! That plank cover is old! You’re
liable to crash through it and we won’t be able to get you out!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Pretty
soon it was time for me to begin second grade. Instead of going with me on the
first day, Mama elected to stay in bed with Vickie and Renay and send me
walking down to the grammar school on Hill and Peevy by myself. I was anxious
to get there, but by the time I stepped into the large entrance hall outside
the cafeteria dread kicked in. Mama had neglected to notify the school after we
moved back to Buford, which meant my name was not on the lists taped to the
classroom doors. I looked anyway, hoping against hope, finally,
giving up. I strayed out the doors outside Mrs. Greenway's and Mrs. Dover's
classrooms and around to the parking lot below Peevy Street. Those two teachers
hustled me back inside. They were angry with Mama for letting me come back by
myself. I was placed in Mrs. Garner’s second grade. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As
time passed, I noticed that Daddy preferred Baby Renay, his runt, who was full
of mischief but could do no wrong in his eyes. That I was Mama’s favorite.
She’d beat the snickerdoodle out of me with Daddy’s leather belt and dress me
up like a living doll and grant me privileges due to my firstborn birthright.
That Vickie was left hanging between the privileged older sister and the
favored baby. It’s not that she wasn’t loved, she was, but not enough. It was
almost as if she was invisible until she vanished—if you can dig that. <span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); color: #151237;">One afternoon Mama sent her
over to Shomake's to buy onions. A little later, Mama came running
out onto the front porch</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); color: #151237; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">"Have you seen Vickie?" she wanted
to know</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); color: #151237; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">"No,” I said. “Didn't she go to the
store?"</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); color: #151237; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">"Yes, but she's not back
yet." </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); color: #151237; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">We walked into the kitchen. The onions and
the change were on the table. Mama turned and ran out the front door to
Shomake's. Soon she was back. Annie Jo told her that Vickie had
come and gone some time ago. We searched the house over again before we finally
found her curled up fast asleep in a chair in the living room. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
remember the day Mama brought her home from the hospital. I went tearing
through the house and fell and broke my front teeth out on a child’s piano
stool. A dentist pulled the remaining bits of incisors. I thought I would be
snaggle-toothed forever and was so ashamed I quit grinning. I could not contain
my delight when my front teeth crowned. I grinned alongside Mama all the way up
to Tom’s Shoe Store. As Lefty Cole measured my foot, I pointed to my mouth and
said “See? My teeth are pregnant!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It’s
hard now to believe, but I never once played with Vickie, except during
the baseball games that Diane Adams got up in our backyard, where I once
smacked her chin with a bat. Daddy grabbed her up and raced off to Buford
General ER on Morningside Drive, and thinking she was dying, I went tearing
into the house and flung myself down on the couch. One of those kids came in
and patted my back and told me that it wasn’t my fault and that she would be
okay. She came home with a bluing chin but was otherwise just
fine. Sometimes I’d see Vickie and Susan Dollars' baby sister Becky
sitting on our back steps. But I seldom knew what she was up to while I was
talking to Susan Dollar about boys and the end of the world down at the end of
the backyard. Or chatting with the Scarecrow. Or swinging across the jungle
with Tarzan, Or trotting around on my broom horse alongside Roy Rogers.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mama
saved all her photos in a big cardboard box with a handle on it. I used to sit
at the kitchen table and wander through the frozen moments of our lives. I
especially enjoyed the baby pictures. There were several of me and even more of
Renay, but just two of Vickie. One taken when she was just a toddling holding
my hand in the red dirt front yard on Hamilton Mill Road. And a studio portrait
of the two of us frowning into the camera, taken at the Lynn House next door to
the Harness Shop on Main Street. I must have been four, and she was two. And
that, friends and neighbors, was it. No infant Vickie wrapped in a blanket. No
birthday party photos, because, while Mama threw Renay and me parties on
our sixth birthday, she never hosted a single party for Vickie. Not one.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One
afternoon, Mama again sent Vickie to buy something at Shomake’s. Vickie
returned, set the item and change on the kitchen table, where the money managed
to run off to parts unknown. Mama accused her of stealing it and pitched a hissy
fit. We think it was a case of Mama forgetting she’d put the money in her
purse. Or maybe the ghost nipped it and floated off to buy something at Allen’s
5 and 10 in upside down Buford.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Vickie
had a condition that presented symptoms that Mama couldn’t deal with, so she
beat that teenie tiny little middle sister of mine for something she couldn’t
help. Finally, either someone gave her a piece of advice or she wised up and
took Vickie to the doctor. Turns out Vickie had too much sugar in her kidneys—not
diabetes it but needed watching. Eventually, it cleared up on its own.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Vickie
grew into the beauty of our family and did better than any of us. She married
her childhood sweetheart, and they thrived until he found a honk-nosed trophy.
But she carried on, proving a woman doesn't need a man to succeed. That
marriage had given her two beautiful little girls, Karen and Brittany, who,
against all odds in this world of drugs and teenage sex and pregnancy, turned
out to be impeccable young women who had five precious boys between them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #151237; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Sometimes grief bursts a dam of tears, and sometimes it freezes
them. When Mama died on Friday, May 19, 2006, Vickie could not cry. And it had
nothing to do with what she had endured at Mama’s hands. That was her Mother,
the Mama, however imperfect, who had never abandoned we three girls
but stood by us even to her death. She was a mentally ill mean drunk who
loved to make people miserable because she was miserable, but she would have
moved mountains for us. And did, ripping back the curtain between life and
death for the one least favored…</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #151237; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">There came a time a few years after Mama died when Vickie was in
dire straits, lying on her bed, sleepless, when a voice rang out in the dead of
night.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span><span style="color: #151237; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">“Vickie! Vickie!"</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #151237; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium; text-indent: 0.2in;">It was Mama, calling her name the way she had called all of us
in life. And peace flooded over Vickie, and she was able to sleep, now knowing
that everything would work out. And it did.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span><br /></span>
<span><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #151237; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">For<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #151237; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">Vickie Lynn Davis<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #151237; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">The Little Middle<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #151237; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><span>Who, when I had nowhere to go, she took me in.</span><span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #151237; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #151237; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"> </div></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #151237; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #151237; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: black; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 28.8px;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"> </span></div><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></span></p><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: black; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><div style="text-indent: 28.8px;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></span></div></div></span></span></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8526456868222207558.post-70269535785646157172019-09-20T07:15:00.007-04:002021-08-30T02:10:53.726-04:00Thursday's Child<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhILQa8ed0iyOYdYAvEzdRscSZ83y-FdvjOeVskoaDrH4AsAIshm6_fDnMppripJwDP2kePM5H_MZT76sjDL9xdnDXUIlGXq46R_P6qXuuXWvKG8eDJU1AOjCRquPBXNKswX4rkmpa9giY/s1600/ACC+7.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="268" data-original-width="402" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhILQa8ed0iyOYdYAvEzdRscSZ83y-FdvjOeVskoaDrH4AsAIshm6_fDnMppripJwDP2kePM5H_MZT76sjDL9xdnDXUIlGXq46R_P6qXuuXWvKG8eDJU1AOjCRquPBXNKswX4rkmpa9giY/w400-h266/ACC+7.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vickie holding Renay, Cindy, Jimmy Wiggins (Daddy)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium;">I lay in bed in the dead
of night, listening to Mama’s paranoia about the coming baby spill over until
Daddy had enough.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“What do you expect me
to do, Christine?" He shouted. "Unzip you and see if it’s all
right?”…</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">In the early 60s, three
friends quit their jobs at Bona Allen Harness Shop and went to work for Sam
Bosick at a leather company on Main Street in the college town of Southern
Pines, NC.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">James Lynn pulled up his
wife, Drucilla, and three children—Debbie, Steve, and a baby boy—and moved up
first. They rented the top apartment of a house on NW Broad Street.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Daddy was living with
his mommy. Mama and we girls were living with Mama and Papa Dorsey and Aunt
Pam. I was about four months into Mrs. Dover’s first grade. We were all settled
into the daily rhythms of our lives. And—just like that!—a curtain
dropped, and another one rose. And we were rolling up 23 Highway with Mama and
Daddy, bound for a life where the only thing new was the setting. Vickie rode
in the backseat, while I stood between Mama and Daddy. Guess the head-on
collision with the drunk driving a pickup truck that had thrown me through the
windshield hadn’t taught them anything. Ditto their bad first
marriage. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Junior Williams, his
wife <span style="background: rgb(241, 240, 240);">Johnnie Mae, and their
children—Renda, David, Timothy, Becky, and Teresia—came up </span>sometime
after. Renda says they “lived on the edge of town near a candle
factory that smelled bad.” </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We moved into the
apartment below the James Lynn family on NW Broad, a tree-lined street that
reminded me of Sawnee Avenue in Buford sans mansions and railroad
tracks. Apparently, Daddy had traveled to Southern Pines to secure a
job and rent a place before bringing us up or Mama would never
have agreed to live in “that house.” Fear fell across her face the
second she saw the front door which was nothing more than a glorified slat
window with a knob. She told me years later that all somebody had to do was
take out a couple of those panes, stick their hand in and come on in
without even having to thumb the lock—because the only lock was the
one from outside. (Eventually, her fears came true, but it wasn’t danger that
crept through that door. It was the back door. And the invader was a
three-year-old neighbor girl who walked in while we were visiting in Buford and
decapitated my Barbie doll<span style="background: rgb(241, 240, 240);">—s</span>he was
caught redhanded by her parents with the head in her fist. Said back door
was left unlocked. The irony) Daddy climbed the three concrete steps and
unlocked the front door. Mama took one look at the wall-to-wall white carpet
and nearly fainted. “How,” she demanded, “am I supposed to keep this rug clean
with these two kids running in and out? I’ll have to get down on my hands and
knees and scrub it, that’s how! And in a few weeks, I’ll be too big to do
that!” So continued the discontent of the first marriage into the second.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">It was a furnished
apartment, including a black-and-white TV, which stood on four legs in a corner
of the living room. Daddy watched <i>Combat </i>with Vic Morrow on
Tuesday nights, while Mama washed and rolled my naturally curly hair with bobby
pins, trying to turn me into Shirley Temple. I guess a lot of mothers did that
back then, but for some reason, it pissed me the heck off to the point I once
screamed: “I wish I was dead!” That from a first-grader. I think
that anger sprung from a well deeper than a hair-setting session.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Vickie and I shared a
double bed that was pushed longways against a window in the room to the left of
the front door. For some reason, I took one look at that window and
developed a fear of windows in areas where I slept that followed me into my
teens. So, I made Vickie sleep in front of it. If I’d ever had occasion to
sleep by myself, I would have been under the bed or in the closet. Wild horses
couldn’t have dragged me into Mama and Daddy’s room. As it was, it took me
forever to fall asleep. And when I did, my parents woke me yelling at each
other. Mama was paranoid if you haven’t guessed, and she worried herself sick
throughout her pregnancies. I was too young when Vickie was in the womb, but I
remember the months before Renay was born. I’d lay in bed in the dead of
night, listening to Mama fret over the coming baby until Daddy screamed: “What
do you expect me to do, Christine? Unzip you and see if it’s all right?” And
then he tore every stitch of her clothing up and left the remnants lying
against the wall in my bedroom for me to see when I got up to go to school the
next morning. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I played outside every
second of my free time and fair weather. On the grassy lawn at the hem of woods
in the backyard was a swing set and a redwood picnic table, but I spent most of
my playtime in the front yard which was like a white beach strewn with quartz.
