First, second, and third grade. We lived in an apartment and I shared a bedroom with my two sisters. The school yard was behind us and there was a hill, smooth and worn as the spot on poppy’s leg, where his hair was gone. And to the right as you went up the hill were the woods.
One of my goals in life at 7 or 8 or 9 was to ride a HORSE. Simple. Get on and take off. Not having a horse, I used to be one, in the school yard. Snorting, pawing the dirt, galloping and then running, and trying to run so fast that I’d gather up everything I had to break through the very skin holding me in…
If we weren’t in the school yard, we’d be in the wood. The trees would take us in, sharing their shadow and the sunlight. We’d play hide and seek, look for pieces of glass from discarded beer bottles, pick up rocks, and use sticks as swords.
In those long-ago days, one of the kids in our gang was Jerry. He was one grade older. In first grade, I always thought the second graders were the BIG kids. But Jerry, he really was one, being tall and tubby. I remember knowing it was his birthday and I bought him, with my own saved-up money, a card. I was so happy to give it to him. And when the adults saw it, they started laughing and making such a fuss. Oh look at this, they said. Look what it says: To a niece… hahahahahaha
No! it. didn’t. say… THAT. It said to a NICE… i thought that’s what it said. But nobody heard me.
One day, coming home from school, daddy told us us mommy was sick. He seemed worried. I remember tip toeing into my parents room. It was still light as day, but the curtains were drawn and she was under the covers. I don’t think I knew about death. But I do remember being afraid that she would leave me and I was afraid she didn’t even know it was me. I made lots of promises to her, if she would only get better.
It was around that time I read Harry the Dirty Dog. I loved that book and read it alot. Harry ran away because he didn’t want to take a bath. He had the most glorious day, getting very dirty… so dirty in fact that when he finally got home, nobody recognized him. Even though I knew how it ended, this always worried me; I was forever reading it for the first time. And I was forever feeling bad that his people, who loved him, couldn’t see it was Harry.
I never forgot about Harry. Or my mother, kissing me, telling me how seeing me that day made her feel better. I knew it then, and didn’t worry about it so much anymore. I knew my mother would always recognize me.