THE HOUSE INSIDE ME

by Camelia Wheatley

  faith, hope and love.

  But the greatest of these is love.

  ~ 1 Corinthians 13:13

  A week later, the phone rang. It was Pearl out of her mind with rambling speech.

  “Oh my God, Cass, you’re not going to believe what happened.”

  “What? Is everything okay, is Doc all right?”

  “Oh, no, no. That’s not why I called. Doc is fine. It’s Edna. George did it.”

  “He did?” I said, surprised. I never read the Gazette but I might make an exception in this case.

  “YES, HE DID!” Pearl said, excited and short of breath. “Well, it didn’t go as he expected. Not exactly, but it worked. He got caught, actually. And it was bad at first. Really bad. Edna gave him the notepad as she normally did, and George typed it out, and she proofed it and gave her go-ahead, but then he felt bad and started having second thoughts because Edna hadn’t been in the same mood for months now, and he knew something was different or she was struggling with something, anyway, he knew it was off. He waited until the next day, then he decided to go ahead and go for it. He typed a new bulletin, exposing Edna of her faults, but not in a mean-spirited way, it was more of a, let’s say, revealing nature of what Edna had been doing, because he did it in Edna’s voice, as if she had actually written it in a confession to the town. It was ready to go to print by lunch. George sat the document on the table underneath a book, turned facedown. When he returned, Edna was sitting in his chair with tears running down her face and she was holding the document he wrote. George felt bad, but told her that he was tired of working and wanted to go to college. He didn’t care anymore about people’s feelings, because he’d learned not to from Edna. This really set Edna on fire. They had a knock-down argument but both stood their ground. It was tense for a while, until Edna broke down. She asked for time alone and for George to wait till the end of the day to finish his shift and then he did not have to return, ever. So, George waited. One hour before closing, Edna returned with a new edited document in a style similar to what George had actually written, confession style, but it was the truth of Edna’s past in her own words. She asked George to read it and tell her what he thought. He did. And it went to print. They parted ways, but not before Edna told him she’d pay for his college. George almost fell out. Anyway, you’re not going to believe this article. Seriously, not going to believe it.”

  “Wow, that is some stuff right there. I’m going to go pick up a Gazette right now. I can’t wait to hear what Edna has to say about her life, for once, and not someone else’s,” I said, laughing.

  “Wait,” Pearl said, “After you pick up the Gazette and read it, I want you to drive by her house. You MUST.”

  “Why?” I said, puzzled.

  “You’ll see. I’m telling you. Drive by there.”

  “Okay, Pearl. I’m heading out now. I can’t wait to read it. Did I just say that? My-my, how things change.”

  Pearl laughed. “Yep. Who knew?”

  I hung up with Pearl and drove to the corner store and it was full of chatter and people and an abundance of people buying flowers. Did I miss Mother’s Day, a holiday or something? It must be a town event. I shrugged it off and grabbed a Gazette from its wooden display case. I grabbed a cola and sat them on the counter.

  “Would you like a flower with that?” the gentleman clerk said nicely.

  “No,” I said, pondering. “No flowers for me.”

  “You sure you don’t want a flower?”

  “Uhm…I’m sure I don’t want a flower, but thank you,” I said, trying to be nice.

  “But everyone is buying flowers, not pencils, but flowers,” he said, trying to convince me.

  “Well sir, no pencils OR flowers for me, just a Coke and the Gazette please, but thank you again.”

  “Suit yourself.” He shrugged and looked unpleased.

  I sat in my car opening my cola, wondering what the hell has gotten into everybody. People were toting out flowers by the dozen. And what’s the deal with pencils? I made a note to check my calendar when I got home. Obviously, I’d missed something in my town, some weird event I’d never heard of. I drank down my cola and started reading the Gazette. When I was finished reading, I’m positive my mouth sat ajar for a time.

  “Might as well,” I said, opening the car door and running back inside the store.

  “Sir, pardon me.”

  “You’re back.”

  “Yes, I am. I’ve changed my mind. I’ll take that flower now.”

  “Glad to hear it. Everyone loves flowers today, yeah?” he said, pulling them from the vase.