Little Stevie Lynn from upstairs and I would take sand buckets and go gold
mining. That is, we thought the quartz was gold, and we were going to be rich
one day, baby. He was a three-year-old, no bigger than an English pea compared
to my lima-bean size, and I doubt he knew what gold or rich was.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">A week after we got
settled, Mama walked me down to the grammar school. Renda Smith says
the Williams house was “<span style="background-color: #f1f0f0;"> </span></span></span><span style="text-indent: 0.2in;">“maybe seven blocks from school close to the railroad. Not far from [a] catholic school.” Our apartment was between her house and the school. My teacher was Miss MaShee. Her room looked nothing like Mrs. Dover’s. There were no cheery orange sink counters or separate bathrooms for boys and girls. It was almost like a room in a house with a bathroom straight ahead as you walked in the door. A side exit bumped out onto a pine-needle strewn yard with redwood playground equipment under the trees. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">Miss MaShee included me in everything. (She was however puzzled over why I had come to school without a transfer record from Buford Elementary. Back in Buford, Mrs. Dover visited Mama Dorsey to find out why I had vanished from her class. That was Mama.) I recall a class discussion about <i>Puff the Magic Dragon. </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Why
did little Jackie Paper quit coming out to play with Puff?” Miss
MaShee asked me. I hadn’t the foggiest.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“Because little Jackie
grew out of make-believe and turned to other things. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Not me. I never lost
that childhood romance with the fantasy world.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background: rgb(241, 240, 240); font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Mama walked me to and from school for two days, then followed me both ways until she was sure </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I wouldn’t get lost, and
every afternoon, I’d sneak in the back door and screamed “BOO!” to let her know
I had made it without peril. She almost jumped out of her maternity dress. It’s
a wonder that baby hadn’t dropped out and broke its neck on the freshly
scrubbed white carpet. I finally quit it when she threatened to “tear me up.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Of course, my life has
seldom unraveled smoothly, because I was a dreamer and a rebel. I’d
make it to school on a cloud of some fantasy and get lost in the halls. I’d
start home and make impulsive detours. One afternoon for kicks and giggles, I
ran up the wrong side of NW Broad, braked and flew like a jay over the busy
two-lane to the right sidewalk A finger tapped me on the back. I
jumped straight up and whirled around in midair. Two teenage boys stood
grinning at me. One had a ticket pad in his hand and a pen behind his ear.
Crosswalk monitors. One of them chewed me out for jaywalking and started to
write me a ticket. Then his grin widened, and he said, “I’ll let you off this
time, but you better not ever do that again!” I went home boohooing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Mama met me at the door,
wanting to know what was wrong. Always quick to cover my butt, I came up with a
whopper and she swallowed it. She always did.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“Two girls at school
made fun of me!” Sniff sniff.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“What did they say,
Cindy Honey?”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“‘Na! Na! Na!, you’re from
Buford!’”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Another day I stalked a
teenage girl up a side road to her roadside mailbox. She stopped on the porch
and stared at me until I cut and ran.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">One after-school event
haunts me to this day. One afternoon a friend and I were walking home in a snow
shower. An old pickup truck stopped in front of us on a side road. Two men were
inside. The passenger had no eyeballs. The driver offered us a
lift. I refused to get in the truck with them. My friend did. And I never
saw her again…</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Right before School
ended, I was in the backyard when my cousin Cathy Doss came running around one
corner of the house, and her brother Kenny came racing around the other. I
screamed in sheer delight, and we ran around to the front yard. Daddy’s sister
Gloria was sitting in her block-long red ragtop. She was dropping Kenny and
Cathy off to stay with us for a week, at which time she would return and take
us back to Buford to stay the last weeks of Mama’s pregnancy. Oh, boy! I didn’t
have to dread my parents’ fights, dodging hairbrushes and coat hangers, and I
could follow Cathy all over the place for seven whole days! One afternoon, Mama
gave Cathy money to buy tickets to see <i>Tammy and the Doctor. </i>Renda
says, “<span style="background: rgb(241, 240, 240);">I got to take Beck, David, &
Timothy to see <i>Kissin Cousins</i>.” </span>Mama griped about that
week into her sixties. “It wasn’t enough that I had two of my own to look after
and was almost nine months gone, but she had to leave me with her two.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On Thursday, June
6—which happened to be Papa Wiggins birthday had he lived—Gloria returned to
pick up her kids, and take Vickie and me to stay with Mama and Papa Dorsey
until sometime after the baby arrived. Renay Lynn Wiggins was born in Pinehurst
that night and the world was never the same, let me tell you. Three weeks later
Mama and Papa Dorsey and Aunt Pam brought Vickie and me back to Southern Pines.
Renay’s crib was set up in a little hallway off Mama and Daddy’s bedroom. She
was blond and fair as a Dresden Doll. The mother in me spent a lot of time with
her there. She curled little fingers around one of mine as I sang her a
lullaby. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Two sisters. Sunday’s
child, seven years old, who was supposed to be okay, but I sought escape into
otherworlds because the real one was much too painful to bear. And a milk
baby, Thursday’s child, who had far to go down a path that led to
self-destruction, and against all odds redemption in Jesus Christ.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8pt;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8pt; text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium; line-height: 107%;">To <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8pt;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium; line-height: 107%;">Renda Smith </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium; line-height: 107%;">for adding her memories to mine of those
long ago years when our families lived in Southern Pines, NC<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">For<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">Renay Lynn Wiggins<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">In <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">Memory<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">of<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">Christine Dorsey Wiggins<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><span>The best mother she was capable of being</span><span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"> </div></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 28.8px;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"> </span></div><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></span></p><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><div style="text-indent: 28.8px;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"> </span></div></div><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; font-size: 18.6667px; text-indent: 28.8px;"> </div></span></span></div>
</div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8526456868222207558.post-25315489533163330522019-09-05T01:25:00.005-04:002021-08-30T02:11:58.151-04:00 And Then A Curtain Fell<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgroLpr_baut5lkikRYw4SnkBNKAt9UDV461QyUhSgHC9CMuUcDF9Wi5M2x1Y7igFXOI0Acw9xYyjIvzhDIGdjco-Ki2HdPfmpOUY3mbJCCmgyKnqk11kBkzisk-OThYd69dPlI4SWbPeM/s1600/Cindy+Wiggins+Tapia.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="331" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgroLpr_baut5lkikRYw4SnkBNKAt9UDV461QyUhSgHC9CMuUcDF9Wi5M2x1Y7igFXOI0Acw9xYyjIvzhDIGdjco-Ki2HdPfmpOUY3mbJCCmgyKnqk11kBkzisk-OThYd69dPlI4SWbPeM/w383-h400/Cindy+Wiggins+Tapia.jpg" width="383" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cindy Wiggins-Tapia</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span>We were living in a house with a peaked stoop of a front porch
on 23 Highway in Flowery Branch when Daddy took up his deer rifle and went out
hunting. He left his camo at home. He didn’t need it, though his KKK
robe might have blended him into the sheeted stand a bit when his best friend—a
prominent Btown gentleman—saw him plain as day in bed with the dear. And told
Mama. And what did Mama do? Let’s put it this way. The Dutch Over boy started
making special deliveries at our house while Daddy was tooling leather at Bona
Allen. She made Vickie and me stay outside with Peanut the Beagle
and Fritz the German Shephard. Said Fritz got fed up and bit said Dutch Oven
boy who summarily took his buns elsewhere.</span></span><br />
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Mama and Daddy got a d-i-v-o-r-c-e and moved back
into their childhood homes. It tickled me pink to be back in Mama and Papa
Dorsey’s house where I could eat sugar right out of the bowl and aggravate Aunt
Pam with my chicken scratch while she tried to do her homework. A
little neighbor girl kept after Mama about letting me come out to play, but
Mama thought I was too young. That little girl was either Susan Dollar or Diane
Adams. Vickie and I spent every other weekend with Daddy. My sum total memory
of those nights is lying in bed with Vickie and him, listening to
squirrels skittering in the attic.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Mama went to waitressing nights at the
University Yacht Club on Lake Lanier. She partayed down after work with a
Georgia redneck racist with strawberry blond hair and a complexion to match.
