Inside Stories and I used to share the Master Bedroom. For some reason Mom didn't want to be upstairs, so was using one of the bedrooms downstairs. This Master bedroom was really like two rooms in one. It was two distinct rooms, but you had to go through her bedroom to get to mine, and there was no door or wall, it was just open. I had a closet, and Inside Stories got to use the walk-in cedar closet just outside the Master bedroom. Anyway, Inside Stories was the typical teenager that hardly ever cleaned her room. When she did, it was a major event - and an event that I looked forward to with anticipation. She only did it about once or twice a year, and she would go through every drawer, clean out her closet and clean out from her bed. The things that would come out from under her bed were actually kind of gross, because they were usually leftover plates of food that had fossilized. The reason I would look forward to it, was because when I was sure she was done, which at this point she might leave the room - and that meant leave the trash can unattended, then I would go in there and go through the trash to see what wonderful and marvelous things she might be throwing away so that I could rescue them and hide them away in my drawers. I never wanted Inside Stories to see them, because she would get mad that I had got it out of the trash. I felt that if she had thrown it away, then she didn't want it, which made it fair game for anyone who just might be casually passing by her trash can on their way to their room.
The other childhood incident that immediately comes to mind is the time when I skipped school. I don't remember exactly why I didn't want to go to school that day, but I do remember that Inside Stories wasn't going to school either that day, and she looked perfectly healthy to me, so I guess I thought if she could get away with it, so could I. So I refused to go to school. I have no memory of arguing much with my mother, but somehow I found myself dressed for school and riding in the car with my dad taking me to school. I was still refusing to go, but for some reason he thought that if he took me to school, that I would just be obedient and get out when we got there and go on in to class. Wrong. When we got to school, it was obvious that school had already started. There was NO ONE in sight. Every one was in class, I could see all the classes through the windows. Well if Dad thought I was going to go to school LATE he had another think coming. He argued with me. I wouldn't get out. He threatened me. I wouldn't get out. He yelled at me. I wouldn't get out. He came around to my side of the car, opened it and PULLED me out of the car. I hung onto the door and wouldn't let go. He yelled. I cried. I said I wasn't going. Finally he either gave up or realized how stupid he looked trying to pull me off of the door and he got back into the car. He tried the calm reasoning talk. I wouldn't get out (when he got back in, so did I). Finally he gave me an "out" but I don't think he meant to. He said something about me thinking he didn't love me. I thought "Hey, that's a good angle" so I used it and agreed with him. He started the car and drove back home. I thought, "Yeah! I won!" Not so. The minute we got back into the kitchen (I guess he needed to wait to get back where Mom could experience this too,) he turned me around and gave me the hardest spanking I had ever had in my life and then sent me to my room. I remember going up to my room and looking in the full-length mirror in my room to see if I had his hand print on my butt. I didn't, but it was glowing red!) That's all I remember. I don't know if I stayed in my room all day or not. But I went to school the next day.
A tribute to Paul Simon:
When I was a little girl
You know the devil would call my name
He'd say now, "Who do, who do you think you're foolin'?"
No comments:
Post a Comment