  “They sure do,” I said, smiling and halfway laughing. “Wait. I’ll take a dozen of every color if you have it.”

  “I have plenty. Here you are. A dozen blossoms,” he said, raising his eyebrows as if we both knew what he was referring to. I laughed and walked out, but stopped halfway out the door.

  “Sir, can you tell me something?”

  “I’ll try,” he said.

  “How many pencils have you sold today?”

  “Zero. Not one.” He smiled and raised his eyebrows.

  I let out a giggle. “Have a good day, sir.”

  “You too, young lady.”

  NEWS YOU CAN USE

  BY EDNA ROLLINS

  AUGUST 19, 1989

  THE BEST NEWS THIS SIDE OF SALT FLATS RIVER

  Dearest Pine Log community. I started helping my father with this bulletin when I was twenty-one, and full-time by twenty-three. In 1940 I married my sweetheart Jimmy Don and we had eighteen wonderful years together and one adorable son, James. When the Lord allowed them both to be taken from me in 1958 from a terrible fiery car crash, the Edna I used to be was burnt up in the flames and rose to the heavens with them, never to be the same. Their deaths changed me. I grew hard-spirited. I stopped writing. I stopped living. I wandered around in my pajamas talking to birds in my yard trance-like for a year. Inside, I paced room to room, looking at old photos, reliving old memories, smelling my son’s clothing, my husband’s aftershave. My grief overcame me until I was no longer a person, just a shell of something unnamed. I tried long and hard to regain my composure, get a new routine, start over—but the old one was so familiar I literally could not function without it. I wandered around without going anywhere. A homeless soul within a home. I had no idea that years later, the Wanderers would be the very thing that would save me and bring me back to a life worth living.

  I knew I could not let my father’s business go under because I was a loose cannon. Slowly, I started writing again. All I had was this column in the Pine Log Gazette and you followers who read it. I found my way back in writing and it truly did bring me out of the pit after my family passed, but I do admit now that I was still a bitter soul, and I took it too far sometimes. I stepped over boundaries without care or concern of other’s feelings, I made terrible accusations without facts, and I hurt people with my words that I should have been using to help. Looking back now, I promise you that I did not do it intentionally. I have learned a lot about myself, the Edna who was, and the Edna I want to be. To be truthful, I was angry with the God that I said I worshipped. I was mad because He took my loved ones away and left me alone. What am I to do with that? I said over and over but got no answers from God, which made me even more sour. It had nothing to do with anyone in the community. It was me. I was hurt and I hurt other people. For that, I am truly sorry. This column was my lifeblood. I clung to it like a leech sucking the blood off of everyone for no other reason than to fend off my loneliness, insecurities and my anger for all the things you folks had—that I didn’t. I offer my deepest regret. I’ve heard that you all know me to be uptight, self-righteous, judgmental, a nosy busybody and many other flaws that no one likes to admit. I would like to add one to the list, if I may. I have been living a lie. An outright, big, fat lie. Let me explain further.

  In 1971 the Moon Wanderers showed up a few miles from Pine Log at one of their yearly campsite gatherings. I went
on a mission from God, I thought, to do an article on what I deemed as heathens invading our lands, and I had every intention of stirring the pot. I got to see them in their native free-spirited hedonistic way of life; and I was appalled. Yet, deep inside, something was awakening in me and I didn’t even know it yet. What jolted me happened afterwards. Billy Ray Thomas was my bodyguard and went along on the trip and unbeknownst to me, met a woman there and fell in love. Weeks later, he disappeared with her. Even though the whole town had no idea of his whereabouts, he was actually gallivanting with the Moon Wanderers, and here I was putting out all-point bulletins about his sudden departure thinking something terrible had happened. All the while he’s in love. Later, when the truth was revealed, I was mortified that he could take up with a jezebel woman of that nature. I did not know that one year later my life would flip upside down with the same tangled love thoughts that would rule me for the next sixteen years.

