She was an elementary school classmate when my family lived in ‘the projects’. Her family lived in the nicer homes in Riverview. She had an older brother who had already left home. She had a dad, but he must have been in the shadows…I can see him in my peripheral vision, but don’t remember much about him aside from his dark cardigan and newspaper. But I sure do remember her mother, clad in her housedress, full percale apron and sensible shoes. She lumbered as older folks do. And she really lumbered on that fateful day.
Mrs. was a ‘stay-at-home’ mom, so it was convenient to play at my friend’s house. I liked it that way too. My mom could be socially awkward, and the stress just wasn’t worth having a friend over.
I was often invited to go on road trips and vacations with their family. My friend was, for all intents and purposes, an only child – the older brother notwithstanding, and I helped make the trip cohesive as her playmate. The family dog was a springer spaniel…with an unmanageable skin ailment – which made him stink in such a way that my gag reflex and nose had to compete for tranquility. For the many family road trips and vacations, he joined us in the backseat, much to my revulsion. Dog always got a window seat and sat quietly enjoying the road trip scenery and stinking. We’d occasionally stop for ice cream cones and the real challenge was eating that cone while holding my breath! That was decades ago, and I remember as if it was yesterday. I wondered if I was the only one who could smell the dog. Nobody else seemed to mind.
While on vacation and roaming a curio shop, my souvenir purchase was a little ceramic ‘book’ with the Lord’s Prayer on it. I’ve wondered a few times over the years about the choice. We weren’t a particularly religious family, so why would I choose the Lord’s Prayer of all things…because it would win me favor at home? Or because I would come to rely on that prayer as my safe haven? I was about 9 years old at the time. Serious indoctrination had been well underway at home for years, and God knows, I needed a safe haven.
Friend and I must have been playmates for a few years. Her mom gave us empty cereal boxes for our ‘grocery store’ make believe play. Gosh, I can’t imagine playing at the grocery store with a toy cash register at 10! But it was a different time back then. 10 then is probably like 5 now. She and I got into a debate about the correct spelling of cereal…. She preferred to leave the second E out. We were strong debaters! Strange the things you remember.
We decided to become the girls’ version of ‘blood brothers’ which required eating from the same slice of bread…sharing spittle. Unaware of the concept, I pushed to be ‘first’ because I didn’t want to eat into her bite marks. Well, it doesn’t go that way, does it. All crazy and fun things to remember.
But the thing I remember the most…it was not fun. We were playing at friend’s house like any other time. For some reason, unknown to me now and frankly unknown to both of us at the time, her mom got uncontrollably angry at her for some infraction. There was no cold shoulder or ‘mother stare’ like at my house. There was a brutal beating instead. My cherished friend didn’t appear to be embarrassed. She appeared to be resigned, as if this was a frequent occurrence. As she tried to be compliant, her mother kicked and punched her mercilessly. One powerful kick to the back, flew her across the room. Afterward, friend was red, bruised and shaken…but stoic. Decades later, I regret not intercepting the brutality. I had gone numb. I was 10. As dysfunctional as my home life was, I’d never witnessed anything like this before. Stunned and staring, it sickens me to recall.
If I mentioned it when I got home, I can’t recall. What would it have mattered anyway? Whenever my brothers or I were taunted or bullied in the neighborhood, my mom’s admonition reminded us we must have done something to deserve it. Had my friend done something to deserve it? There was no rescue for children, I knew all too well.
I don’t remember going to her house after that. Maybe her mom came to her senses and was remorseful over her brutality?
I saw my friend one other time when we were 20 something adults. She, with a husband and toddler, me single. I marveled that her home was decorated with a few choice pieces of professionally framed Toddler Art. Perhaps homage to the beauty and innocence of her child. That’s how we repair our childhood trauma, by honoring our own offspring any way that we can.
My heart is heavy as I recall and write. In the quiet of tonight, I’ll remember her and say a prayer of apology. I wish I had the wherewithal to have helped her.
Some believe the universe knows no time, or that our lives are lived on simultaneous timelines – past and present. If that is true, perhaps in this moment the trauma of those horrid deeds is eased, erased, forgiven.