This infuriated her old-school daddy, who believed a woman should stay stuck in
what she’d stepped into in </span><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: Times, serif;">Walhalla</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">,</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> or barring that,
come straight home from work and take care of her children. I was always awake
when he met her at the front door in the wee hours. It was not pretty. Let’s
just leave it at that.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">She finally got fed up with Papa trying to
disrupt her shenanigans, and a few weeks before my fifth birthday moved us into
the Housing Projects on Buford Highway in Flowery Branch. My very first friend
ever was the little girl who lived in a brick ranch house behind our
corner apartment. I would walk down the little path past a shed and play Boom
Boom Boom Here I Come and Simon Says in her garage. It was also here
that I found out for the first time what fun mama could be. She was 17 years
older than me, about twenty-two that year. She loved to make prank phone calls.
She’d gather Vickie and me around her knees, open the phone book and pick a
mark while we girls rolled on the floor laughing before she finished rotating
the dial.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“Is your refrigerator running? It is? Well,
you better go catch it.”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“Do you have Prince Albert in a can? You do?
Well, you better let him out!”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Mama was working days at the University Yacht
Club by then. A male friend with blond hair and green eyes picked her up
in his block-long white car for work and brought her home evenings. Neighbors
babysat Vickie and me. The first was a fortyish couple with
two teenage children. Apparently, they were retired and had to watch every
penny they drew. They ate dried beans and cornbread for lunch, stacked their
dirty dishes on the table, then used them again—yes, without washing them—at
supper, day in and day out. He was also a toilet paper Nazi who warned me about
using more than one sheet. Came home in a mess one day, and Mama gave him
what’s for and how to twirl on it. Thereafter, we stayed with the
two teenage girls and their mother across the way. They were fun to be
around; always had good food, washed their dang dishes and didn’t have a
one-sheet commodity on toilet paper.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">In the spring of 1962, shortly before my sixth
birthday, Mama pulled up roots again and moved us back in with Mama and Papa
Dorsey, because she wanted me to start school at Buford Elementary. Come
fall of the year, Mama walked me down to the grammar school on Peevy and Hill
Streets. She leaned against the orange sink counter built into the back of the
room while Mrs. Dover had each of us write our name on the chalkboard. I wrote
mine and looked back at Mama. When I looked again, she was gone. I
didn’t make friends with my classmates. (I made exactly five close friends
during my twelve-year tour of the Buford School System—Susan Dollar, Sandra
Benton, Theresia Hill, Jackie Waycaster, Kathy Cole). </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mama continued her partying. The redneck
racist picked her up from work every afternoon. I have no idea where they
fetched up through the week, but come Saturdays, they hit the
dances. Lots of times she would take Vickie and I with them. Vickie
and I were about as shy as two moles in a hole, but Mama forced us onto the
dance floor with threats of dire consequences, because she loved the attention
it brought her. On the way home in the wee hours one morning, the car died in
the middle of 20 Highway. Some stranger stopped and helped push it onto a
turnaround, then took Mama and we girls home. A stranger! Those were innocent
times compared to these, but still, things happened. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And then a curtain fell. And another one rose.
And BANG! I was standing up between Mama and Daddy as he drove up 23 Highway
toward a life where only the location was new. </span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">In<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">Memory<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">Of<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">Pam Dorsey Gaines
Whiting<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">January 1949 –
September 2006<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Miss you so</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"> </div></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 28.8px;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"> </span></div><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></span></p><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><div style="text-indent: 28.8px;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"> </span></div></div></span></span></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8526456868222207558.post-73054345604491855112019-08-21T19:27:00.005-04:002021-08-30T02:13:05.726-04:00Somebody I Used to Know<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXU5u-tJl0qQ8EAV0iuPvDU7aQmjMmCRI7a6yvMOet8tUfP2KUAYtWThuBEnIxrDuHAvG0tiPy5AU5pDV2unnSkxI-XGrW3gP-qKa0s1Kdkt_mbN18vxZc9tvWupukbzgc7AW_Kv8d0t4/s1600/NABO+ON+HIS+SHIP.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="452" data-original-width="612" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXU5u-tJl0qQ8EAV0iuPvDU7aQmjMmCRI7a6yvMOet8tUfP2KUAYtWThuBEnIxrDuHAvG0tiPy5AU5pDV2unnSkxI-XGrW3gP-qKa0s1Kdkt_mbN18vxZc9tvWupukbzgc7AW_Kv8d0t4/w640-h472/NABO+ON+HIS+SHIP.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Nabor Tapia Adame aboard his Mexican Navy Ship</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, serif; line-height: 107%;">The ramifications of what my husband had done hit me like a
sledgehammer and I started screaming…</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Times, serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">We settled into the
little house in the fire ant hills on Lawson Street with our tubby yellow
tabby. Said fatso had been set out by someone before I moved
in. Nabo named her Biggy and fed her Star-Kist tuna because she was
“one pregnant wooooman, her” and needed to eat right. Her turned out to be a
foody whose testicles hadn’t fully descended and was thereafter called Mr. Big
and subsisted on Nine Lives and all the ham, beef, and chicken he could beg or
steal. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Times, serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">We didn’t have much, but
I was perfectly satisfied with my little disability checks and getting out
of Mama’s flophouse. Nabo, on the other hand, coveted far more than what life
had handed him.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">Nabor
Tapia Adame </span><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">was
the only son in a genteel poor farmer family in</span><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Xaltianguis, Guerrero, roughly thirty miles south
of Aquapoco, Mexico</span><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">. He
was raised in</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">a compound on a river where
he and his 400 sisters eventually built their own homes. His mother was a
two-fisted drinker with a cigarette permanently planted between her lips. His
father was a rambler with girlfriends on both sides of the Rio
Grande. Nabo broke family tradition when he became a </span><span lang="ES" style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">frogman in the Mexican
Navy, where he was known for some reason as Popeye the Sailorman who drank
beer instead of eating spinach. </span><span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">He received several medals of bravery. He might
have made a career of it had he not KO'd his </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">superior officer.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">In 1986, he sneaked
across the Tijuana-San Diego border. By the time he fetched up in Buford around
1998, his written English was better than some born to it, but his speech was
hard to understand. So, I talked his ear off until<b> </b>his
pronunciations improved, and his employer used him as an interpreter. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.2in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He was never a day
laborer. He always held a <span style="letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">regular job.
Computers in Santa Ana, California.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">Laying
carpet in Houston, Texas. Digging ditches at construction sites for
Benton-Georgia’s</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> <span style="letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">satellite shop (the former Robinson Chrysler Plymouth<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">dealership where a
train derailed many years ago) on the corner of East Broad Street <span style="letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">and R.H. Smith Boulevard in Sugar Hill. </span> On
those rare days when digging wasn’t feasible, his boss let him operate a
backhoe or signal traffic. He learned how to install gas units. <span style="letter-spacing: 0.15pt;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">He earned </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">roughly eleven bucks per <span style="letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">hour less than legal</span> <span style="letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">residents, yet his wages were far more</span> <span style="letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">than the $4 dollars per <i>day</i> he
would have earned for the same job in Mexico. He should have</span> <span style="letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">been grateful. But he wasn't. </span><span style="background: white;">He pinned his greed on winning the Mega Games and getting
a</span> <span style="background: white;">green card. </span>His discontent
and drinking led him down the path that destroyed us.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(248, 249, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">He brought a case of Budweiser down every
time he visited me during the weeks we courted. He never got anywhere near
sloppy drunk, but, because I knew well the hell of pather piss, I had sworn
never to get involved with a man who drank—never mind my own
sporadic </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> <span style="letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">drinking—and should have told him to hit the
road and never come back, but I was too enthralled with stepping in it like
everybody else to say Boo about anything he did. </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(248, 249, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">After I shacked up with him, he took the
six-pack of </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Negra Modelo from under
the sink and gave it to Renay and swore off booze forever, because that’s what
a drunk does when he faces a milestone. He had always wanted a child, and he meant
to be the best father in the world. I sighed with relief. Our life
together was peachy orange. Right? Channeling Judy Born Brackett—uhhhh.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We butted heads for the first time over money, specifically over
buying a car.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(248, 249, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We relied on taxis to go grocery shopping and wire money to his
four hundred sisters in Mexico. We washed our clothes in the bathtub. He rode
his bike to work every day, leaving me to fill the long hours the best I
could. I watched cable TV, smoked, read, and smoked. I gave the house a full
cleaning every day, </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">and
he would come home and do it over, which pissed me the heck off. After a week
of this, I put quits to it and didn't touch a mop, broom, or dustrag the
remaining five years we lived in that house.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(248, 249, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">Until the weather turned hot enough to air
fry apple pies in a mailbox, I'd hike up Shadburn Avenue, cross the tracks at
Willard's Towing Service, and bop past Tannery Row. I slowed down just below
the Moreno-Main fork to dream on the beautiful T. Cliff Mayson House. It was
the kind of home where I wanted to park my popsicle-purple </span><span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Lamborghini </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">after I wrote the Great
American Novel. I moved on down the street, running into the Corner
Quick Stop for snacks and Marlboros. If I had an extra five bucks, I’d eat
lunch at Puckett’s Restaurant next door. How bout them biscuits! </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Nabo came home one afternoon all exciting about the prospect of
buying his boss’s sports car.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(248, 249, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“It’s one manual shift.”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(248, 249, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“I can’t drive a stick.”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“You can learn, you.”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Time went by.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“Are we going to buy that car?” I asked.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(248, 249, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“Money, money, money!” he sneered at me as if I had been nagging
him.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(248, 249, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“Men!” I snapped.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(248, 249, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“Womens!” he threw back.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(248, 249, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I didn’t speak to him for three days. We bought a car, and later
a living room suite, a kitchen table, and chairs. We collected one hundred
cats. We got married. We moved into a double-wide trailer on Whitehead Road in
Sugar Hill. In 2005, my friends and family started dropping like flies from
natural causes—except my beloved ex brother-in-love, John Runyon, who died in a
freak accident at work. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(248, 249, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">During Christmas week 2007, we moved into the house
on Garner Street. Mr. Big was so traumatized he hid among the boxes in the
dining room and peed Nabo's sombrero until tinkle waters rose over the crown.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(248, 249, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">By 2009, all our cats were dead. On Christmas Eve of
that year, we rescued a ten-week-old American Bulldog-pitty hybrid.