  In 1972, I was on vacation in California celebrating my 55th birthday alone. I was God-smacked when I heard the locals talking about a tribe of nomads at the nearby campgrounds. When I asked about them, imagine my surprise when they said they called them the Moon Wanderers. I couldn’t help myself. I had to find out if Billy Ray and his woman might be there, maybe talk to him, find out about his life and such. I knew I needed to blend in with them, not the old Edna, but a new version. I went to a dress shop and bought a dress I would have not worn in a million years. I looked like I came straight out of Woodstock.

  There was a long trail leading to the camp, and along the way, wildflowers grew abundant, so I picked a few and tucked them into my hair. Within ten minutes of wandering around inside the bustling confines of the activity and people going here and there, I stopped to take it all in. A few feet away, a man stood still as stone and stared right through me. It rattled me at first but I continued to look around, discounting his piercing eyes. To the left and right I took everything in, but no matter where I looked, the man was there, still staring, until I had no choice but to meet his gaze. When I did, his mouth curved up in a smile. I tensed and did not smile back. I looked away pretending I did not see him, but clearly, I did. He was shirtless with a purple peace sign painted on his chest, a scruffy graying beard and soft blue eyes. He was holding a metal water bucket with a big silver dipping cup. Suddenly, I felt awkwardly giddy. An emotion I am not used to feeling, believe me. He passed by several people filling their cups with water, but he always looked back up, and when he did, our eyes continued to meet until he was standing in front of me.

  “Water?” he said, rattling me undone with his deep voice. I felt something inside me shift.

  “I don’t have a cup,” I said shyly and looking away. Before I turned back, he had a fresh cup from his pack and was offering it to me. “Ohh…okay.”

  He began to pour the water from the dipper into my cup and inside my body, the dry dusty dunes of my thirsty soul began to crave companionship, although I fought it vehemently.

  “Thank you,” I said as I drank a swallow. All the while he never took his eyes off me, which made me exceedingly nervous.

  “You are Adsila. Beautiful Adsila,” he said.

  Immediately, I thought with relief, Oh, that’s it. He thinks I’m someone else. Either that, or he’s intoxicated.

  “No, no. I’m Edna. Edna Rollins from Texas.”

  “You are Adsila. Adsila from Texas,” he said, putting the dipper in the bucket. Then he reached up to touch my hair.

  I reacted by walking backwards. “Okay, buddy, enough with the handsy-pansy stuff.” By this time, I was sure he was drunk. But this dude did not let up. He continued the word game, calling me Adsila from Texas and I argued right back with him, for some odd reason, until he surrendered in angst.

  “Edna,” he said, “Edna from Texas. If you are going to be a part of this tribe, you must have a tribe name, and Adsila is the name for blossom, like the ones you have in your hair. I am Hadnot from Virginia. But here in the tribe, I am Dakelh which means water traveler.” He raised up the bucket of water. “Get it now?”

  “Ohh…” I said, exasperated and irked. “Why didn’t you say that to begin with?”

  “You wouldn’t let me.”

  And he was right. This water traveler pegged me from the get-go and it rattled me undone. For some strange reason, whatever I drank from that bucket had me head over heels for this nomad and from that point onward, I was a part of the tribe. The rest of the week, I stayed with Hadnot and the Moon Wanderers doing all the things they did. YES. I said it. All of it. I did everything. I felt alive for the first time in years since my husband and son died. I am here to tell you that I am in love with a water traveler, a Moon Wanderer. Every year since our meeting, I have gathered with them across the country in every state across the continental US. We are complete opposites. We butt heads, we argue, but we make it work. He knows the real Edna from Texas, the pained, heartbroken, ugly parts of her. Yet he loved her to wholeness again. I never thought I would love again, but here I am.

  However, there comes a time when you have to make a hard choice. Each year, after the gatherings, I returned to Pine Log to live a lie. I am a stubborn old goat and Hadnot knew it. Even though I had found a well of water to fill me up and make me whole, loved, complete…I wasn’t ready to let go of my past life. After all, my father built this business up from scratch. I was raised here, married here, had my son here. It felt like home, even though they all were long gone. I’m not sure what I was holding on to. Maybe it was the fact that you folks are all I had left. By entering your lives, through my little column of words, I felt a part of something, I had a family again, in a small way. I know I didn’t do it right most times, and I’m sorry for that. I want you to know that you are family to me. Thank you for filling the spaces of emptiness in me for so long after I lost Jimmy and James. Throughout the years, I went back and forth as to what I should do; leave with Hadnot and see the world, or stay in Pine Log with everything I am familiar with. Hadnot and I stay in touch with letters and phones calls; however, this year was different than all the rest.

