carol7

Suddenly I'm There Again

Carol V. Michael

Yesterday morning I got up at 5:00 and let the central fan bring in as much cool air as possible before closing everything up and pulling down the shades. This morning was already warm and breathless; too late to do the same.

Standing in the still darkness of my living room brought back disturbing memories. I must have been very young. My older sister and I were at a woman's house and the heavy drapes were closed with just a hot ribbon of light where they met. The air was stifling hot and smelled of Hexall. I was feeling weepy and afraid. I wanted my mother. The woman did everything differently. She was not mean, just detached. She put canned milk on our cereal instead of fresh, and there was no fruit or juice.

It must have been the 1940s. Later that day, bright sunlight streamed in as the front door opened, just as I am seeing now in my living room. A man stood on the porch. He was in a suit and tie; wearing a fedora so you could not see his eyes. The man was my grandfather but I did not know that then. He drove us to Alhambra Blvd. which now runs beside I-80, The Capitol City Freeway. We walked next to a large rectangular pool with fountains in front of the old, art deco Alhambra Theater. It was later torn down for the Safeway that is there now. There is only a small side fountain left to mark that place in time. He let us stick our hands in the cool water, but not our feet. We walked to a park that I now know is Mckinley. There was a swimming pool and we wanted to get in. Our grandpa said no. We crossed the street to a small grocery store. It had a squeaky screen door with a metal Coca Cola logo. He bought us ice cream before taking us back to the lady's house.

One day I was telling my dad about this memory. He seemed surprised and had a funny chagrined laugh. He took in a large breath, sighed and explained that it was just after my little sister was born. My mother was in the county hospital with postpartum psychosis. My father was working nights for the railroad. He said that there was no one to take care of us, so he had to place us in a foster home.

All the fragments of sight and sound suddenly fell into place. The feelings of abandonment and fear were as real as the landmarks I drive by everyday. Those feelings were dreadfully sad but now seemed poignant. My father did what he could, even asking his father to visit us. My mother was being treated for a very serious illness. Her needs were immediate, as were ours, and none of it was anybody’s fault.

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