We named him Harry the Wonder Dog. He had baby-blue eyes that turned green and
a red nose. He got his kicks and giggles hiding from me, lying in
wait, watching me comb the house for him. "Harry! Where are you,
Harry?" At just the right moment, he'd sneak up behind me and
lay that cold wet nose against my bare thigh. I hit the ceiling. He bared
his bottom teeth in wicked glee. He was afraid of squirrels and flies. He ate
kibbles, tacos, fajitas, biscuits, vegetable beef soup, T-Bone, anything, and
everything and would have led a burglar to my diamonds for a powdered donut.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(248, 249, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I had a heart attack and quad bypass in 2010, and Nabo bought
documents that allowed him to be promoted to backhoe driver and eventually make
that green stuff hand over fist. Money was no object at Kroger or the bodega in
the Harness Shop on Main Street. He drank like a fish and fed the hood T-Bone
steak dinners, baby. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(248, 249, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Then came Halloween 2012, and our world collapsed under nine
bottles of Michelob beer, a fifth of 1800 Tequila, and a black semiautomatic
throwdown.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(248, 249, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">It was a typical Saturday. Vickie picked me up around eleven
that morning. We ate lunch at the Cracker Barrel on Friendship Road, then
grocery shopped at Kroger on Peachtree Industrial Boulevard. She
dropped me back home around two, and I took a nap. Got up around four,
walked into the great hall and saw Nabo staggering down Garner Street with
Harry keeping pace beside him. There was something in Nabo’s hand.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(248, 249, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I walked to the storm door. He raised our pellet pistol and
aimed it at the apartments across the street. I headed to the gate.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(248, 249, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“You had better come inside before somebody calls the cops.”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(248, 249, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“Let them call.”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(248, 249, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“They could send you back to Mexico.”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(248, 249, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“Let then send me.”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(248, 249, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">But he followed me to the porch and sat on the stoop. He pulled
a white cloth out of the air and wrapped the pistol in it. He glanced
left toward High Street, dropped the F-Bomb, and hightailed it around the right
corner of the house. In a few moments, three Gwinnett County Police Officers
came walking side-by-side down Garner with their pistols drawn.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(248, 249, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Harry threw a barking, howling fit, "Wow! Wooow! WOW! AHOO!
AHOO! AHOO!"</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">One of the male officers ordered Nabo to
step forward with his hands raised. They wanted to know where the gun was. He
cut his head to the side yard. They ordered him to come to the gate. I met him
there. The female officer reached into the gate and yacked him out by the front
of his pants. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">"Are you happy now?" I asked him.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">"I am happy, me," he said.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">The female cop turned to me.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">“Put your dog in the house!”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">“But, ma’am, I’m not strong enough to make
him go inside.”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">“PUT! YOUR! DOG! INSIDE! RIGHT NOW!”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">I reached down and twisted Harry’s collar
into a chokehold and summoned the strength to drag him to the house. He
gagged all the way to the front door, but I managed to save him from a freaking
bullet. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">They frisked Nabo and handed me his wallet,
keys, and cell phone. A patrol car whisked him to the Gwinnett County Jail,
leaving one male officer to work the crime scene.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">“It’s just a pellet gun,” I informed him as
he stepped onto the porch with the weapon.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">He pulled the clip and showed me the bullets.
I was thunderstruck. To this day, I do not know where Nabo got that that gun.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">The officer snapped pictures of the booze
bottles and left. I went inside and fired off several texts. I exchanged
Facebook messages with my nephew-in-love, who was at that time a Gwinnett
County Police detective. He checked the police report. Nabo had pointed a gun
at Willie Mayfield because he was fed up with Willie bullying him for free
beer. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">I was calm as you get when you are in
shock. And then <i>BANG!</i> the consequences of what Nabo had done
hit me like a skull hammer, and I started screaming. My husband was gone, and I
had no illusions about ever seeing him again. I couldn’t afford to pay the rent
and the utilities and faced homelessness. I would have to rehome my beloved
Harry. My life was over.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">Vickie invited me to live with her in
Winder. She dropped packing boxes and tape by the house. I didn't want to jam
the last twelve years of my life into those boxes. All I wanted to do was fall
off the planet. I went to bed and wailed. Harry licked the tears off my cheeks,
trying to comfort me, but there was no comfort. I cried myself to sleep night
and day with the malevolent spirit of suicide whispering in my
ear. I knew exactly how to do it where I’d simply fall asleep forever
mid sob. Then that little voice of the Holy Spirit said softly, “If you kill
yourself, Harry will empty his food and water bowls and go without until he is
forced to munch on you.” </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">So, the days and the nights dragged. Harry
staked out the front door, waiting for his daddy to come home. I slept. I had a
kitchen full of food, but a peanut butter sandwich was all I could force down
daily. I slept. I packed. I wailed. I created a post on Facebook
seeking a home for Harry. There were no rescuers. I had all but given up hope
when I remembered that Teresia Biffle Duncan was an animal activist. I sent her
a photo of Harry via Facebook PM. And she spent most of the next three days and
her own money tracking down a home for my baby and found one. She is my angel.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">His new mommy picked him up on Saturday. I
still wonder how long it took him to give up waiting for his daddy. I spent the
night alone with that thing urging me to kill myself, "It's all right
to do it now. Harry's gone after all." </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">I got up around 11 am on moving day,
Sunday, November 4, 2012, walked into the great hall. Something was wrong. Oh,
snap! The widescreen TV was gone. I was boohooing when Renay’s youngest son,
JD, walked in.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">“What’s wrong, Cindy?”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">“A creep stole my TV! And I don’t want to
live this life anymore!”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">He looked at me as if I were speaking </span><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Swahili. He simply could not
believe such a statement had passed through my lips.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">Vickie’s youngest daughter and son-in-love,
Brittany and Alex arrived. They and JD loaded the truck and we headed toward
Winder, leaving that house and the barn full of furniture, dishes, beds,
hundreds of books, and old family photos that I lacked the strength of body and
will to pack. But I didn’t care, not then, nor for years.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">Somewhere between Btown and Winder, I got
my appetite back. Brittany pulled into McDonald’s drive-thru. Opened my wallet.
All of my money </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">was gone. The same thief
who stole my TV had creepy-crawled my bedroom. I shuddered at the thought of
what might have happened had I opened my eyes while the creep was still
crawling.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt; text-indent: 0.2in;">I bought Nabo care packages and deposited
money into his account for all the ten months he served in the slam. We
exchanged postcards with printed stamps. His knowledge of the English language
dived. In late 2013 he disappeared from Gwinnett County Jail. I googled his
name and found him in a concentration camp. ICE moved him several times after
that and then dropped him back into Gwinnett County jail for “parole
violations.” Now, tell me, please, friends and neighbors, how does
one go about breaking parole without ever actually being on parole? I tried to
find out, but no one gave two stink pickles about him. I was aware that he was
a felon twice over</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0.2in;">—an illegal immigrant
and for gun violations. He was in jail where he deserved to be. But
right is right. He did not deserve to be slapped with a fake charge. A month
passed, and off he went back to a concentration camp. They deported him a few
months later. I sent him several pieces of mail. He sent me a single letter.