  You see, I am hesitant. I am scared of change. I have a million doubts. I’m an introvert. Hadnot is a social butterfly. He takes risks. I hold back. He loves wildly. I love in bits and pieces. He sees the world as this grand vision to be explored, and I see it with fear and trembling. He is patient, kind and long-suffering. I am compulsive, often mean-spirited, and suffer nothing if I don’t have to. He walks on the grass barefoot and climbs trees with abandon. I walk on the sidewalk with shoes and scream at the tree climbers as childish and immature. We are obviously different in every way imaginable, and that is why I am afraid. In fact, I’ve been afraid of this moment for years. I knew it was coming, I just didn’t know when.

  Hadnot laid out ultimatums. He is serious. I know he is. Either I leave with him and start a new life or walk away forever. He will not play half-and-half. I am wrecked with emotions. The mere thought of NOT having him in my life overrules all the unknowns and fears. I have lost way too much in my life already, and I will not lose the one thing that has made me exceedingly happy. For weeks I have pondered. Hadnot is patient, but he is no fool. My heart feels like a dry, dusty dune without my water traveler, and the prospect of not seeing him again overwhelms me.

  Fine folks of Pine Log, I need your help. I am sixty-one years young and there is no sense in wasting precious time. Tell me what you think. I rarely ask anyone for their opinions because I have so many myself. I know you are all laughing at that one. It is true. However, this time, I am seriously open to hearing what you think, since you have been my family all these years.

  Here goes:

  Edna or Adsila?

  Should Edna from Texas stay in Pine Log and continue writing and serving the community?

  Or should Adsila the flower blossom join Dakelh the water traveler and see the world?

  Who do you choose? If you choose Edna from Texas, drop a pencil in the bucket. If you choose Adsila, drop
a flower in the bucket. It’s all going down at the corner of 421 Hollis Avenue.

  Front porch.

  Two buckets.

  One choice.

  What’s it going to be, Pine Log community? Help me decide.

  I look forward to seeing your decision. Thank you for being such a wonderful part of my life. Either way is a win-win. This may or may not be the last time you see my column or hear me on KTBR Radio News Station 109.9, but for old times’ sake, I’m going to sign off either for the last time, or like always, I’m Edna Rollins, and THAT’S NEWS YOU CAN USE.

  30

  Queen of the Pine Curtain

  Make lovely your Losses

  ~Maw Sue

  I rounded the corner of Beechnut Avenue and drove three blocks till I found Hollis Street. Edna’s house wasn’t hard to find. You only had to look for the traffic jam. Apparently, everyone else in Pine Log had now read the Gazette and they were helping Edna with her decision. I waited ten minutes through traffic just to get my turn. I knew I’d be there longer than others because I had to process some things in my mind first. I let some cars by and found a parking spot on the side street a few houses down. I walked the sidewalk in amazement.

  The whole front porch of 421 Hollis looked like an outdoor flower stand. Sprouting and growing from the doors and windows were all sorts of blooms and flowers, flowing down the steps and into the driveway, and sprawled out on the lawn. I never even saw a bucket, much less two. And there was not a pencil to be found, anywhere.

  I sat and watched throngs of people drive by and drop flowers off one after another. I couldn’t help but laugh and think about how much I used to despise Edna Rollins since my early youth for all the things she said about my great-grandmother, and other people who ended up at Castle Pines, for the strange fire story, for myself. But now, I felt nothing but empathy knowing her story. How much she lost, of her family and herself. Just like me, Maw Sue, my mother, and even my sister; all reacting according to our own pain, our losses, our deepest rejections, all in an attempt to just survive. Adapt. Thrive. A seed, a sapling trying to grow in disturbed soil.