And we never corresponded again. That was almost seven years ago. He has become
just somebody I used to know.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">For</span></b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Teresa Biffle Duncan</span></b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> </div></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 28.8px;"><span style="font-family: times new roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"> </span></span></div><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></span></p><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><div style="text-indent: 28.8px;"><span style="font-family: times new roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"> </span></span></div></div></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8526456868222207558.post-5310191825355309372019-08-07T02:26:00.008-04:002021-08-30T02:16:13.266-04:00Dodging the Bullet <br />
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<a href=" " style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwU-4gmgxRcmh1uEqopB3aeyqpFRWt356qIs3nFGBQ2V_sjwNbwR_K5P0ge662pI_YwjAHPGP2E3qgeq-rJ8dFgNC98x0ccz_exWIse6LtA511lEjaSkB9muaUSs5BxTXzJB0Tbg3MywQ/w400-h266/canstockphoto65563317.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">Alcoholism has been linked to genetics. But it can also be brought on by subjection to close family members struggling with addiction. With so many alkies in my family, I was an heir apparent to suck the bottle and dabble in drugs and should never have been given that first bottle when I was around ten years old.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">My penchant for drinking was compounded by an excessive personality. I overdid everything. I could talk the quills off a porcupine. I couldn’t eat just one donut, I had to have the whole box. I couldn’t drink just one drink, I had to lay waste to the booze supply.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">Make no mistake, I didn’t drink every day or even every year. I was a sporadic drunk and a party lush.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">My first foray into booze came in the middle Sixties when my family got lost boating on Lake Lanier. It was September and already getting chilly at night. So, Mama made Vickie and me drink Schlitz to keep warm. I didn’t like it, but later on, I had me some memorable relations with the brothers Budweiser and Corona and their first cousin Mr. Likker.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">I made a new friend in Mr. Hopper’s room the first day of eighth grade. Teresa Hill was punkish before punk rocked into the United States. She wore glittery silver eyeshadow from lash line to the arch of her brows and was sent home from school to change out of her micro millimeter mini skirt. We showed up the next day with hemlines down to our ankles. Solidarity!</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">She lived in a trailer park on Lake Lanier. She regaled me in PE about going skinny dipping. I was shocked; I tell you, shocked. For five seconds. She invited me to spend the night with her, and I found her family as nice as could be. They called me the It girl. The wildest thing I ever did was go braless and, uh, well, read on. We rode her motor scooter all over the lake and through the woods so she could bounce over bumps at ninety miles per hour and burn my ankle on the exhaust. Her sisters and their husbands were Harley-Davidson riders. Many weekends we thundered up to their family home in Rabun County. Teresa and I rode with her brother-in-law Barney.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">A sister had a gender-neutral name. Teresa and I would scoot up to groups of kids at Buford High and talk about how much fun we had with Bobbie and Barney, knowing people thought we were talking about two dudes. We would spend the night with them and drink beer and play strip poker. No one ever got nekkid. One Friday night during the Summer of Love, she invited me to come over while her parents were in Clayton. I walked in the door and grabbed a bottle of rum out of the fridge and knocked that baby back and it knocked me forward on m’nose. Later that night, Barney took advantage of me (I’ll just leave that right there).</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">The Nineties introduced me to block parties. I would lurch around with a longneck bottle of Mr. Bud in one fist, a </span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Curaçao shooter in the other, a Marlboro Short dangling off my lip, toking here and there on some mighty mad reefer until I forgot where my mouth was. At one blocko, I drank two twenty-ounce bottles of Cobra beer and attempted to drain a keg of gin and almost choked to death on a piece of birthday cake. To add insult to injury, some shifty dude stole the drink I’d left on the cocktail table and the appointed bar house was locked. </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">At another birthday party, I staggered my stuff into a </span><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Macarena line. The other dancers were none too happy about my standing seizures. So, I took my thang to the front porch and </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">danced like nobody was watching and nearly fell through a picture window. </span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">It never failed that </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">Matthew Fanelli, or some other trusted friend had to walk me to my front door. I’d wake up hours later and not remember how I came to be on my cot in the dining room. There would be bruises on my arms where my human prop had kept me from cracking my head wide open on the parking lot.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">After Nabo stood me up one night in 1999, I chased my heartbreak away with six longneck bottles of Corona and a joint I bought for five bucks at the hood drug house across Garner street.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">On Cinco de Mayo 2000, after I learned that my baby was dead, I made a beeline from the clinic to Leggs on Browns Bridge Road in Gainesville and bought a fifth each of Three Fingers Tequila and Wild Turkey 101 and two fat glasses. I walked into my house and sat down at my desk and commenced drinking the tequila straight up, seeking oblivion. All it did was send me into screaming boohooy fits of “My baby! My baby!”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">Nabo came home from work and could not understand a word I was saying. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">“I’ve got to go back to work, me.” He said and got ready to go.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">He knew I’d been to the doctor that day and should have called Aunt Pam or Mama to find out why I was so upset. Instead, he acted like I had just decided to go on the odd binder—while pregnant for all he knew. Gah. And so, he left. When he returned at 10 pm, I was sober. When I told him that I had lost our baby, he went off by himself, because he didn’t want me to see him cry.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">I continued drinking, controlling the amount I imbibed during the day because I didn’t want him to come home to a drunken girlfriend every evening. But I let loose at night.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">Mama told me the baby wasn’t meant to be. Somebody close to me said the baby was the victim of too much sex.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">By then I was as furious as I was hurt.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">“Is Nabo going to make you move back home now that there isn’t going to be a baby?” Mama wanted to know.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">“If he does,” I snarled. “I’ll live on the streets before I live with you.” </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">I growled like a dog at a possum for tucking into the scraps I’d thrown in the kudzu across Lawson Street. I chewed Nabo out for wanting spaghetti for dinner and laid plans to leave his butt because I had to have somebody to blame for my loss, and he was it..</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">Nabo came home from work one afternoon in June and started opening cabinet doors.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">“What’re you looking for?” I asked </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">“The tequila you bought last month.”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">“I drank it.”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">Long silence.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">“Where’s the Turkey?”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">“I drank it too.”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">“<i>Whaaaa?</i> You drank both bottles, <i>you</i>?” He yawped and told everybody in three counties and Mexico.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">His words shocked the truth into me. I had actually drained two fifths of booze in less than a month. My past drunken escapades shifted like a kaleidoscope in my head. And I remembered something F. Scott Fitzgerald once said, “First you take a drink, then the drink takes a drink, then the drink takes you.” </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I was going the way of Mama.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So, I put quits to that habit right there that day. And began building a wall of crafts, gardening, and reading around my sorrow, dodging the bullet that had destroyed the lives of so many of my family members and friends. And eventually ruined my marriage—but that’s another story. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">In Memory<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">of<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">Teresa Hill Hall<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">April 1956 - April 2007</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(252, 252, 252); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(252, 252, 252); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(252, 252, 252); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;"><span><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> </div></div><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></span></p><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: black; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><div style="text-indent: 28.8px;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"> </span></div></div></span></span></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8526456868222207558.post-52547829570654887382019-07-24T19:13:00.007-04:002021-08-30T02:17:19.035-04:00Split-Second Kismet<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi11W-C4hTJPNEC0guT3QpH-ip1B9z92xE41yypoippR2qRvrDruKJiWjWkI3kGXibPi-zGwl1zHsHKKV_0Ug1GqpZp1XJIFMhLqZuuF15ijCJK5UpsCZX8s8TlGYvsQn1ncSCHgw43B0A/s1600/Cindy+and+Daddy.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="282" data-original-width="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi11W-C4hTJPNEC0guT3QpH-ip1B9z92xE41yypoippR2qRvrDruKJiWjWkI3kGXibPi-zGwl1zHsHKKV_0Ug1GqpZp1XJIFMhLqZuuF15ijCJK5UpsCZX8s8TlGYvsQn1ncSCHgw43B0A/s1600/Cindy+and+Daddy.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Cindy & her daddy, James A Wiggins</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-align: justify;"><span>The back door banged open. A stranger staggered in. And Daddy lifted his rifle and pulled the trigger…</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Mama had a love-hate relationship with animals. Papa Dorsey painted her caboose red with his Bona Allen scrap leather belt after he caught her playing with Black Widow spiders. Rodents weren’t so lucky. She kicked a wharf rat out of the kitchen door, and it turned and bit her big toe. She caught and caged two Blue Jays, raised little brown House Finches, and drowned the hatchling swifts that fell down our chimney.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Nothing would do but she had to have hamsters. So, we went digging it down to Walmart.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“I want a male and a female,” she told the pet department guy. “I’m gonna raise babies!”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The dude easily found a female, but the males were hiding out somewhere (I don’t blame them.) Finally, he handed her one. She turned it over and looked between its hind legs, and cried, “There it is!” And rubbed it just to make sure. The hamster threw back its head and screamed. She ended up mollycoddling 100 million of their pups. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We always had two or three dogs and cats, once a hamster named Grover Garrett, and a skunk. You have never lived until you hop out of bed and slap your foot down on a stink pickle. My favorite was a little Benji dog named Buttons. He went out to play one day and never returned. "He wandered off and couldn't find his way back home," Mama told me. I suspect he got hit by a car, and my parents didn't want to upset me with the truth. Benji haunted my dreams for decades. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Bozo was a black-and-white spotted pit bull mix. I don’t know what happened to him when we moved. There was a cat who had babies in the woods. The poor mites had worms that could be transmitted to humans, so Daddy blew them and their mommy to the Rainbow Bridge. My parents doted on Roxanne the German Shepherd and were desperate when she was diagnosed with canine hepatitis. They did everything in their power to save her, but nothing could stop the flesh from rotting off her bones. In the end, Daddy took her off and ended her misery. “I aimed that rifle at her, and she looked at me as if she knew what I was fixing to do.”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We had a Beagle named Peanut and a German Shepherd named Fritz. It was my job to empty the garbage after supper each night, and Fritz followed me through the woods to the red-dirt dump. If I dropped a piece, he would pick it up and carry it the rest of the way. When my parents divorced, they gave Fritz to the American Legion in Buford to use as a watchdog. I don’t know what happened to Peanut. I apologized to them before they were taken away.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">One night, we were lounging with the dogs on the bed behind Daddy while he finished cleaning his .22 rifle. The back door burst open, and a strange man lurched in. Daddy swung his rifle up, aimed, and fired. Click. In his fright, Daddy forgot it was unloaded. Split-second kismet for the drunk who thought he was at his married girlfriend’s house next door. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In Memory<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">of<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My Darling Tuxedo Cat<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Blueberry<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;"><span>June 10, 1982 – February 26, 1996</span><span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(252, 252, 252); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(252, 252, 252); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; letter-spacing: normal;"> </div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; letter-spacing: normal;"> </div></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(252, 252, 252); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #222222; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;"><span><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: black; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 28.8px;"><span style="font-family: times new roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"> </span></span></div><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></span></p><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: black; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><div style="text-indent: 28.8px;"><span style="font-family: times new roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"> </span></span></div></div></span></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8526456868222207558.post-70193215726201904622019-06-30T11:33:00.006-04:002021-08-30T02:18:24.587-04:00A Wolf Among Bulldogs<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href=" " style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="262" data-original-width="199" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmAAG3_XAW5G08SZHeB-70-uRbf1UqPWjRJ_KbIBGqIRxamjLrjJt1tLcBWWkyi-PqH7bpRPUa_FNnTG3xeoeUevgpIZ3AZAXDSlpKTFm_pbdNKqpWWfrEq-eeYplYw4IsANMDukGcoR8/w304-h400/LORI.jpg" width="304" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Lori Kimbro-Head holding a photo of her late daughter Katlyn Head</span></div><i><br /></i>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); color: #333333;">Totally thrilled to welcome another guest blogger on Growing Up Buford! Lori Kimbro-Head was born in Buford, Ga, at Hutchens Memorial Hospital where the Children's Learning Center is now. She is a sweet girl whom everybody loves, the daughter of Peggy Parker Kimbro Carlisle and Jerry "Bo" Kimbro. She started school at Buford Elementary in the 69-70 class and, after attending various other schools, she attended 11th grade at Buford High long enough to order her class ring. She graduated from North Gwinnett High in 1981</span></i><span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); color: #333333;">—<i>and showed off her homage to Buford. </i>Wait for it.<i> I've known Lori since she was a little girl. We met on the Gwinnett Hall Baptist Church bus in the 70s. Back then neither one of us dreamed of a world where people could keep up with one another via notional communication. She resides with her daughter Katie Head, Katie's ten-year-old son Zayden Head, 10, and her children's three pit bulls</i>—<i>Boss, Coco, and their runt Peggy. </i></span><i><span face="Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background: rgb(241, 240, 240); color: #444950;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> On August 2020, Katie (shown in the photo held by Lori above) head was murdered.</span></span></i><span style="color: #333333;"><br /><br /><br /><span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250);"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); color: #333333;">My parents divorced when I was in first grade, praise God. I was probably the only kid who was happy when their parents got divorced because they fought constantly. They tried getting back together before the divorce was final, and I cried and went to stay with my mom's parents until daddy was gone again. </span><span style="color: #333333;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); color: #333333;">I married my high school sweetheart in September 1981 and divorced him the first time on April 8, 1985. I let him move back in with me and Chris in 1989 because I wanted another baby and didn't want to have two different baby daddies. The second divorce was April 8, 1993, the day after my birthday for both divorces.</span><span style="color: #333333;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); color: #333333;">Though she didn't spend all her school years at Buford, she remained a Wolves fan.</span></i><span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); color: #333333;"> I bought a nice Buford Wolves jacket from the sports store inside the old Buford mall in 1979. I can't remember the name of the store but Stevie "Lightening" Thornton owned it. It was kelly green with gold & white letters on the back that spelled out Buford Wolves. That was my first year back at Buford since 1st grade when they went and changed the district lines.</span><span style="color: #333333;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); color: #333333;">Thunder road was in Hall Co. but still Buford so I rode the bus but that summer. I had to sign up for Flowery Branch for 2nd grade.</span><span style="color: #333333;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); color: #333333;">I moved in with my Daddy and Granny Kimbro behind the Church of God six weeks into the 11th grade, transferring from Johnson High School back to Buford. It was like I'd never left. I picked up friendships that I had started in 1st grade. I loved how small and intimate it was after coming from a school whose graduating class had more students than the entire Buford High School roll call.</span><span style="color: #333333;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); color: #333333;">I transferred to North Gwinnett my senior year but proudly wore my Buford jacket every day. Boy did the football team hate it and tried to bully me into not wearing it, but I stood my ground.</span><span style="color: #333333;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); color: #333333;"><span>I had that until about 1986-87 when I let a friend’s son wear it to BHS homecoming game and never saw it again.</span></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(252, 252, 252); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.2in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(252, 252, 252); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.2in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(252, 252, 252); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.2in;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px;"> </div><div style="text-indent: 0px;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px;"> </div></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8526456868222207558.post-16029889299296307642019-06-07T18:24:00.003-04:002021-08-30T02:19:23.348-04:00A Change of Habit<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href=" " style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC7VZifZIBTNsUcgXtduXI_vjrtHhV27jKIbWccdiI6AMwaHPaFreM4IwY0nhXLQ32kTMVjFPix0uwX4X2pIzdxJA-EPm3dddUlhfAuRS_FEG6EzSsmD1ObCPgvOYKQcnyzD1pekKFbs0/s320/canstockphoto19331612.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span><span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I was go-go dancing when Daddy roared in and all Hoboken broke loose…</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Once a runaway, always a runaway—people apparently thought. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Jerry Anglin took my mugshot down from the Buford Police Department’s Wanted bulletin board and brought it to me in the diner and said, “They won’t be needing this again—will they?”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Uncle Larry Elinburg came in and admonished me with a few choice words that flew into the Delete files of my brain. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #191919; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">My homeroom teacher forgot to mark me present one day, and the principal’s office called Mama, and the search was on. Mrs. Grizzle found me in her home economics class.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Three members of the Outlaw MC came into the diner and took a window seat. Danny allowed as how he would wait on them. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“No. If they get out of hand, I’ll call you over.”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Little did Danny know that I knew those bikers, and they knew me. Make no mistake, I never hung out with them. Uh, no. I might have been dumb, but I wasn’t stupid. One wanted to know if I was saving up for a car. Another kidded me about making my first million, and we all cracked up. They were just as well-behaved as could be. Contrast that with some of the rednecks I waited on, who, when asked what they wanted they replied, “You know what I want.”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">One afternoon, I was waiting on two itinerant construction workers, when Uncle Harold Morris walked in and sat down at a nearby table. One of the construction workers wanted to know where he could find a carwash.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“There’s one on Moreno Street,” I said and gave him the directions.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“Are you sure?” </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“Yes. I live across the street from it.”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“Now we know where you live,” he kidded.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Uncle Harold got up and marched out, shaking his head.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">When I got off work, I was in front of the stereo, cutting it loose to <b><i>Jeremiah Was a Bullfrog</i></b> when Daddy thundered in and chewed me out about my two new boyfriends. I started bawling, and he ran out of the house before Mama could whack him upside the head with her cast-iron skillet. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Uncle Harold had gone from Teen’s Diner to Daddy’s part-time gas station job and told him I was flirting with two grown men. Ew. To me, anybody in their mid-twenties was old enough to have spied Moses in the bulrushes.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Mama called the cook, JR Carr, who assured her that I had not been batting my eyelashes at those two builders.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">She called Danny’s wife, Brenda who said, “Christine, I trust her with my own husband!”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">It took Daddy two weeks to swallow his pride and apologize. I gave him the stink eye.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Danny felt so bad about what happened, he gave me a whopping twenty-five cent per hour raise. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">And so, it went.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">JR Carr quit, and I fell madly in crush with the new hamburger flipper, who was just three years older than me. We went to see Elvis and Mary Tyler Moore in <b><i>Change of Habit</i></b> at the Buford drive-in. One afternoon, Amos Shomake caught us kissing up a storm in front of the sink in the diner’s kitchen.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The last time I saw Susan Robinson was the afternoon she came in with her best friend. Two years later, she was found murdered. But for the grace of God that fate could have been mine.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">And then I got arm-twisted into going to Gwinnett Hall Baptist Church— “Just one Sunday morning,” Mama promised. So, I went. Everyone in that church not only made me feel welcome but worth more than quasi Selena-Cross counterpart</span><span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Segoe Print";">. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> I went back the next Sunday and the next. And then I attended a Sunday night service. I had knelt at many an alter only to come away still flouncing down the highway to Hell because I didn’t believe Christ would forgive my great sins. But that night, I believed and surrendered and walked toward Him and saw Him walking toward me.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Talking about a change of habit I was in church every time the doors were open and spent every spare moment devouring the Bible. Nothing mattered but my relationship with Jesus—not even the money I earned. My job began interfering with my churchgoing. It was all I could do to rush home after work and get ready for the church bus on Wednesday nights. Something had to give, and it wasn’t going to be a prayer meeting. I don’t remember speaking the words, but I can remember my soul reaching out to God for a solution. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The next day, when I asked Danny if I could get off fifteen minutes early every Wednesday, the Lord showed up and showed out, baby. Danny was silent for some moments, then said, “Tell you what, Cindy, I’m going to start closing fifteen minutes early every afternoon from now on.”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That arrangement played out just fine until my youth pastor, Pete Wallis, asked us teenagers to go soul-winning at 2 pm on Saturdays. But I worked. What to do? I quit Teen’s Diner. What was money compared to service to Christ</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">What a great God we serve! He sent His only begotten Son to die and take up His life again for a delinquent like me—and for you. No matter who you are or what you’ve done, His grace is sufficient. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px;"> </div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px;"> </div></span></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8526456868222207558.post-78335683779313789272019-05-28T11:37:00.003-04:002021-08-30T02:20:19.963-04:00What Nightmares May Have Come<br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">My parents welcomed me home from the streets of Atlanta with joy that soon returned to the cold animosity of old.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> Feeling trapped, I was determined to bounce that house again—never mind getting caught was a sure-fire ticket to juvenile hall. Big whoop and la-dee-da.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I laid plans to save my school lunch and recess monies—45 cents per day—for six months. Instead of swiping Kotex off the bathroom shelf, I’d filch food out of Mama’s kitchen cabinet. Feature a three-foot-tall hippie with cans of potted meat and tuna fish stuffed into a pillowcase thrown over her shoulder and $40.50 in her hard straw pockerbook, thumbing to Glendale, California, to be with the guy she’d loved so much that she’d run off with his best friend.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">People reached out to me, but I was unreachable. Daddy’s sister and her husband insisted I spend every Saturday night with their 16-year-old daughter Kathy. They took me out for steak dinners and shopping and pumped me for hippie street lowdown. At night, Kathy and I would read the forbidden <b><i>True Story</i></b> magazines that she kept stashed under her mattress, and she would explain how risky unwed sex was. Sunday morning, we’d go to church. It was apparent to me that the good Christian girls in her class thought I was dirt.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Kathy decided to quit her waitress job at Teen’s Diner, and Danny Anglin hired me in her place. I waited tables, washed dishes, mopped, and swept floors three hours after school and eight on Saturdays for a buck an hour and all the frozen apple pie and French fries I could swipe and gobble. The frozen pie would have tasted better if I’d heated it up first. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I’d come home numb with exhaustion, but I soldiered on like a good little bad girl.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I had to meet a probation officer once per week on the steps of the courthouse on Garnet Street. One day as I strolled through town toward Danny’s, who should I see but David Williams standing in front of Ramey’s. He asked me to go on a double date with him and another couple. They picked me up after work. I told Mama we were going to the Buford Drive-in in Sugar Hill, but we went parking on Lake Lanier instead. He was the perfect gentleman. We didn’t even share a kiss. Honey, we didn’t even hold hands.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">After that, lots of late afternoons, a gang of his couple friends would pick me up, and we’d go roaring around Btown in a big lemon-yellow Pontiac LeMans with a thundering muffler. When they dropped me back home, David would kiss me goodbye so hard, I thought my front teeth were going to bend back against the roof of my mouth.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I had friends and a job. I was able to pay my own school expenses, buy albums and 45s at Grady’s Music Store and cute clothes at Parson’s and Meryl Norman makeovers on Main Street. I bought Mama Dorsey a diamond pendant necklace that she wore for decades.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Working jump-started my self-esteem. I began to think about college and a writing career. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">With the dollar an hour, Danny Anglin had paid me the </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">priceless wage of delivery from what nightmares may have come.</span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px;"> </div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px;"> </div></span></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8526456868222207558.post-91554617666414890422019-05-12T03:49:00.003-04:002021-08-30T02:21:18.752-04:00I Heard Mama Crying<br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background: white; border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; padding: 0in;">I layered on three pairs of panties and two pairs of shorts under bell-bottom pants, three tops, and stuffed my hard straw pockerbook with Kotex and bounced out of Btown with a hippie whose sole ambition in life was to become a 1%er in the Hells Angels.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Nightfall found us hitchhiking down 365. Two men in a white tank pulled over. We hopped in without thought of rippers and rapists. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The driver took one look at Charlie’s long hair and exclaimed, “I know where to take y’all!” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He let us out on 14th Street in Hotlanta. A street cop sheltered us for the night and left a cheeseburger for us to share at breakfast. Later that morning, we rented a room in a block-long hotel-turned-boarding house on 10th Street.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“How old are you?” The landlady asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Eighteen.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“She don’t look more’n twelve!” Her husband remarked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I was incensed. There I was two months past my fourteenth birthday, and the landlady's husband thought I looked two years younger!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Charlie forked over our hoard of money—all five dollars of it—with a promise to pay the rest later. The minute I walked into our room, I heard Mama crying, “Cindy! Cindy!” all the way from Buford.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We sat on the bed, and Charlie turned on his transistor radio. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A DJ called out my name and particulars. “She’s thirteen years old.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Well, I’m fourteen, they won’t recognize me.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We got into a big fight because I wouldn’t let him open my pockerbook. I was mortified. No way in Hoboken was I going to let him eyeball my Kotex. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In the morning, we strolled into a head shop and picked up a free bundle of the counterculture underground Democratic newspaper The Great Speckled Bird. I stood beside Charlie in the middle of 10th Street while he hawked the far-left rag for 25 cents a pop. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A lady and her pity-filled face stopped and said, “You poor thing!” I gave her the stink eye. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We made enough money to buy tomato and lettuce sandwiches and milk, with two dimes left to stash toward a Harley-Davidson hawg. On the streets again, an old bum took Charlie aside. They had words, and Charlie walked back to me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“What’d he want?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“He wanted to buy you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He kept me off the street after that. He sold newspapers while I slept behind a hook and eye latch. It never occurred to me that he might split.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Our last night, he banged on the door.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Cindy! Let me in! There‘s a pig out here!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I opened the door and in walked a teenage boy from Buford High School who worked undercover for the Gwinnett Co. Police Department. He took us down to an unmarked car where his adult partner was waiting in the driver’s seat. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As we headed back to Buford, he said, “Danny Sexton died.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I arrived home on Moreno Avenue to a full house and a tray of hamburgers that Danny Anglin had sent over from Teen’s Diner. After consuming little food in 48 hours, I was starving, I sat down at the kitchen table and devoured one burger after another, and I haven’t stopped eating since. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px;"> </div></span></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8526456868222207558.post-28941538439511346072019-04-27T11:33:00.005-04:002021-08-30T02:23:58.021-04:00Out of Oz<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbTciYXZ17iZHRQq8C6KKj7Uw-GBvdfbIns02I_BUSsyjILIY_zZD35IStFSz4QQ4HfCsGzM2cRWsVv6dcoadnvPpCa_PRfIn5oPws6a6XHFzSzu55KgYrf6i0MK_cN3P7tA3K5ZTt7ic/s1600/KNIGHT+HOUSE+2.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="516" data-original-width="611" height="337" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbTciYXZ17iZHRQq8C6KKj7Uw-GBvdfbIns02I_BUSsyjILIY_zZD35IStFSz4QQ4HfCsGzM2cRWsVv6dcoadnvPpCa_PRfIn5oPws6a6XHFzSzu55KgYrf6i0MK_cN3P7tA3K5ZTt7ic/s400/KNIGHT+HOUSE+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Horace Wadleigh Allen House on Sawnee Avenue</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I dropped out of
reality at a young age and just wanted to be left in Munchkin Land. Likely my
aloofness and habit of talking to the Scarecrow at the edge of the Buford
Grammar School playground made my classmates think I was nuttier than peanut
brittle and a snob to boot. <i>Pfffft!</i></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Then in 1966, something jerked me out of Oz. I was standing in
line on the hill below the back door after recess one afternoon when some boy
said, “David Williams likes you.” Yeah, right. But it was true! He liked
me. </span><i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Me!</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> the invisible child who lived on the
Yellow Brick Road.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I had known David from way back. Our daddies worked at The Bona
Allen Harness Shop. The Williamses and the Wigginses had worshipped together at
least once at the Church of Christ in Lawrenceville. Mr. Junior was a preacher,
and Mr. Daddy wasn’t—I’ll just leave that right there. In 1963, circumstances
were such that Mama and Daddy remarried and moved us to Southern Pines, NC. The
Williams family trailed after. Around six months later both families were back
in Buford—or as </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">G Trumayne Bell</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> tags it “Btown, baby! Go Wolves!” Any way
you say it—click your heels—there’s no place like home.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We moved into the house on Hill Street. The Williams family
eventually moved into the Horace Wadleigh Allen house on Sawnee Avenue. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Three years slipped by. We were in fifth grade. I was in Mrs.
Greer’s class, and David was across the hall in Mrs. Wilson's. We were as hot
and heavy as you can get while eyeballing each other fifty paces apart. During
all those delicious weeks just one word passed between
us. I was standing in line at the water fountain outside Mrs.
Wilson’s room when David came tearing out of nowhere and shoved a wadded-up
piece of paper into my hand.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“Here!” He shouted and zipped off. Inside was a golden owl
pin with jade eyes. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I was crazy about him and nothing else mattered. Wild
stallions couldn’t have kept me out of school. Reading, writing, English,
Math? Huh? Oh, them. I was brain dead. Report card day came. When I
got home with an F-littered card, Mama grabbed a leather belt, and
with every lash, she screamed, “You! Will! Get! David! Williams!
Out! Of! Your! Head!” <i> </i></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium;">David was persuaded by someone to dump me. I have reason to
suspect Mama was in collusion with Mrs. Greer and Mrs. Wilson and saved me
from a fifth-grade repeat. My grades shot up, and David got a new girlfriend.
The green-eyed monster reared its head, and I got even big time. I wrote that
ten-year-old floozie a note pretending I was David. "I don't like you
anymore!” And she fell for it. Mean? Honey, all was fair in
love and David Williams.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium; text-indent: 0.2in;">I’ve since had crushes on other guys. I’ve been in love twice.
I’ve been married. But never ever have I been so enthralled as I was during
that innocent first romance. I think it was because I had been
waiting, unaware, all my life for someone to come along and make me feel real.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium; text-indent: 0.2in;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium; text-indent: 0.2in;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium; text-indent: 0.2in;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px;"> </div></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8526456868222207558.post-14407376812472641912019-04-15T01:09:00.005-04:002021-08-30T02:25:19.453-04:00And the Cat Came Running<br />
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<a href=" " style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ1JTQeS-0sn7SM9V4D-e4-USz4mKGfPx4V0RoNj78bvRHuhYqpaSv261KylvR_rArwXO0qrafz3Z5RK3yoD45yhhGt9QN9LEr2oEdb10vrjI42eAqLj9_mxc7ZwEFBwLBmSEHNcHBHg8/s400/canstockphoto16492271.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">After the machete
incident, Nabo did all those things a man does when he’s plunged knee-deep
into snickerdoodle. Gifts of jewelry, a leather coat, romantic dinners with
Mexican violin players at our table. He and his big puppy-dog eyes asked for my
hand in marriage. What. After he pulled a broad knife on me? What. In the
wise words of my little great-nephew Gabe, Uh, no.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">We got blood tests at the Health Center on Sawnee Avenue, pawned
the title of our car to buy the rings, and were set to strap a collar around
his neck on an April Friday. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The day started off with a bang at 3 am when the cat gave birth
under our bed. It was as hot and humid as the devil’s armpits, but I
wore a wool skirt, sweater, and spike heels because that’s all the dress-up I
had. Nabo wore black cowboy boots, black jeans, and a Hawaiian
shirt. I smoked like a chimney, and he held onto his seat with his eyes bugged
out all the way to Lawrenceville. He was scared to death that in my excitement
I would forget to use the brakes. We parked at the end of the lot. The
cobblestone forecourt and my spike heels were enemies at first
click. The guards at the scanners made Nabo unbuckle his belt. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">We filled out papers, paid our license fee, and headed to
magistrate court. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">“Do you want a long ceremony or a short one?” I thought the
judge asked.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">So, I replied, “You better make it a short one, I’m deaf.”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I looked at the judge while repeating my vows.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">“No, look at him.”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">“I can’t read your lips and look at him at the same time.”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I could have read his lips and then looked at Nabo, but my brain
was dead. Nabo forgot all his English. The ring wouldn’t fit. The judge finally
lost it and burst out laughing. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">We stopped at Ryan’s Steakhouse in Buford for our wedding
supper. I got a baked potato and a porkchop hard enough to break a window. For
the first time in my life, I forgot to eat dessert. We stopped by
Mama’s. She sent me off to Wee Willy’s to get her a case of
beer. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">“Sorry, I don’t have money for a wedding gift,” she said. Uhhhh.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">That night, Nabo took the mattresses off our bed.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">“Why’re you doing that?”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">“We’ve never been married before. The bed might fall and keeell
the keeetteeeies, smush.”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">He gathered them up
and laid them in the nest I’d made in the spare room.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It had been coming on for two weeks, heralded by little pulls in
my calf, echoes of that wedding walk across the stony forecourt to the
courthouse. Sure enough, at 4 am one morning, I woke up screaming, “Get me a
book! A book! A book! A hardback book!"</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Nabo jumped out of bed, and the cat came running and stood in
the doorway while Nabo pressed the spine of a hardback book against the bottom
of my foot until the cramp untangled. Three-foot-tall fat women should never
walk across cobblestones in spike heels.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px;"> </div></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"></span></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8526456868222207558.post-63592724100082356322019-03-29T23:20:00.005-04:002023-03-31T19:09:19.880-04:00The April Fool<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeL8Z8LpMu6cuybGsYYq7DxIyKVQz0Nav7E-guWs69dyOgU54Vx8Os3i1nNj-0J8avzGlnGP97FrIertqD2ZUV_HwRY7ujMscpp4IEfV1ZmYUoNE4z9696esOHJF-wbE9ntb3iVByiFUQ/s1600/Tannery+Fire.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="657" data-original-width="960" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeL8Z8LpMu6cuybGsYYq7DxIyKVQz0Nav7E-guWs69dyOgU54Vx8Os3i1nNj-0J8avzGlnGP97FrIertqD2ZUV_HwRY7ujMscpp4IEfV1ZmYUoNE4z9696esOHJF-wbE9ntb3iVByiFUQ/s400/Tannery+Fire.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">1981 Tannery Fire</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Mama loved telling
stories about Buford’s bygone days—murders, boating accidents, car wrecks, cars vs. train
collisions, plane crashes, and, in particular, the fires that
haunted historic downtown, which may have inspired her to set a little flame of
her own that became Cindy lore. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“Fire!” She screamed as I walked out of her door on Garner
Street that day in 2004. I hit the ceiling, and when I came back down, she
shouted, “April fool!”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">So, the next April first, I walked in and sat down heavily
in the chair at the opposite end of the table and lowered my head to my hands.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“What’s wrong, Cindy hunny?” Mama's brown lioness eyes were wet with unshed tears--seemingly--at the very thought of her firstborn whipping girl being down about something,</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I lifted my eyes and said, “I’m pregnant.”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Everybody in the house swarmed into the kitchen. Renay jumped up
and down so hard I thought she was going to punch a hole in the floor and join
the wharf rats in the crawl space.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><i>“</i>OhM<i>yGawd!</i> " cried my Aunt Pam. "Do
you know how old you are? You’re <i>forty-eight years old</i>, and
you know it!”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Naw!</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I had em by the short hairs, baby, and with great hilarity let
the fool hammer fall.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><i>“April fools!”</i></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Renay stopped abusing the floor and hung her head. Mama screamed
with rare laughter. Aunt Pam’s grin wouldn’t quit, and she hit me upside the
arm for alarming her like that.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">That should have been the end of it, but it wasn’t, no,
uh uh. Twern’t. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Aunt Flo didn’t show that month. Or the next. Every time I
walked through Mama’s door, everyone snickered. So, off to the doctor I
went for a blood test. One long week later I got the results. The good news was
couched in disquiet. The test was negative, but I was in menopause.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">So began my two long years between nuclear heat and high tears,
with Nabo rolling his eyes right alongside me. I chewed him out for suggesting we have spaghetti for supper and cried
all the way to Kroger’s to get the ingredients, so hot I wanted to hang out the
window and let my tongue flap in the wind. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We didn’t have heat, yet in the dead of winter, I threw
off the blankets, and Nabo would throw them back on me.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“Stop it!”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“You’ll freeze, you!” </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“How can I freeze when I’m burning up?”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Mama died in the spring of 2006. We gathered at
Tapp’s. I had been out on the back portico, smoking. Came back in and was heading back into the viewing room when my teenage niece, Brittany, pulled me aside.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“Cindy,” she whispered. “Do you have a tampon Alannah can
borrow?”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“No. I don’t have periods these days.”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“Lucky!” </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Really? Was I? I stood there with my dead eggs and wondered what had been so important in all my pre-thirty
childbearing years that I hadn’t taken the time to have a baby.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“I waited too long,” I expressed to
my gynecologist one day. </span></span></div>
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<span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium;">“No,” he said. “Things happen when they’re supposed to. It
just wasn’t in the stars for you to have children.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium;">I wanted to reply, But, doctor, I did have one. A little girl, I believe, but that's another story.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium; text-indent: 0.2in;">And so, I left his office to begin what I thought was the rest
of my life with a man who desired the child I could never give him. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium; text-indent: 0.2in;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium; text-indent: 0.2in;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium; text-indent: 0.2in;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px;"> </div></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8526456868222207558.post-15321568285929162452019-03-14T02:11:00.005-04:002021-08-30T02:27:50.052-04:00And Then I Married Him<br />
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<img border="0" data-original-height="746" data-original-width="800" height="373" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO4Le8yje2mK4TbtO0Al_9y1f_SSukSe7oL37ASPoCH9q6bPQdN6_WR3WDQXalXaVwrQQ_-ZdYzeV06uLoyrJRgGj9g7R6_QdiA9YSnH_UWZe_rQXDKq8w3cdb76DbR_oP3AKK0SRoyyk/w400-h373/canstockphoto11582847.jpg" width="400" /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I got the creeping feeling of being observed and swiveled around and saw death walking toward me...</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.2in;">Nabo cautioned me from
the get-go that he had to be in control. What he didn’t warn me about was his
greed for money.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">He liked to walk around
with hundreds of dollars in his pocket and begrudged forking over his part of
the bills. After he made the first payment on our used Oldsmobile, he ordered
me to take it back, never mind leaving us without a way to the grocery store
and laundromat. So, I pretended he was invisible for three days. We kept the
car, but he figured out a way to wiggle out of his split of the rent.
Boarders. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">First up was his
brother-in-law Garcia, a drunk and a tomcat, who worked in the bodega deli in
the Domino’s Pizza strip and the Waffle House on Nelson Brogdon Blvd. and
Buford Highway. He paid Nabo’s part of the rent. Late one
night, Garcia came in loaded and apparently deaf, because he cranked his
boombox and TV up to sonic boom. When he wouldn’t lower the volume, Nabo pulled
the breaker and gave him three days’ notice.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Beto and Maria came
along next. He peeled the rent off a wad of dough thick enough to choke a hippo
and got into his nice car and disappeared for two weeks, leaving Maria behind
to work at Golden Corral. How did Beto earn that roll of bread? Why, he was a
coyote, a smuggler, m’dear, who drove to Arizona once per month to
sneak Mexicans across the Rio for $1,500 a pop. The price went up to $500 for a
pregnant woman. He abandoned Maria without a penny, and we fed her until he
reappeared, and Nabo booted them into the sunset.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Mary and Vanessa were
also coyotes, and my anger and frustration knew no end. I tried my best to
shove them out with my tongue, which caused trouble between Nabo and me. It
didn’t take much for things to boil to a head.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Our new, used lemon
started acting bizarre. Either it wouldn’t crank, or it wouldn’t shut off.
Garcia showed up with his toolbox and a six-pack of tallboy Bud. They drank,
and he worked on the car, while I read at my desk. Headlamps flashed across the
wall, and I figured Garcia was going for a test drive around Lawson Circle,
which was nothing more than a glorified cul-de-sac. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">When the lights
reappeared, I went out to smoke. Garcia got out of the Ford with another six-pack.
I was incensed that Nabo had let a drunken illegal immigrant drive our car down
to Wee Willy’s. If he’d gotten pulled over or had a wreck, I would have been in
a deep snickerdoodle. I crawled Nabo’s skinny butt and went back in the house.
Garcia left. I went back out. Nabo was standing up, falling down boohooing
drunk. He cold-cocked his boombox, and I tore back into the house and over
to my desk. Felt watched. Turned around, and he was coming at me with his
machete. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">I latched my eyes onto his and double-dog dared him down...and then I married him.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px;"> </div></span></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0